The Soulsword

Cornesse, Volterra

Rosalita's eyes didn't stay brown longer than she'd hoped for. She can feel her breath skipping like a few bars from a rushed symphony. She looked up towards the dark clouds in the pitched dark night, speculative about the accounts on why the people of Abareria, Volterra wants to slice her into tiny little divided pieces. For the most part, they will take every piece of her into the closest burial ground that they could find. She removed her dark stilettos without a sound, cautiously vanishing off into another town.

The town was enclosed by the fairest buildings. The people are more often generous, than the people of Abareria when she departed for her own conditions. She glanced at an ancient hut, possibly dating back as far as her humble beginnings.

“Hello?!” she said, straying herself further into the place.

She looked around her, still trying to figure out what the place was called. She fielded into the town library. She spotted a man and a woman in the corner of her eye. She moved towards them, giving her time for a few questions. “Pardon me? But what is this place called?” she asked.

“It's called Vendoria, maybe it's Sylenia,” the man said.

“Don't be radical,” said the woman, “It's called Cornesse.”

She stood there, motionless. “Cornesse?” she said, pronouncing it wrong.

“Rosalita. It's Cornesse,” the man corrected her.

“How did you know my name?”

“In nineteen thirty-eight, a woman as pale as you, changed me. She turned me into the demon that she is or was,” he clarified. “She mentioned very little about you, Rosalita.”

“For a man who knows too much, you know very little,” the woman said to the man. She turned her head and faced Rosalita. “I'm Beatrice Petrova,” Beatrice pointed at the man, next to her picketed fence made out of books. “And this is Daniel Seville.” She placed her left hand, over her right cheek with her little finger facing Rosalita. “He's an insult to the supernaturals in this city-state.”

Rosalita looked away. She wanted to throw knives, or maybe even take their souls and burn them in hell. One of you will die soon enough, she thought, even if I have to do it myself.

She pulled a slight smile on her face, as her mind fill with various murder techniques. Her facial expression was blank, watching the odd duo vanish before her. She glanced at the oak-born table. There was a crumbled up, slightly damaged, piece of paper. On it was the words 'do you really want to do that? -S' written in squid ink.

* * * * *

Rosalita's mind scattered everywhere, becoming pure and different. She filled her frozen heart with the ideas of a massacre, feeling empty and weak like a Shakespearean tragedy, as she soared across Cornesse's odd neighborhoods. She landed swiftly on the outskirts of Hollow's Creek, just outside of Pinefield. She brushed her long jet-black hair, figuring out an excuse. I had an illness, she thought, swinging the gates wide open. Her dark brown eyes glistened like twinkling Christmas lights, newly hung up in time for the twenty-fifth. She wondered amongst the misty atmosphere, not wanting to race throughout the forest. She felt some flowers blossomed beneath her feet, as she headed towards the hall of mirrors.

“Good morning,” a pixie squeaked.

“I'm not in the mood for a fun-fest, or whatever it is that you Cornessians do.”

“Your such a happy, ball of... Sunshine,” the pixie said, sarcastically, turning herself five feet taller than the normal four and a half inches. “My name is Mathilda Dawson. Hilda for short.”

Rosalita pondered.

“You must be Rosalie, or something like that. I'm not really good with names, or getting a date for the Ostgate Ball,” Mathilda said, still acting like she's high on candyfloss. “It's for werewolves.”

“Must be why you can't get a date to it,” Rosalita said, catching a glimpse of Mathilda's oh-face.

“Can't get a date to what?” Mathilda said, confused.

“The Ostgate Seasonal Ball,” Rosalita said, pausing for a short while. “The Fall Season is scheduled for werewolves.”

“I know, right,” Mathilda protested, unlike any other pixie would say. “Those Tenor people, clan or whatever... They think they're so-”

“So powerful, that nothing can stop them.”

Rosalita smirked, after she heard Mathilda say, “Exactly.” She blinked, for one second, hoping that Mathilda would leave her alone. “So... How do you know so much about the Tenors and Ostgate? I mean, they should get dethroned and all.”

“I don't know everything about them, just the ones who left me in the cold,” Rosalita's tone started to change. Her eyes were turning into a cherry-red color. Her finger nails grew like a jaguar sinking its claws into its prey, but she held hers up trying to scare off Mathilda.

“That doesn't scare me. You know.”

“I wasn't going to scare you.” Rosalita scratched the door then kicked it open.

Mathilda flickered her eyelashes, to the sight of a broken down door.