Green Apples and Glasses of Water

Chapter Seven

Batten down the hatches, cast your protective spells, grab a slice of cheesecake and... read this!!! I hope you're liking the '???????' input ;) all will become clear... if you continue reading!!!  

hehehe... chapter seven for you beautiful potatoes. Enjoy!!! :D

???????

What a shame; she’s broken the barriers, welcoming me in. So, a change of plan is in order- I will not be waltzing on in there and taking her life from her. She will wait because I play by my rules, not hers.

I hope she enjoys the wait.

Kæta

He’s the lowest form of life there is and he’s going to GET IT! I’ve been working a new charm, weaving old and new into the spell. To hell with it, I realised; he didn’t just swan on in here and do it- no, he’s dragging it out. Before, it was fair; now? No need. He’s going to meet with the other side of me, and she has hell to play. I have nothing to lose, not really. I could die tomorrow and no one would know; he’s probably part of the revolution, so people will miss him. Actually, that’s part of the spell. The second I die, he’ll realise who I was. He can torture me for as long as he likes but in the long run it’s him who suffers.

Yes, it’s cold. It’s exactly what I dread, being left without my other half but I will not be toyed with. If he comes before I finish the spell then I’m fair game. After that I’m enchanted and it’ll hurt like hell.

On a brighter note, the sun is shining on Atherton moor today; I can see people strolling along the heather lined footpath a few miles down the gentle slope and the small town in the valley is bathed in a pale golden glow. The clouds are few and far between and even those are just thin wispy streaks of white on the intense blue of the sky, illuminating the dust bunnies in my study as they whirl and dance through the air. For once the temperature is into the late teens and the pheasants, quails and grouse have ventured out of the dense flowered undergrowth to pick at the food I sprinkled out on the ground for them as the sun rose; I like to feed them because I know that they don’t get very much at this time of year, before the heathers go to seed.

I don’t like to think about when I can’t feed them anymore.

There’re chicks just nearby, actually. They’re really early so I’ve been feeding the mother quail so that she can keep them alive. If I go near she comes out and pecks around, clucking for some food to be thrown down for her; she’s still a bit dubious of coming too close, but she’s starting to trust that I’m a friend rather than a predator.

I wonder if her kids will live when I’m gone. I hope so, because I’d like to think I’d helped something before I get tortured and killed, in turn leaving someone alone here forever.  A small part of me is celebrating the fact I’ll see my family and leave that psycho behind; the other half is crying out to live and help the stranger who’s after my head, because I’m a sucker for a broken cause. I know he’ll kill me in the end but I’ll just keep clinging onto a false dream, hoping for the best in things. I’m such an idiot.