successors

angelique

t w o
[ crypta ]

THE FIRST THING that came to Angelique's mind when she saw Cas was: is this a man or a woman? Angelique was hotwired to have manners, and she needed to at least know what kind of authorization she would use to apologize with this person whom she just literally ran into.

But then again, in the midst of being kidnapped and attacked by three, scary-looking, unfamiliar men, you wouldn't really want to stop. "I'm sorry," she said quickly as she stood up and about, running ahead the person wearing all black—she didn't have enough time to take in the sais pressed upon their wrists or the color blue staining out of their eyes streaking her cheeks as if painted tears. She just needed to run away.

Apparently, being a Crypta was hard enough. Being a targeted Crypta wasn't actually any worse. She was the heiress, after all. She needed to be pampered and fed until she was ready to rebuild this empire her father built—letting his pride drown his daughter's comfort in her own household. And it's not even just that, she needed to be normal. To be innocuous. She needed to repress her abilities as a Crypta to be a Crypta. Which was actually bull—no, she can't cuss either. She trained herself to not be the image her father didn't like because apparently, she would either be verbally abused or physically abused. Which wasn't really something she loved. She hated it more than anything. Flowering bruises all over her ribs right after mistakes. Anything made her father freeze in the way she detested.

So in the evening where the party was being held at because of some reason his father has set up, she decided she needed to get this over with. Probably run away while her father was going on over the guests—attending to their needs, preferably a woman's. She had wore her favorite warm, white coat and some cream silk trousers with her brown leather boots. Well, she was still a big fan of her fashion, so why not escape with style? She didn't bother packing up bags or a decent plan after the escape. Why would she? Anything was better than this prison of a manor. Anything was better than a life lived by another.

And just when she was about to race out her door into the vast nothingness and everythingness of the world, three men greeted her.

"Hello, little heiress. Hope you're ready to die." One of them said, with golden eyes, even with black-brimmed glasses framing them, blaring with flames—the kind that made her skin crawl and her lips twitch. Use your ability. Her mind chided. Skewer then. But when she tried reaching over that part of her inside, she didn't have anything to grasp onto. She just stood there for a few good seconds. Mouth agape, eyes wide.

"Kris, you're scaring her." The other one said, his skin was beautifully tanned as his eyes contrasted the color with a shining ocean blue. He seemed like some guy who fancied going on walks beside shores—or someone who sailed. He looked very attractive. But this wasn't the time to fall in love. She barely registered the third guy's features—all she saw was a blur of pale skin, blond hair and dark eyes before she ran. She sprinted out the way of the three, making sure to survive.

Before she knew it, exhaustion gripped through her—but she kept running. She was determined to get out of this household. She didn't care if her father was out there beaten or bleeding, or if the guests are in a jumble of fear and panic—she needed to get out of there.

And she was, even when she literally ran into someone, she continued running.

Then being stopped again. By the same goddamned person. She looked back as her movements were frozen and tendrils of dark sparkling dust was clasping her wrists and feet—and not even in a kind of way where vines get you tangled up, but the kind where you are intertwined with a web, silky and sticky. The way you feel when you are entrapped in a whirlpool of darkness. All she saw was darkness after closing her eyes one time, she wasn't even aware at first that she couldn't see. A voice interrupted her thought as it all got jumbled up and about. Freeze. It said, but she didn't know whether it was encouraging her to will her power to life, or to stop, to cease.