Firearms

The Real Angel of Death

Chapter Two

Juliette

“Would you please stop fidgeting?” 

Juliette froze into statue like stillness as yet another sharp prick of a needle was delivered to her side. She’d long since decided that these where no longer simple ‘slips’ of the brunette’s fingers. Mischa was purposely stabbing the sensitive skin to prove a point. It’s what her mentor did best: prove her point with actions rather than words.

She couldn’t help but be slightly miffed by the older’s actions. No one- and she’s quote that again if she had to- could remain perfectly still for three hours. Even with all her training to remain as still and silent the dead, the human instinct was to shift one’s weight every few moments. Humans weren’t built to be stone, movement was an unbreakable habit. 

“There.”

Releasing the breath she hadn’t released she’d been holding, Juliette turned to face the surly brunette for the first time in hours. Mischa’s usually stoic face was shinning with pride as her stormy blue eyes rolled over her, and she had better been. Juliette would’ve had half the mind to walk out of her mentor’s room had she been unhappy with her work. There was no way, short of dragging her to hell, she’d endure even another two minutes of this form of torture.

“I think you look rather...,” Mischa trailed off with a thoughtful pinch of her face as she searched for the right words. 

Juliette rose an eyebrow. “Boorish... Awkward.... Fake?”

Mischa scowled in response. “No, I was thinking more of stunning, but you do have a point. This is not you.”

“Of course not,” Juliette muttered crossly.

Mischa either didn’t hear her or choose to ignore it as she stepped forward for a closer look. “Though it would be better if you did this.”

Using her index and thumb on each hand, Mischa tugged Juliette’s lips upwards into a smile. It only succeeded in making her scowl the moment Mischa dropped her hands and stepped back once more.

“Be that way now, Jules, but come time for the festivities I had better see a smile on that face or else so help me I will pin one on myself,” Mischa threatened darkly.

She didn’t have to repeat herself twice for Juliette to understand she’d go through with it. Empty threats weren’t something Mischa, or pretty much any of the Capulets, prided themselves in. When something was said it was often meant, which implied that most threats of violence were taken quite seriously. Though so far no one had managed to kill anyone of their own house yet. On somedays it was a miracle that streak still stood.

“Why don’t you have a look?” Mischa suggested with a firm push towards the full length mirror by the door. “We’re due down in the ballroom within the next five minutes, but I want you to have a look at yourself first.”

Juliette narrowly avoided an eye roll as she stepped in front of the reflective surface, reluctantly looking up to examine her reflection. Mischa had been right about one thing:

She certainly did not look like her usual self. 

Juliette smiled faintly at the sight of it, angling herself left and then right to get a look from each angle. Mischa had done well with playing up her costume to suit her tattoo. A damned angel, clothed in the black silk of a traitor and stripped of her eternal wings. She had to admit it was rather poetic of her to do so.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Juliette caught herself mumbling.

Mischa beamed at this, proud of her work, but said nothing on the subject as she shoved a hard object into Juliette’s hands and promptly pushed her out the door. “Put your mask on. It’s time to make an entrance.”