Blunt

Until Death Do Us Apart

"Draw your strings!"

The amber tips of her bow reflected the luminous golden light of the sun as she steadily drew back the string, facing up to the ruby sky. The arrow buzzed softly underneath her fingers, its crooked head deviantly curled against the wind; as if it was challenging them to a fight.

"Ready?"

She held her breath.

"Release!"

At the instant her fingers relaxed, the arrow zapped through - it flew, reaching the horizon beyond. The dead maroon roses on the fletching left a trail of blood colored dust as it flew higher and disappeared behind the thick cloud. The commander's boisterous voice boomed, congratulating them on finishing their final phase of the ritual. Cheers and claps thundered in the valley, and from the side she watched them; her eyes meticulously following every movement. Something in the atmosphere was just not right.

"Cheer up, Vasselflock, your smile is as dead as your roses!" The commander joked. The crowd laughed at him and she forced a polite smile. Commander or not, he was a dense man.

The laugh suddenly died when a scream rang out - then the crowd parted, and she saw it with her eyes as a blue, scale clad arrow emerged from the straight back of a dark skinned girl she didn't know who. Fresh blood covered the head of the arrow, which has a distinct shape that indicates to whom the arrow belongs to - it belongs to Soren Mulrock, the only girl of the Mer tribe.

The dark skinned girl looked at the crowd with horror in her eyes. "I wasn't - no - I wasn't going to kill her---"

She tottered back in panic, her limbs growing weak by seconds. The crowd was frozen in disbelief as she stumbled and limply fell down the cliff.

It was her first time witnessing the deed of the mystical arrow; the only arrow in one's life to forever wander freely, in search for the future murderer of its owner, only stopping when it has pierced through the heart of the killer seconds before they do their malicious deed.

●●○●●

"You absolutely look gorgeous, dah'ling," Pella, the magenta pixie in electric blue attire, fanned herself. "I take pride in my works, you know, and this one takes the record so far."

She magically whipped out another fluffy brush in the same tone as her skin. "I don't usually say this, but my, even the result flatters me!" Said her. The large brush ran up and down her skin and she smiled heartily at the older pixie. It was the day which she, Moira Vasselflock, had been waiting for. Usually she would despise anything to ever come in contact with her skin - with exception for Orion, of course - but today, she was willing to let at least Pella and her crews to touch her.

His name echoed inside her head. Orion Falon. It felt like just yesterday, they met for the first time - they were both clad in midnight black clothes, sadness etched on their faces. Her hair was piled up high, and a rose was tucked in - the very same rose which fell and was picked up by him. They were three years apart, hence the lack of acquaintanceship. But she already knew Lyra Falon, his little sister. Lyra and her were in the same year and had done the coming of age ritual together, in which she first saw the deed of the arrow. The two of them were the best of friends... were being the keyword here. Until blind jealousy sparked between them, and unnecessary dispute costed them a life of an innocent stranger. Until Lyra called her cursed and swore her off for good, and she couldn't protect the hot tempered oracle from getting into trouble - and thus Lyra lied on the deathbed when Orion met her for the first time.

She shivered. There's no use of thinking about it. Orion knew of the cause and effect of the event, of course, and he often helped her go through similar ones in the last few years; though it was strange in its own way because no one else have encountered as many occurence as she does. He would try to cheer her up and say that it was because of the elven blood in her vein. Her usual response would be a roll of her eyes and a retort, consisting mostly of reasons why his oracle blood would be more suitable in the implication; and he would chuckle, although she could never understand why does his laugh sound so sad - besides the fact that a bloody arrow had taken his sister's life.