Two of the Same

Chapter Seventeen *Gwyn*

She crept slowly, keeping her footsteps silent; a stalking technique she had learned from her brother. It felt ironic now to be using the technique her brother taught her to elude the captor whom her brother had sent to stop Gwyn and her companions. She had seen into Seraphim Aeon's mind, she knew that her brother had recruited her to stop Gwyn just as Gwyn had recruited the others to stop Tyrain. It was a wicked game of tug of war they played and no one it seemed had the upper hand; yet. Gwyn knew that he brother had met not only with the red eyed witch but with three others, all of them enlisted to stop her and her friends from reaching Tyrain and thwarting his plans; but what was more, she knew that Tyrain didn't know about her plans, about the recruiting of her own, he knew nothing of Gwyn's thoughts. She rubbed the small band on her finger gently once again silently thanking her father for the blessing she never realized she had had. Yet her brother was not the only thing that Gwyn had found in Seraphim's mind, she had also discovered Davian's face, hidden in her memories and encircled with a deep set hatred.

Gwyn wanted to linger on this for a moment, question it, but she knew that she didn't have time to be distracted now, not if she and Brynn wanted to get out of this horrid place and see their friends again. Immediately Avian's face popped into her mind, something inside her stirred, she felt a sort of warmth spread from her chest down to her finger tips. Something inside of her yearned to be close to him again, it felt like she couldn't breathe without him next to her; the thought of seeing him gave her a new sort of determination. She reached out slow, sure to be quiet, her arm extending and her fingers grasping at the hilt of the small sword by the black hawthorn throne that shinned maliciously in the dim light.

"What is this?" without warning it felt like a boulder had smashed itself into the side of Gwyn's head. She was thrown far, the hilt of the knife slipping from beneath her fingertips and clattering to the floor as her feet left the ground. She landed, hard against a wall, and fell to the ground; stunned and bruised. Gwyn looked up, dazed, to see Seraphim walking towards her with a wide deranged smile on her face, her gate uneven and child like.

"Don't you want to be part of my coven, don't you want to be my sister?" she asked with a small laugh, cocking her head to the side curiously. Gwyn tried to raise herself up, her head throbbed violently but Gwyn pushed past it, she could see into the witch's mind now and she knew that she wasn't going to get out of this without a fight. There was a sudden familiar presence that Gwyn sensed close by.

"Avian..." she breathed in relief, he was close, and he was coming.

"What was that love?" Seraphim asked kneeling down so that she was face to face with Gwyn. She met Seraphim's mocking gaze with her own determined glare; she had to hang on until her friends got her, she had to give them more time.

"I said, no, I don't want anything to with your coven." She spit the words at Seraphim with as much contempt as she could. Her eyes widen first with shock and then with anger; she reached out her pale hand wrapping itself tightly around Gwyn's throat. She stood and held Gwyn up in the air with inhuman strength.

"Well that's not very nice." She said through clenched teeth and then threw Gwyn across the room once more, sending her crashing into the hawthorn throne. It toppled over with Gwyn's weight and she fell once again to the floor, landing even harder than before. She felt the air get knocked from her lungs and her head swam. She coughed and spurted trying to catch her breath again moving her hand to push up from beneath her body; she felt something cold prick at her fingers and her hand grasped tightly on the handle of the knife. A small wave of triumph traveled through her encouragingly; this was just what she needed, a chance to give them more time. She could hear Seraphim draw closer; she willed herself not to move, keeping herself still and face down in the ground; her grip tightening slowly on the knife beneath her. 'Hold,' she thought to herself, 'Hold.'