Smoke and Mirrors : Royal Angels I

Challenge accepted

~Victoria~

I wasn't good at being a damsel in distress.

It took a little more than creepy clowns or real life monsters or being on the brink of death to scare the crap out of me.

Seeing my dead mother pinned to the ceiling came awfully close though.

Her eyes were open in what I could only describe as inhuman curiosity. Her skin was translucent, her dark red hair, so like mine, floating in the air like she was underwater.

She looked just she always had : the intimidatingly intelligent, amazing woman who was the only ray of sunshine I'd had growing up.

I had tears in my eyes and I didn't know what I wanted to do.

Because as much as I was up for a super emotional family reunion, there was just one problem with this situation.

Nothing could bring back the dead.

With all their fancy parlour tricks, there was one kind of magic the Immortals could never do.

She opened her mouth and spoke, only there were no words.

Just a shriek so high pitched, the windows shattered. I shielded myself, pulling up my tattered blanket, gripping Biscuit's blade harder.

"You're not real." I whispered, as she reached out. Her expression was so sad, it tugged at my heart.

You can't be real.

I closed my eyes, throwing the blade upward. There was a brilliant flash of light when I opened them again.

She was gone.

Biscuit jumped through the window at exactly that moment, giving me my second heart attack for the evening.

"What happened?" He looked around, alert. "Are you alright?"

"I was." I muttered, swallowing. "Have you heard of a door, Biscuit? I totally dig the whole burglar thing you got going, but you should try that next time."

He joined me on the bed, looking at me intently. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yes."

I took a deep breath, but I let him wrap his hand around my waist.

I wasn't entirely lying. There was a time when I'd been used to this. My mom had died when I was eight in a car accident.

Over the next two years, this had been a daily affair.

Even as a kid, I'd understood that this wasn't normal. I'd get scared and throw something at her, but she'd always come back the next day.

Yeah, between the chitchats with my mother's ghost and my father teaching me to be a professional killer, my childhood was totally average.

"Will you tell me what happened?" He asked, eyeing his blade on the ceiling. "Because you sure as hell didn't throw that up there for kicks and giggles."

"Eventually." I said, serious. "I may or may not choose to tell you based on your behaviour."

He looked at me incredulously.