[COMPLETED. Wait for Book 2.]
Maggie Harts is a metahuman - more exactly, a telepath. She is more commonly known as Puppeteer, as she utilizes her abilities to take over people's brains and control their exact movements. She used them to gain advant...
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CHAPTER 01
Silent night....
Holy night....
All is calm....
All is bright....
The security couldn't mistake it. A soft voice sung the gentle melodies of the well-known Christmas carol, and the perpetrator seemed to cease from existence everytime they glanced. They still could hear the voice sing quietly, in hushed tones that even sometimes lowered to dense whispers, echo in their brains. Lulled, the guards unconsciously felt their fingers on the trigger loosen ever so slightly.
"It's the girl," one of the guards suddenly decided, and he harshly thumped his fist against a metal door, screwed shut. "Shut up in there!" he exclaimed in a demanding tone.
Beyond the door, was another room. White, dusty marble tiles covered the concrete beneath and the walls were caked in chipped white paint. Silver, rusted bars stood strong, blocking out Maggie Harts - the infamous puppeteer behind it. She stood slumped in front of the bars, her eyes held their trademark half-lidded state. She dragged her steps towards the 'bed' that was propped up merely by two chains, and sat down. Yet another failed attempt to utilize her telepathy.
She inclined against the wall. Her green eyes stared ahead, onto the concrete wall. They hadn't bothered to continue the paint into the cell - why should she enjoy her time in prison? Chalk dripped to the ground, a subtle trace left in its wake. It rained down from Maggie's time chart - she'd only spent approximately three weeks in here, after being transferred from a normal prison.
The guards were much smarter here, or the management had read her files well. Her telepathic abilities were useful to big extents, yes - but her main usage that granted her her title as 'The Puppeteer' were her abilities to manipulate the brain and control specified movements of her victim. However, this could not work if her victim wasn't blocked out by anything, such as walls. That was why her acts were usually executed in public.
She laid down on the bed. Her spine had adjusted to the literally stone-hard resting outlet. Nights upon nights spent sleepless passed by, and she couldn't seem to recall them. She wasn't insomniac: her mind and imaginations had obtained the ability to wander off, tricking herself into thinking that she was - in fact - asleep, when her eyes were pried wide open.
Tonight, the cycle was about to repeat itself.
She rolled to her side, and she faced the faded, gloomy concrete. Her mind wriggled and struggled, before it slipped away from reality.
