Of Love and Death.

The Past Chapter 18: The Storm Pt. 1

Grief, fear, fear of death, death, intent to murder, planning murder, betrayal, talking about death, fighting? Crying. Shaking. Hate. Panic. Tell me if I missed any triggers. 

Cold was sitting on a throne. It was black. Dark like the deep, frozen, expanse of space. It was so frozen out there. It had been so boiling hot in the beginning. So hot that it peeled at her skin, bit at her nails. Hotter than it was frigid now. Temperature wasn't supposed to bother the Forces. It had bothered her, back then. Only the most extreme of extremes, fading even as she came into existence. But it bothered her. Just like how the absolute cold she had formed her daggers to become would bother Fire.

Shifting around, Cold threw her legs up over the one armrest. This wasn't the throne that Dark had sat on so many times. It was her own. One made of black ice, and small enough for her. Perfect, exactly what she had dreamed of. So many times, when she'd listened to the orders of that beast, she'd imagined sitting here. With him out of the picture.

And now Dark was out of the picture. Not forever, not yet. He'd run away with the rest of his supporters, the whining lot of them all. Off to warn the Sun's of what Cold was planning. Not that it mattered anyway. Apparently, Blood and Form had known exactly what to tell them all. It was a miracle that she'd been able to adapt quick enough, before Dark was able to stop her. Too many organized people, even if organizing on short notice, still knew how to fight better than a few shadows who weren't even sure of what was going on. She'd one the day. Soon she'd win the war.

But there was something that couldn't wait until Cold had won this war. It wasn't able to wait until after Light and Dark had gone the same way as Blood. She knew it should. She knew that waiting to take her revenge should come later. So that she could savor it. When she was in charge, completely and fully. But it wouldn't sit quietly. This need for vengeance had encompassed her. Swallowed her up until she couldn't think about anything else.

It wasn't smart. But Cold was crying out for blood to be spilled. Her daggers were practically leaping from her fingers like instruments. Like twisting musical instruments with a mind of their own. Sharp, deadly, beautiful. They'd been waiting patiently before. Waiting because they knew it was a moment that couldn't come too quickly, couldn't be rushed. But they'd been waiting for so long. And they were fed up with waiting. And Cold was too.

So the icy shadow had been planning. Planning, planning, planning. Sitting here, all alone, planning. On her throne, in the darkness. Breathing in and out, turning over each idea. Finding its flaws, finding where it would work. Finding where it wouldn't work. Chopping them up. Stitching them together. Like composing a song. She knew when it should crescendo to the loudest point. And she knew exactly on what note it needed to end. She knew all the points. She didn't know how to string it together.

At least Cold hadn't when she'd sat down. But the darkness took shape between her eyes. Turned into twisting notes and songs. She thought. She linked it together. She made herself part of the notes, made herself part of their souls. Made herself part of their ideas, their minds, their thoughts. She became each note, became each stroke of the bow, stroke of the dagger.

With a smile, Cold pulled out her ice cold weapon. The metal had no reflection. There was no light to make a reflection. Gently, she ran her hand down the smooth surface. Mind could not wait. Fire could not wait. She could not soothe this urge, quiet this frenzy. She would have her revenge. She had her plan.

Now all Cold needed was a little help from Spider. Spider, to carry her message, her bait, her plan. Spider, because Talent had fled out into the expanses of space with all the Shadows who wouldn't follow her, and were too scared to even stick by Dark. That would have made it much easier to carry her message. Cold's message. She was more than prepared to follow through with every single step of it. Each line was a threat. And there was no way that it could benefit anyone other than her.