Young Writers Society

A rich, red droplet of blood hit the ground, echoing throughout the room as more droplets followed, sliding slowly from the sterling silver blade that rested in her hand. Her back was pressed against the wall, a heavy weight pressed against her body. Heavy exhales escaped from the figure against her, their breath hitting my shoulder. No sound other than breathing and the blood hitting the floor lingered in the room the two of them stood in. No movement other than their chests heaving.

The boy against her collapsed to the side as the knife she held slid from the now open wound in his stomach. His muscles jerked as he hit the floor, blood beginning to pour from his mouth and his eyes rolled back--the whites of his eyes were bloodshot from the aftermath of drinking too much bourbon. The boy began to gasp for air, grasping his throat as his lips turned blue; the red liquid that oozed from his mouth choking him as he breathed in. He spat the blood from his mouth, it pasting all over his face and the off-white wall that he faced. His teeth were stained by the copper-tasting liquid and eventually, his body stopped moving, his eyes slowly closed, and his tense muscles relaxed. She stared at the boy, shivering at what felt like electricity through her veins. He was no boy, but he was foolish like one. He was a man, one full of hatred and sorrow. One that would steal hearts whilst drunk just to leave a woman stuck in the depth of pregnancy nine months later with a child that was fatherless.

"You've done well, mistress," a voice echoed through the room. She whirled around to meet nothing but the darkness that consumed the room.

Though no reply slipped her lips, the familiar vocals filled her head. "Abaddon, dear," the male slurred, chuckling slightly after. Abaddon stepped forward, walking farther from the body that rest against the floor by the wall. His body would be left to rot, mending with the floor as the rats would soon feast on his body. She felt the broken glass underneath her feet, crunching as she walked. Her muscles were stiff, back straight, and eyes focused on the doorway in front of her. The screaming of the young man still lingered in her head as she walked farther away, but she managed to muffle it with her enlightening friend who called for her attention.

"Abaddon," another slur of her name escaped the creature's lips. "Take this one as victory."

A low chuckle sounded within her throat, "A victory, you say? Isn't that sweet." Her tone was full of sarcasm, a low grumble escaping her lips after speaking. Her throat stung as the sound of words slipped by her lips and she cleared her throat, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, yes, a victory."

Abaddon nodded, "Surely it isn't much. It's only another person you're hungrily eager for. It's no victory when I take the life of an ignorant prick and leave his soul for you, just so you can consume something that's already stone cold and dark," she muttered. A sigh sounded from behind her and then it went silent. She glanced over her shoulder at the man's body one last time, the screaming entirely faded. She smirked to herself as she watched the dark figure emerge from the corner of the room, moving toward the body hungrily. She turned toward the doorway, continuing to walk through the abandoned building. "A victory to feast upon."

-

Abaddon rounded the corner slowly, glancing around before exiting the building for a clear shot of a path that would lead her toward her house. She sighed heavily, relieved that her deed for demon that haunted her soul was done. He was satisfied with her and she would be able to rest. She examined the trees around her, running her fingers along the bark as she passed by them, chipping at some pieces to fumble with. She dodged many fallen branches and bushes that were lined with thorns.

As she neared a field, she crouched low to examine the deer that grazed on the green grass that covered the field. A baby deer pranced alongside it's mother, it's long, slim legs still wobbly as it walked. Abaddon smiled to her slightly, examining the deer carefully. The buck of the herd glanced over to the girl, bowing its head slightly to get a better look. He trotted toward the herd, away from the girl.

Abaddon slowly got up, twirling around and began walking toward the forest again, running her fingers against the bark once again, listening to the wind whistle against the leaves. "Oh, my dear, Lucien," she whispered. The warmth of the air became cold, and the sound of footsteps sounded.

"Yes, madam," he whispered back. By the tone of his voice, the creature was smiling. "You called?"

The young women chuckled, stopping in her tracks. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Another slur escaped the lips of the young man who followed Abaddon, "Of course not! How silly of you to think so, my dear."

"Do you believe in love?" Abaddon grinned slightly.

"I do, indeed." He slurred.

Abaddon stopped, turning against her heels to face him, but the figure stayed lurking within the depths of the darkness. "Lucien, surely you are lying." The creature emerged from the shadows, his figure tall. He covered himself with all black clothing, disowning the ways of showing yourself. He wore a black sweatshirt with a pair of worn-out dark grey well-fitted jeans.

Lucien let out a chuckle, his features masked by darkness. "I love you, don't I?"

Abaddon raised an eyebrow at the young fellow, "You do not love me, Lucien." He stepped toward her, his gloved hands reaching for her shoulders. Shivers ran down her spine as the cold transferred to her skin through the gloves. She glanced up, finally able to recognize the creature she knew. Lucien stared into her eyes, searching for something. Anything.

"Do not say I don't love you." He whispered, sliding one of his hands to the side of her face. Abaddon leaned against his touch slightly, her breathing catching for a short moment.

She glanced to the man's lips, then back to his eyes, resisting the urge that welled in her stomach. She gulped and nodded, "I apologize."

Lucien let out a small chuckle, his dark eyes scanning over the girl that stood before him, pulling her close into a tight embrace. "Do not apologize."

Abaddon rest her head against his chest, listening to his heart. Two beats, four beats, six beats. She wrapped her arms around the man's waist, closing any gap they had between them. No words were said, no movement was made. They held each other for a long moment: listening to the birds sing and the wind whistle. As for Abaddon, she listened to Lucien's heartbeat underneath London's sky.