"for the beauty of the rose, we also water the thorns."
Descendant of Loa lineage, Karliah Shango stems from masters of Haitian and the old Oyo Empire Vodou. After the nuclear wipe out, she finds herself thrown into leadership with little comprehe...
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It'd been days since the last interaction between Michael and Karliah. His days went by uneventful, every morning and night spent interviewing the relentlessly boring inhabitants of the outpost. Though, there was one who'd caught his eye.
Mallory.
He could sense it, the brewing power within the girl only begging to be set free. Of course, it was nothing in relation to Karliah's aura. While Mallory's was eye-catching, it was only a flicker of a flame compared to the Larenn's. It demanded your attention, and held powerful enough to swallow you whole.
Michael resented the thought of it, the sheer fact that he allowed the power he had at his disposal, to fall so quickly from his fingers. He considered what he could've made had he met her before all of this happened. Their power combined could've been unstoppable, untouchable by not only the witches, but by gods and devils alike.
Even so, it wasn't only her power he regretted losing, but the girl herself. He wanted nothing more than to have her at his side, but from the start, it was a lost cause. He was simply too power hungry, corrupt beyond repair, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't live the void of a life he so desperately wanted for the both of them.
It was nothing of a surprise when she finally pulled out of the deal. Not only was it his certainty that she wasn't capable of living a life so cold, but also the fact that he'd grown accustomed to those he cared about leaving just as fast as they came.
He wanted to hate her for it. He wanted to convince himself that the next time she appeared before him, he'd snap her neck with a flick of his wrist, and in turn create the so-called new world she was so convinced everyone was better off living in. But there was a nagging thought to the back of his mind, attempting to convince him otherwise.
With a ruffle of the bed sheets, he lied on his back, staring at the ceiling with a disgruntled huff. He'd attempted to at least get a few hours of rest before having to face the sorry excuse of the remainder of humanity outside his door, but to no avail. It was the same for the last few nights in a row, his hyperactive thoughts seemed to run laps in his brain, impossible to shut out even when he closed his eyes.
He began to focus on his breathing, inhaling to the count of seven and exhaling. It was something Constance had taught him years ago to help him get back to sleep after his night terrors. The technique itself was useful, but the thought of his late grandmother was anything to him if not pitiful.
After a few minutes, his head began to clear, and finally, he fell fast asleep, only to 'awake' minutes later.
He blinked, finding himself in an unfamiliar home. He stood at the end of a hall with polished, dark wood floors. The sudden voice of a boy met his ears, emitting from the opposite end of the hall where the door to a room sat wide open. Slowly, he followed the voice, peering into the room to find a boy and a girl, both unaware of his presence.
