Power

Chapter 1

We seek only desires of wealth and fortune, when in each dark alley the wealthy and fortunate seek nothing more than nothing itself for it holds the key to innocence.

Looking in the mirror, my platinum-blonde, candle stick curled hair is pouring down my back like golden rapids. This is the most flawless I've ever been, and I'm ready to accept it. My lips are their full, crimson red selves, however, a shiny layer of gloss decorates each of their grooves protecting from the frigid darkness I'll be consumed by later tonight. My eyes are glimmered in the artificial light, showing their arctic blue spectrum, supported by full and long eyelashes. My teeth, fully straight and correct, are whiter than the snow that coats every part of the scenery outside my door. I'm short, however, proportioned with a perfectly matching waist. This was my perfection.

My night has been indefinable, for when I sense through all my nerves, I cannot help but be mesmerized by the advanced uniqueness my mind is registering. My sight is so capable compared to my previous, fallible illustration. Instead of my petite muscular frame limiting me, I'm able to push so many limits, thrive in all skills sets. My body has no barriers, I'm free and lively, without any fear or illness or pain. Incredible, my body feels nothing, like its life has been dismissed and all that's left is a reflection-less figure.

My thoughts boil back to the beginning.

Northern France, my home, is where this all began. An average seventeen year-old, the times for self assurance came and went. Living by myself on whatever I could find brought me face to face with the feeling of emptiness. My parents, abandoning me to live in America, hadn't been in my life for over thirteen years. At first, death surrounded me, illness plagued me and pain consumed me, however, I lingered through the times and learned the ins and outs of survival. Many children were in my position, it was survival of the fittest. Clans formed to benefit the ones in them by destruction of the weaker groups. Competition and tension grew between so many, yet the youngest still managed to come out, alone and self sufficient. I neglected again and again the 'privileges' to join the clans that offered me in generously. I certainly would have proved useful to them. Not only was I the smartest, but I was the smallest and youngest, which gained me wealths' gifts of pity and the element of stealth. In certain situations of need I would assist the less fortunate clans, but as soon as the task was completed I was gone.

Eventually, we got older and the assassinations became more brutally executed. Everyday became a struggle to be unseen, unheard and unnoticed. I managed to accumulate quite the record for myself through the years. People only heard of me and saw the after affects of my actions. From this I gained a price for my head and was forced to live on my feet. Even with my malicious background, inexperienced youth still came to me for help in exchange for a warm bed and a night's worth of shelter.

November of my seventeenth year brought the most bitter, dry cold I'd ever felt. I ran from three separate clans, all wanting me for my physical benefits and the police for my past crimes. Living on the streets, in the sewers, I became the oldest girl alive through what we refer to as clan struggle of rations. Others were beat to death, raped or left behind to die from starvation or cold due to their weaknesses.

The three following me that sent chills down my spine were the revolutionists, Les Fers, who thought I had to be purged from my solitary life for their destructive, murderous ways. Then, there was Les Pieds, who just wanted me for pure revenge. A long time back, they promised me a warm meal for exchange of my pledge to their clan, however, I knew what happened to every other girl that was drug along in that group, and starvation wasn't on my list of things I had to do. I took the meal and killed one of theirs' to escape on my own. I hadn't heard any news of them for over eight months, until about three years ago when I noticed their invasion of the southern part of Italy, where I had temporarily had an undisturbed place to stay. They had apparently been looking for me all over, and had expanded hugely. My last engagers were Les Guerriers. Known as the most judicial serial killers, they obsessed over the youngest generation of criminals yet killed regularly. Bounty hunters, they left no trail of evidence they were ever there, which increased the country's trust in their effectiveness. They began to become hired by anyone with a sufficient bid. Of course, I had made it on their list. Not only that, but my last encounter with them ended with eight innocent dead, four of their own, and a burned down city. That's what increased the polices' attention.