"Am I dead?"
The woman-- My mother continues smiling, shakes her head, takes a assento on the couch. Rests those summer-rain irises on me, takes in my shock, confusion, the volume of perguntas written across my expression.
"My God," she breaths, "My little girl's all grown up."
"Mom.. I don't understand," I barely notice the tears slipping down my cheeks. "You died in that fire. You and Dad both.." A too-hopeful thought occurs to me and I find myself glancing around the room in procurar of the answer to the pergunta I ask next. "Is he here, too?"
I wonder if I imagine the sad shadow drawn from her smile por the question. Then again, I must be imagining all of this.
"No. Your father and Daemian have both moved on."
"Why haven't you?"
"Because, Aryess, I wanted to talk to you." My expression must betray the terror I feel. My brain reminding me none of this could possibly exist, my coração yearning me to get closer to my mother. She pats the cushion beside her, and my coração wins. I'm sitting beside her before I realize it. Her hand brushes away the stream of loss sliding down my cheeks. The contact of her skin against mine as she brushes away the tears feels so real and I want so much for it to be.
"I know about Declan. I know about Riley. I know you were an assassin, that you were killed por them. Because they wanted me," I turn my head, breaking the contact before it breaks me. "What's there to talk about, Mom?"
"Everything, sweetheart You are so young, you can't understand all of this yet. And I wouldn't want you to."
"Why? I know it's not your fault you had to leave, but I need your help!" I'm suddenly frustrated, angry. My life has become a mystery and no matter how hard I procurar for clues, all I find is riddles. "Nothing makes sense anymore!" I feel vulnerable, like my mother has cracked my coração open and thoughts, feelings, pain flows with my blood. "I don't want to keep screwing everything up." I let my head fall, shoulder slump, surrender myself and remember this is what having a mother is like. Someone who could catch you as you fell and teach you how to fly all over again. How did I forget this feeling in a short 8 years?
"I can't fix everything for you," she says in a mournful tone. "I'm so sorry I can't be there for you forever. I wish I could go back with you, but I can't do that. But you're strong. And you can overcome the difficulties that face you."
I feel like a helpless eight-year-old as I say, "But I can't. It's to much, there's so much. Mom, please. Please come back. Help me."
"I can't do that," she repeats, stroking my hair gently with those warm, too-real fingers. "But there are those who can. Those who you can trust. Isn't there someone you love, Aryess? Someone you want to be with forever?"
An image of dark hair, handsome, well defined features, and steely grey eyes, God, those eyes, flashes through my mind. I feel the heat crawl up my neck and spread across my cheeks. My mother's smile reappears at the blush.
"See?"
"But what if I'm only putting him in danger?"
"If he's the one for you, you'll be able to keep him safe. You'll protect each other."
I meet her eyes, the crystal-blue eyes belonging to my brothers, my nephew, the mother that I will forever miss. I don't want to let this feeling of being so close to her, of being so secure, safe, to ever fade away. But I can't find my foothold as the world falls out beneath me and the darkness takes over once again.
The woman-- My mother continues smiling, shakes her head, takes a assento on the couch. Rests those summer-rain irises on me, takes in my shock, confusion, the volume of perguntas written across my expression.
"My God," she breaths, "My little girl's all grown up."
"Mom.. I don't understand," I barely notice the tears slipping down my cheeks. "You died in that fire. You and Dad both.." A too-hopeful thought occurs to me and I find myself glancing around the room in procurar of the answer to the pergunta I ask next. "Is he here, too?"
I wonder if I imagine the sad shadow drawn from her smile por the question. Then again, I must be imagining all of this.
"No. Your father and Daemian have both moved on."
"Why haven't you?"
"Because, Aryess, I wanted to talk to you." My expression must betray the terror I feel. My brain reminding me none of this could possibly exist, my coração yearning me to get closer to my mother. She pats the cushion beside her, and my coração wins. I'm sitting beside her before I realize it. Her hand brushes away the stream of loss sliding down my cheeks. The contact of her skin against mine as she brushes away the tears feels so real and I want so much for it to be.
"I know about Declan. I know about Riley. I know you were an assassin, that you were killed por them. Because they wanted me," I turn my head, breaking the contact before it breaks me. "What's there to talk about, Mom?"
"Everything, sweetheart You are so young, you can't understand all of this yet. And I wouldn't want you to."
"Why? I know it's not your fault you had to leave, but I need your help!" I'm suddenly frustrated, angry. My life has become a mystery and no matter how hard I procurar for clues, all I find is riddles. "Nothing makes sense anymore!" I feel vulnerable, like my mother has cracked my coração open and thoughts, feelings, pain flows with my blood. "I don't want to keep screwing everything up." I let my head fall, shoulder slump, surrender myself and remember this is what having a mother is like. Someone who could catch you as you fell and teach you how to fly all over again. How did I forget this feeling in a short 8 years?
"I can't fix everything for you," she says in a mournful tone. "I'm so sorry I can't be there for you forever. I wish I could go back with you, but I can't do that. But you're strong. And you can overcome the difficulties that face you."
I feel like a helpless eight-year-old as I say, "But I can't. It's to much, there's so much. Mom, please. Please come back. Help me."
"I can't do that," she repeats, stroking my hair gently with those warm, too-real fingers. "But there are those who can. Those who you can trust. Isn't there someone you love, Aryess? Someone you want to be with forever?"
An image of dark hair, handsome, well defined features, and steely grey eyes, God, those eyes, flashes through my mind. I feel the heat crawl up my neck and spread across my cheeks. My mother's smile reappears at the blush.
"See?"
"But what if I'm only putting him in danger?"
"If he's the one for you, you'll be able to keep him safe. You'll protect each other."
I meet her eyes, the crystal-blue eyes belonging to my brothers, my nephew, the mother that I will forever miss. I don't want to let this feeling of being so close to her, of being so secure, safe, to ever fade away. But I can't find my foothold as the world falls out beneath me and the darkness takes over once again.
Name: Blake Douglas
Alias: Kid Devil
Age: 16
Occupation: Villain
Powers: Blood bending, acrobatics, hand-to-hand combat
Past:Blake was introduced to crime at the age of 4, when his parents gave into robbing for money. At age 7 Blake joined Riddler in his fight against Batman, at age 9 Blade watched and helped his new teammate Jessica, train. Now, at age 16, Blake hopes for the dia that Jess returns to villainous side of humanity.
Other: Riddlers first apprentice
-Keeps a faca in his boot
-Dated Jess before she left.
-DON'T ask him about his Alias...it's a bad idea.
This is a small announcement, I only post this artigo beceas the new fanpop system is so broken Thad I can't even poste any mural posts or imagens anymore. so to the announcement.
I knowe I have not been on here muce lately but I wil be o mais often.
and il stat whit a series of story's about Tyrion Blackwell ( the undeath king) both in his time and the modern ages, beceas I have inspiration to write about medieval stuff.
So im gald to be bak.
Godmor, a.k.a. Twan a.k.a gunfire ( and al my other oc's)
I knowe I have not been on here muce lately but I wil be o mais often.
and il stat whit a series of story's about Tyrion Blackwell ( the undeath king) both in his time and the modern ages, beceas I have inspiration to write about medieval stuff.
So im gald to be bak.
Godmor, a.k.a. Twan a.k.a gunfire ( and al my other oc's)