Eye of Israfel

Ariel

Mele is pronounced "Mel-ay"

~Rawiya

She came to consciousness in the tank, arms extended above her head like only the top half of her body was mimicking a sea star. Her ankles were kept together by metal bindings around them, chained together by only one link. Her arms mostly kept her afloat, but her head lolled forwards, her chin against her collarbones.

It lifted slowly through the gelatinous liquid, her blue eyes sliding open.

A boy stood in front of her tank. He was more of a young man, really, but that was not what caused her to strain against her neck chain and her collar, leading her to choke and gag at the pressure on her larynx.

His hair was the same color as hers. Never had one of those observing her-that she had seen, anyways-shared any trait with her. Her eyes were always bluer, her skin paler, her hair more silvery-white. Her hair was silvery-white, but his was odder, even though it was nearly the same colour.

Around the center of his crown, the roots were black, but the strands faded to white within a few centimeters. The hair on his left cheek had been braided into two braids starting around his jaw, and bound at the end with black fabric. An odd tribal-design tattoo began at his hairline, above his eye, and moved down his face like it had been rolled on. It crossed through his left eye and widened on his jawbone. It led down the side of his neck, went left where his neck met his torso and then burst into a sun shape on his shoulder.

Only part of the sun section of the tattoo peeked out from the neckline of his loose, v-necked shirt. The "v" of the shirt ended just above where his sternum ended, and hung loosely on his muscular frame.

His features were not handsome, but they were sharp and memorable and she very much doubted that she could ever mistake him for someone else, or someone else for him.

He placed one bronze-skinned hand against the tank, and she nearly opened her mouth. "Drain the tank," she heard him say. A whirlpool surrounded her, and all she could do was choke as the fluid-like material clogged her mouth and nose, and her collar, chained to the lid of the capsule, tightened around her neck as she was dropped onto her arms and neck. She flailed against the restraints.

"Adamak-" someone protested.

"Shut up," he said, rubbing the casing of the capsule idly. "I don't want to hear it. Drain the fucking tank." His eyes were focused on her, and she kept her wide, frightened eyes locked with his as she gagged. When the tank was empty, and she was dangling by her neck and her wrists, the young man called Adamak ordered them to unlock the restraints.

The chains on the links on her wrists and ankles unlocked first, and for half a second, she was dangling only by her neck before she was deposited on the bottom of the canister, choking and clutching her collared neck with scrabbling fingers.

The canister's exterior slid back out of sight, and the young man named Adamak crouched in front of her. The bronze-skin hand, the one that had pressed against the tank like he was trying to push through to touch her, brushed her skin and all she could do was stare at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He crouched in front of her, and reached for her neck. Following the urges of her body, she flinched away. He was familiar, and yet this body told her not to trust anyone. She stared warily, resisting the inner urge to press this body against his. In the end, he broke the staring stalemate, cupping her cheek with one hand and brushing his thumb over her lips, which parted under his touch, closing slightly around the tip of his finger.

"Welcome back, Israfel," he whispered. "Now, lets get you out of here, alright?" She collapsed into his arms, folding against him, sobbing into his chest. He slipped his hand under her knee and the other around her shoulders, shifting Israfel until she lay comfortably in his arms, eyes closed and chest rising and falling softly as she slept.

"Let's go," he said coldly to his companions, all traces of his warmth to Israfel-Mele-gone. The female in the group balled her fists, but hurriedly set to rushing the others along with fury on her face as Ariel carried the naked, white-haired girl carefully in his arms, shielded from the corpses, blood and death caused by his anger at Israfel's imprisonment.