Words Written Light

Samleana: Goody-good

Celaena

Sam sat beside Celaena on her bed, thumbing the text that coated her wrist. "Do you remember?"

Celaena wanted to smile, laugh it off half-heartedly and move on to the next thing but is was quick that she turned solemn and nodded. "Of course."

---

Arobynn had her standing outside the training ring watching the older boys fight when she saw him. Reluctant to take her eyes of the dancing men, she pulled her eyes to think He looks scared before watching Archer knock his opponent unconscious. Archer had looked down at her just then, giving her a quick wink before sauntering away to clean up his own injuries, not caring about the man Blondie had just instinctively run to help. Goody-good, she had thought then rolling her eyes and moving to follow Archer hopefully learning any further instruction on cleaning wounds.

She had been pushing through the door, accidentally shoulder checking Arobynn, who had likely been going in after the boy. She didn't apologize or turn back to show him with her eyes of the accident earning her but a slight noise of contempt from the leader. She walked a fine line with him, one she often paid for when it was her unconscious of the floor of the fighting ring.

It was after making it through that door when she stopped because she had lifted her arm to push a stray hair from her face when she saw it. "Wow, she sure is pretty."

Both touched and outraged, she assumed it was from Archer when he winked. She thought he was pretty, but on the other hand, all he thought of her was pretty. Had he not seen her in the fighting ring? Did she not impress him?

Annoyed she turned around, storming back into the previous room, determined to become a better fighter. Gain more skill with a dagger, defeat a full grown man, shoot 5o bullseyes in a row. Whatever it took but just outside the ring stood the boy. He once again looked afraid and she wondered if that was a theme with this boy cause if it was he wouldn't last long around here. Fear kills, even at that age she knew that. This time his eyes where wide in the direction of his wrist, her gaze following his own in only slight hopes that he was stabbed and would soon bleed to death. Instead, she saw familiar words, she could recollect them easily as she had thought them not five minutes before.

She looked down at her own arm, suddenly infuriated by everything. His thoughts, her thought, the fact that they were on each others wrists. It was less than a split second decision, as she didn't think about it only acted on what hateful emotions coursed through her child's heart. The dagger at her side was in her hand, then wasn't, and maybe half a moment later was buried in his arm. He cried out, but she was paying no mind to the sounds that came out him mouth as she was pinning him down slamming her fists against his soft, porcelain skin. It was too nice, too blank and clean, she hated it. She watched skin darken to purple and soft tear away to bloody and rough.

It was when Arobynn had grabbed her and pulled her away that she blinked realized what she had done, though not regretting a second of it. She loved the feeling that coursed through her now even when watching Sam's body slump onto the cold stone floor.

Even as he held her, he gave the boy a quick once over. "Sam?" He asked but after gaining no response he gave up on him and turned to her, expression now far from concerned. "What in bloody fucking hell, get in the fucking ring." He roared at her, and she did taking her anger out on whatever men entered to fight.

She won every fight until pitted against Wesley who took her down, though made the finishing blow as painless as possible, making sure she didn't slam too hard into the floor when she fell. She hated Sam, she wished he was conscious to see her win all those fights, to prove that she was so much more than just a pretty face. She was a ruthless assassin, not meant to be messed with.

---

Sam's thumb was still on her wrist, moving rhythmically in a comforting sort of way. "You were a bitch."

She chuckled. "You were a little baby, thinking about girls being pretty when they're deadlier than the weapons on your hip."

The boy leaned close, kissing her neck. "I got the girl, didn't I."

Her smile was warm as she nuzzled him close slowing leaning back onto the bed.

--- A few months later---

She was crying and she hated it, well she was crying before and she was sad and angry, wanting revenge but now it was amplified so much more.

It wasn't gone, or faded or even still scathfree, no it was so much worse than that.

It was scarred.

Everything, him, their life, it was nothing but a scar now. Just something that had happened in the past no different than whatever little scars and nicks covered her body. It was the same. It was so much worse.

It made her shoulders convulse uncontrolablly and her breathing to hitch and vision to blur.

It was that, that made her grab her weapons and go out to find those goddamn fuckers that stole her tattoo.