The Pen.

Chapter 2 - Words.

The walk back to the house was a little more than awkward, well it was for Emma's parents and sisters, Emma was rather happy with her weapon, confused but happy.

"How could this happen?" muttered her dad. "All our honour gone...my parents will be rolling in their grave"

"Its alright dad, at least we can keep the family honour going" piped up Katya, the elder twin.

"Yea, even if some of us cant" snipped Freya.

"I'm sure its a mistake or something, it'll get sorted out, I mean a pen is hardly a weapon" said her mother.

Emma was ignoring the lot of them as she trailed behind them. She continued to play with the pen in her hands, it felt smooth, elegant and had a bit of weight to it. As they drew closer to the house, her sisters were still making snide comments about the pen, her dad was inches away from having a mental breakdown and her mother was desperately reassuring her dad and herself that this was a mistake. 

Emma continued to ignore them and went to her bedroom where she opened a fresh notebook and scribbled a few words. It felt perfect. The black ink looked like no other, the paper felt blemish free when writing, her handwriting seemed neater, nicer, better than it had done before. She capped the pen again and looked in the mirror. She could still hear her parents loud protests about the choosing ceremony from downstairs and began to think that maybe she and her family should have seen her being different. There had always been an obvious difference between Emma and her siblings, they both resembled her father, with their platinum blonde hair, emerald eyes and broad shoulders. Emma wished she looked like her mother, dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and cheek bones so sharp you could cut yourself on them. None of those characteristics greeted Emma as she stared in the mirror, instead what she got was brown hair that couldn't make up its mind if it wanted to be straight or wavy, and like her hair her eyes didn't seem to know if they wanted to be grey or green. Emma wasn't particularly strong but was fast, it had been assumed by her father that she would be chosen by the throwing knives but here Emma was...with a pen. Emma was still wondering how it was that a pen could be classed as a weapon, she was trying to think about how a pen and her could interlink. The weapons pick the person based on their qualities, what they excel at, if they feel like they are worthy enough to wield their power. 

'What does the pen represent?' Emma thought to herself. 'What can you do with a pen?' A few moments passed and Emma looked back to her notebook, 'you write with a pen'. 

"Words" sighed Emma aloud.

"Cant think of the words to describe how you have disappointed the family?" suggested Freya as she sauntered into Emma's bedroom.

"Oh piss off will you" spat Emma.

"Angry" said Freya grinning. "Suppose I would be too if I got chosen by a pen".

"Is there a reason why you're here?"

Freya smirked and shrugged her shoulders.

"Well if thats all, I hope the door knocks you out on the way out".

Freya let out a cold laugh, "you'll need the door to do that for you, seeming as all you have is that thing".

Freya then left Emma alone with her thoughts. She started to think about what her grandfather told her when she was younger: "the important thing to remember with any weapon is how to use it effectively, little one. But there is one weapon that is far more important than anything that will appear on that table, your mind little one, the mind is the greatest weapon. Any weapon is dangerous as long as you have a dangerous enough mind".

Emma rolled the pen in her hand and said to herself, "words".