【𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬】➛𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓑𝓾𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓻

1

Updated 08/04/2023.

Rewritten 28/06/2023

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Running across the never-ending hallways of the ship, my speed increasing with each step I took, I personally thought I did well in killing off the undead charging out from each room I passed, 

"Where could they be..." I spoke to myself as my pace slowed, 

With a hand on my chin, I thought back, "I got it! They're at the-"

What happened earlier?

I forgot.

I must've forgotten it, because after that I was in the comfort of my blanket and pillows, Is this what a retired fighter does?

I don't know.

But that's what I do so why would it matter?

My skills are long gone. Yes, fighting monsters day and night turned into just working at a cafe. I didn't have much to do but a lot of money to spend so why tire myself doing another well-paid job that asks too much of me when I could live out my dreams of becoming a barista...yes, 26 years, 6 of working up the ranks to be a skilled fighter, yet I spend the past year settling to be a barista at some local costa. What did I do in between? Confidential.

At least I'm good at my job, unlike those 16-year-olds making horrendously weak coffee and calling it "a good dose of caffeine". No.

No Madison that is not your morning coffee seeing as there is more oat and soy milk along with a shit ton of caramel flavouring rather than actual coffee in your 5lb glass jar. Do you want to know what I call it? heart disease.

I apologise for my strong use of words- or thoughts if you will. It's just one of those days where I have nothing to do but sit and repeatedly watch shows and read manga, should I have not spent more than £100 on this bullshit? probably. But like I said, a lot of money to spend. 

From exercising and constantly training, being speedy and powerful and hell It may be hard to tell now with me on my own sofa, wasting my remaining years eating ice cream and watching shows I have already watched all too many times, Castlevania, Vanitas no Carte, Black Butler, Black butler again.

Not to mention my abilities that I waste to contribute to my own laziness. Making voids to fight tactically? worked but it also worked to bring my phone from my room to here, not to mention the amount of ceramics I've saved with being stupidly clumsy.

I suppose I hate it. But then again I hated what I did before, I never asked to be sent to that damn place, my parents? I don't know where they've gone. 

Full truth I didn't want to know.

"Mhm, yeah...No no! I completely understand, But I'm not going back to do those things again...I'm sorry, I think I should've made myself clearer, I've retired from all that fighting crap, I'm a normal everyday barista. And-
No the amount of cash will not persuade me. Thank you," I hung up the call and put my phone face-first down on the table, my tea rippling slightly.

"Who was that??" The old lady who sat opposite me spoke, Miss Holdsworth. I occasionally go next door when she invites me for a cup of tea. She was a nice old lady, though a lot of cats. We keep each other updated on the building's drama, the latest news etc.

"Some company looking for an assassin or whatever, I don't know why those people, even though I had left, still keep my info and give it out actually no, probably to get those annoying companies off their backs." I groan, slumping in my seat.

"Ohh I see," Miss Holdsworth smiles and sips her tea, "Say, I get that perhaps you didn't want to work in that industry, but to not use your abilities at all? I mean, I must say but isn't that just a waste?" She questioned as I sipped my own tea.

I sighed, putting a hand on my chin as I looked out the window, the weather since yesterday has almost fully deteriorated, "I never asked for the abilities I have. I never asked to be what I am. It's complicated...I did what I did before because I had to for my own survival. And since I was given the opportunity to leave I took it without hesitation. Yeah sure, I mean I met nice people...had some happy moments but, my point stays. I never wanted to do that."

Miss Holdsworth was quiet but let out a small hum of understanding "You said you never asked for it...is this to do with that scar, perhaps?"

I nodded, and then it was just silence. A comfortable silence. 

"Thank you again for having me over, I enjoy our small conversations." I bow slightly in respect of Miss Holdsworth as an elder,

"Oh that's no problem dear, old me needs some company and I couldn't have possibly asked for anyone better than you," She smiled sweetly as she hoisted herself up on her cane, one of her cats coming over to rub itself on her leg.

I chuckled, "Of course, I suppose I'll see you whenever, whether that's tomorrow or the day after that."

With that said she nodded to me and shut the door, I walked over to the door of my own apartment but before I opened the door, I noticed something, a small teacup. I thought it was Miss Holdsworth's at first, but then why would her tea cup be outside my front door? 

I picked up the teacup and inspected it closer, no, it wasn't Miss Holdsworth's. This was more smooth, the glazing richer. How odd. 

I looked around, it was just me. I proceeded to turn the handle of my door and step inside, still looking closely at the cup, there was something about this cup, it wasn't ordinary, nor was it some 1900s antique, it looked more like it was from a later period. The Victorian era. Did someone forget their antique at my front door?

The teacup sat on my desk, the soft light of my lamp shone and reflected off the fine cup, and I, in the mirror as I was in little clothing, I moved my neck to the side, small scars placed on specific parts of my body, two on either side of my neck; the tubes that used to stick into my body. One, quite prominent when seen; was a repeated spot where they would inject me with needles. Marks around my wrists; where they would chain me to the hospital bed. The rest, are battle scars that I would rather ignore. All of them, are fairly faded, but the truest memories stain my mind. 

But the most vivid of them all will never fade, my lower stomach, towards the left rather than centre, the haunting mark of what I am.

A weapon of war.