Misidentification

Run

Outside the cabin, a curious one stood, silently looking over the edge of the doorway. The black coat she wore draped over her shapeless body and fell to her toes, hiding her skin from the light of the moon shining down on the village.

It was a partly cloudy night, and there was a hint of rain in the air. The curious girl peered over the edge and saw a black coated figure looking down at a man lying peacefully in his bed, asleep. A scythe sat across from where the little faerie was standing, leaning against the cabin's thick wooden walls. She slyly switched view of the scythe towards the black-hooded figure, carefully assessing to take possession of the weapon.

Almost there ,she thought. Gazing at the scythe, in the few seconds she partook when she switched to watching the figure closely. It had a deathly tone to it, a dark aura. She knew what it could do and knew exactly what to do with it. The black snathes and tangs had sharp curls expanding outwards. The nibs were short and covered in somewhat a thick black fabric worn from use. The blade reached far and appeared sharper than a katana. Proper, for a weapon for soul-stealing crafted from the soils of the void.

In the quick seconds, it took for her to take the scythe, a light ethereal sound erupted from where the figure stood. The once, calmly sleeping man lied on the soft bed with arms spreading outwards with a shocked expression and with one of hands clenching his heart. A bright orb of brownish light appeared before him. His soul sat in the hands of the figure, with a smirk sprawled on their face.

The little faerie ran from the scene and into the abysmal woodlands. Fearful of what the figure would do to her if she was caught, she hurried away. This is simply something that must be done.

As her tiny legs crossed one another in sprint, the little faerie thought to herself, I'll give it back later after I'm done with it. Chill.

***

In the early morning, the sun gleamed over the edges of the horizon. The small guardian of the garden leaned against the wall, with arms crossed.

The fresh rain water left the land damp and pulsing with life. The grass expressed the gift with the appearance of a greener shade and the sky did the same with a bluer blue. Yet, it appeared all the same as usual to the eyes of a young garden faerie.

Her wings, large and graceful, reflected the life with a tint of forest green. The curly ends of the wings, twirled into a spiral at the tips and bottoms. Her ruby red hair had short layers on the top and longer underneath, curling at the edges which sat on her shoulders. Dark gray eyes judged the world around her with a cold logic, sitting in sockets that seemed untouched by stress and sleeplessness. Light freckles scattered across the tops of her cheeks and the bridge of her sharp nose. The faerie's lips, thin and light pink, carried a disapproved frown.

The thick, bark-like green armour she wore, decorated her torso in a tank top with asymmetrical pauldrons and a pair of pants. The boots she wore, went up to her knees and twirled at the tips of her toes. A knight in tree bark relaxing on a Sunday, the usual morning consisting of playing pranks on people entering her garden and trying to talk to the villagers which are not aware of her presence and never have been.

The garden was planted next to a cobble-stoned church, where a pastor spoke his sermons and a weak little fence made of sticks and rope protected it from the dogs or least were designed to.

The rest of the village was scattered townhouses and poorly made pathways. The regular stands where assortment of foods and decor was sold sat in there regular placements: in the center of town. Everyday the villagers go and socialize, leaving the garden alone, which was Nefarious's preferences. She didn't like humans all that much.

Nefarious had something planned this morning, however. She looked around, making sure no one was around and grabbed a couple sticks from the underside of the church and lit a fire with two stones decorated with ancient symbols. A small dragon sprouted from the flames, covered in bright red scales and a couple long talons coming out from the sharply-tooth mouth. Black eyes stared her down and Nefarious placed the dragon's favorite flower on the ground, a French Marigold.

The yellow edges of the flower petals and red center, made the dragon smiled and she said, "Thank you for the offering. Not many people are still aware of what I like."

Nefarious smiled in return and sat on the ground, her thin legs crossed.

"Well, it'll be embarrassing if I didn't, Syrreth."

The dragon, twirled in the air, her feathered tail brushing against the wind.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

She giggled and said, "You aren't going to believe what I got." Her voice trailing off in a humming sound, feeling like the light whispers of the wind.

Nefarious stood back up, placing one hand on her knee. She jumped over the fence behind Syrreth and silently tip-toed to a nearby bush sitting quietly surrounded by tall pine trees. She grabbed the scythe underneath the plump little bush and saw the roots started to curl with black death.

Although it hurt to hold it for too long and she asserted the occasional grunt, she walked to the garden's fence and raised it into the air like a spear, blade pointing to the sky.

"See? You thought I couldn't do it, but I did!" She smiled brightly, revealing her pure white teeth and stretching across her, rather, narrow face.

Syrreth's kind, smiling expression twisted into one of concern, her eyes widening and her mouth curled into a frown. "You must return that. I know you have your personal problems, but you shouldn't do it. Which reaper did you steal that from? If it's the Northern one, he'll kill you without a moment's hesitation!" She demanded, her voice booming, shaking the fence.

"Oh, please, it's not the North's. It's the East's. He is weak, besides North doesn't come around here. He's in the upper parts of the country." Nefarious casually responded. At least I think he is.

Syrreth glared down at her, and warned, "If you end up dead, I will not only be sad, but I will be vastly disappointed." She released her tensed expression and murmured, "Look, I know you have problems and I want to be there to help you, but this is reckless."

Nefarious's soft face, turned into one of anger and pouting. "I'll be fine. This is something that must be done." She said, her voice raising. "I'm doing this for myself!" She shouted, turning the scythe to Syrreth.

A dark shade reached across her face, and she disappeared into flames, the ashes gently falling onto the sticks used for her summoning. A feeling of light regret spurted from Nefarious's heart and she knew she could not return from she is. Now, it is time for her to do something that must simply be done.

However, she must first get away from there.