The Soulsword

Rosalita

She took a step down from the back porch steps and onto the stoned pathway. She looked to her left, and saw the prettiest and most colorful flowers that she had ever seen. The flowers were ranged from tulips to roses, and daisies to sunflowers, as well as the therapeutic aroma that's purple, but not by name. She slid off her Elizabethan platforms, and carried her dress towards the bench – on the other side of the garden – so that the high quality fabric didn't get wrecked. When she got there, she saw a man who was roughly five feet and five inches tall.

“Hello, miss?”

“Hello!? Can I help you?”

The man was wearing black, for some odd reason. It wasn't for that funeral, all over the newspapers, just two days ago. Her eyes glistened against the rainbow of sunlight, as she noticed his skin so pale than it should be.

“Can I help you?” she repeated.

He looked behind him and surpassed her, just to grab her shoes and back again. “You may need these,” he said. “You'll never know whose been here before you.”

She attempted popped her shoes back on, standing up. “I am Rosalita Vontrape,” she said, pulling her finger, out of her shoe. She curtsied before him, as she was about to fall, trying to stand up right. “And I assure you that I'm highly respected.” Indeed, she was, the Vontrape's most manipulative but with high respects, and other things that will remain unknown. “And you must be...” She balanced herself, perfectly.

“Peter G. Tenor,” he said, bowing before her.

“And what does the 'G' stand for?”

She made him tick. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck, and kill her instantly. “It stands for Grigori.” He clinched both of his hands and narrowed his eyes. He made the oak tree collapse using his telekinetic ability. He squatted down to her level and began to chuckle.

“What just happened? And how?” she said, trying to pull her left foot out from under, more than ten pound of pure wood. “Would you just help me out?” She reached for his left hand, making her foot hurt even more.

“I can stop the pain,” he said, flashing his fangs. “Just tell me when to stop.” He pulled her out. He picked up the oak tree, and speeds off to find a hiding place for it.

In that moment, Rosalita's bones rubbed against her pale skin, crackling, hurting. She had a good reason to feel it. She placed herself on the bench, gracefully, keeping her mind away. Her thoughts paced through her mind, thinking about another life beyond her reach. Asking herself questions that she doesn't know answers to.

“Are you ready?”

Is she really ready for this? Is she really ready for another life? The life that could be a disappointment. Once she's already in, she could not get out. Rosalita gave it another thought. She took a deep breath, as she looks at him. She nodded.