Dormant

11

That, my dear readers is Sera, I picture that I drew. She's wearing face paint -yes, there will be a reference to it later and, no, it's not there all the time. You'll learn about her in this chapter ;)

It may feel like God went north,
And left you to be,
But all you need to know,
Is you have everything you need,
It's just a blink of an eye,
Until the next time we meet.
I'll hold you 'til the end,
I'll hold you 'til you're free.
If You won't save her,
Please just take her,
Nothing breaks her away,
Because she'll keep holding on.
I'll hold you 'til the end.

-Nothing More, God Went North

11

He had seen it.

He had seen everything, down to the werewolf prowling around the corners of the barn to a woman that had crept from the light of the house to join them outside and shift into a black griffin.

He had seen maybe too much.

He had watched as the woman greeted War, calling him out by name and even giving him a smile. He had watched War relax, as if he trusted the woman already. But, most importantly, he had seen something between his younger brother and the woman that had reminded him of his own past that still hurt him to this very day.

So he did War a favor and had shot the woman.

While it wasn't something very nice to do, Strife figured that it would be better in the long run to just deal with her now. War didn't need that sort of pain. It was hard enough sometimes for Strife to deal with it -it was always pounding in his heart, always haunting his mind- and he knew, based on fact and their curious situation at the moment, that his baby brother did not need even an introduction to such feelings. War was war. War only needed to feel anger, frustration, and whatever else came with war.

There was no love in war.

As he watched his handiwork from above on the second floor of the barn, mostly hidden by the hay that it housed, he lowered Mercy slowly. Even now, when he couldn't have known her very long, War was bent over her, speaking to her in low tones as he brushed a strand of hair from her face and her breathing slowed. Strife took a deep breath to calm himself as the memories tried to wash over him -he could see her bright smile, that wonderful scar that run across the top of her nose, and he couldn't help but to lean forward, smiling himself when she giggled as he kissed the tip of her pointed nose and her hands rested against his chest- and shook his head to rid himself of them, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. He knew that he had done the right thing. This was the best way. To kill off the pain before it grew on you, took hold and just never let go.

As John rushed toward them, coming from some random direction, movement from the limp woman in War's still stunned arms caused Strife's yellow eyes to narrow suspiciously. War seemed surprised as the woman's lips moved gently, forming each word slowly and carefully as the Horseman holding her relaxed from his tense posture. Strife grabbed the wall beside him and leaned forward as far so he could to get a better look. Perhaps his eyes were playing with him and the woman hadn't came back to life because he had definitely killed her. But the surprise that flickered across John's face as the old man knelt by the crippled woman in War's arms told Strife otherwise. Strife's nightmares were proven true as he watched War help the woman up into a sitting position, blood still staining her hands and a bewildered expression on her face as she studied them.

"Shit. Things just couldn't be that damn easy, could they?" Strife muttered underneath his breath as he shoved himself away from the wall, frustration causing him to kick at some hay angrily. Of course it hadn't worked. He froze from kicking apart some hay and stared at it, realization dawning upon him. He had shot the woman through her heart... And she wasn't dead.