Cloudy With a Chance of Murder (Vital)

[Élodie Caroline St. Cyr]

November 7th, 4:00 PM

Élodie was cold. Cold as tits. Cold as Mrs. Santa Claus's saggy old tits. She should have worn another layer--- or ten. Why did it always have to be so damn cold up here? Oh, right, because she was in butt-fuck nowhere Trinity-cold-as-tits, Washington. Hell, before she came here, Élodie hadn't even known that Washington state was a whole separate place from the 'Washington' where the president of the United States lived. When they said she was going to Washington she thought she'd just be going to that place near West Virginia. Élodie had been to West Virginia and Washington D.C. before with her seventh grade class when she was living with a foster family in Shenandoah.

Those people were rich as Croesus. The family lived in a big white house and drove their kids to school in a tiny white tin-can of a car that was hand built, honest to god, in Europe. Europe! And they wondered why all of the American car companies were going out of business? It made Élodie physically sick to live in such excess. And, do you know what their last name was? White. Honest to god, their last name was White!

Élodie had always felt like a stain on some clear white canvas, or some dirt that was tracked in on somebody's clean white carpet, when she was living with the White family. Oh, they were nice enough. They really did try. Sure, they were as pale as an Eskimo's ass cheeks, but they were not bad people. Just... a little misguided.

You see, they already two little boys of their own--- Atticus and Finn--- by in-vitro fertilization, but Mrs. White couldn't have any more kids. They already had all of the money and influence a person could ask for, but they still felt like something was missing in their lives. So, the poor things, being too dumb and rich to wipe their own asses, came to the conclusion that what they were missing was a little girl. It got to where Mrs. White, bless her stupid little blonde head, became obsessed with the idea and just about drove Mr. White crazy with her demands. She even threatened to leave him if something didn't change soon, and they didn't adopt a little girl for their own to raise and dress up and cart around. So, Mr. White, thinking on his feet, suggested a compromise--- foster parenting. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

And, that was how Élodie came to live with the Whites. She hated it from the moment she stepped foot in that too clean to be natural place. They had maids cleaning for them who practically followed you around, stooping at your feet to see if your shoe left a smudge of dirt on the carpet somewhere. It was ridiculous. It was a waste of human life. There were kids in the world who were starving, and people chose to waste their money like this? It made Élodie sick. But, Atticus and Finn weren't terrible to her like some of the other foster 'siblings' were, and at least they had been living in Louisiana still.

The younger White boy, Finn was in Élodie's grade and went to a private school. Élodie felt like she'd been dropped into some Nazi wet-dream when she walked into school. There was not a single person with brown hair in her class. Even the janitor was white. People stared at Élodie like she was some sort of circus freak. Finn hadn't bothered introducing her to his friends, but hadn't picked on her either. She got into a fight on the first day but nobody dared to tattle when they saw what sort of fight she had in her. She might have even enjoyed herself once she got used to the stares since people mostly left her alone after that. That was the school where she got to go on the weekend-long field trip to the nation's capital. She was bored the whole time they were in Washington D.C. itself, but the bus ride had felt like something of an adventure, especially in West Virginia.

The White family treated her like a particularly intelligent pet for the most part, grooming her and giving her small commands to help train her up into something useful. She never had to make the table or clean her own room, but she did have to eat all slow and dainty at the table like the damn queen of England and she was always fetching some book or another for one of the White parents. Eventually, it wore her down to the point where she was going to explode.

The last thing that put her over the edge was when she had to wear dress clothes to a bonfire. A bonfire! Élodie had never seen anything more ridiculous than that. There they were, on the beach, sweating in their clothes by the picnic tables while the younger children got to run around in swimming suits and play in the water and Élodie was in charge of showing people where the plates and utensils were, when everything was right there in the open! If they weren't too lazy to open their eyes for a second they wouldn't need anyone telling them where the god damn utensils were. That was where she got the idea for her final escape, right there, glaring into the bonfire.

That night, she waited until Mrs. White had finished her last glass of bourbon and gone to bed. Then, Élodie doused the clean custom living room set in gasoline, and lit it up. Seeing those framed 'original prints' of black and white photographs on the walls get burnt into little floating ashes was about as close to heaven as she'd ever been. Nobody died, but a maid did burn her hand pretty badly trying to go back in for Mrs. White's grandmother's pearls. Nobody would have known that Élodie did it if she hadn't admitted her guilt right out. Oh, but it felt good. They took her away to juvenile detention for a while but nobody was going to press charges. Mandatory meetings with a case worker and a good old trip to loonyville had been her penance for that.

It had rained in the Summer when Élodie was in Louisiana. Sometimes it rained when the sun was still out, and they said that the devil was beating his wife. But, it had never once, not even in hurricane season, rained in Louisiana like it did here in Washington. The rain in Louisiana came as a part of some storm or season. In Washington, every season was rainy season. It got into your bones. Élodie hadn't ever been so cold for so long in her life. Hell, it had rained like god himself was taking a piss in Trinity.

It made her feel lonelier than she could put into words when it rained like this. She was loneliest, it seemed, when she was in a crowd. As funny as it sounded, she actually felt less lonely when she was out here on her own, away from all of the little groups of people who were together, who were friends or enemies, who knew each other somehow. Every person had someone else to talk to at school except for Élodie, it seemed. If she was in the woods she could pretend that she was the only person in the world, and that her loneliness was not the result of her own failings but because of the lack of opportunities for socialization. Sometimes, she'd even talk to the trees, pretending that there was someone standing there inside of them. That maybe she was talking to her sister, or even her real father.

Élodie could hardly remember her Daddy sometimes, and on other days he felt so close it was like he was standing right beside her, separated by nothing more than a sheet of paper. Sometimes she wondered how much he loved her when he died. What would he say if he saw her now? Would he be horrified at the things she'd done? No, in all likelihood he'd just be sorry that he couldn't protect his little Ellie-baby from the pain and horrors she'd seen in the world.

It was getting dark already, thanks to the clouds in the sky. She was already shivering. It looked like another storm was coming in. She'd probably get pneumonia out here. But, she needed to breathe. She felt vulnerable, and that was something she could not tolerate. Hurt was fine, because hurt was just what came before she started hurting someone else. Pain had little effect on her after years of hardening herself to it. Anger was her natural state. She could work with anger, even if it brought destruction down upon her and anyone else who got near her. She could deal with a lot of things, but feeling like a lost little girl was not one she could handle.

She missed her sister. Aimee would be at home now, with her new family. It was 6:00 PM in Louisiana. Maybe she'd be eating dinner at a table, or doing her homework at a desk. Her very own desk. A clean desk with lots of pens and sharp pencils in the drawers and all of the notebook paper and sticky notes she could dream of having. Élodie felt like crying, but she couldn't. Even if she wanted them to, the tears would not come.

"Damn it all to hell." She muttered, kicking the bark off of an innocent tree and scrabbling at her arms for warmth. "Fuck Trinity. Fuck these god-damn electric-car fags. Fuck school. Fuck St. Hell. Fuck it all..." She continued listing off the things she hated. It was almost calming, just listing them off and wishing pain and suffering and ruin on them all. It was almost as good as throwing a punch or starting a fire sometimes.

Maybe it was a good thing that she hadn't made any friends at school. This way no one would miss her and they wouldn't come looking for her when she didn't come back before curfew. She'd stayed out until midnight a few times now, and no one was any the wiser. Hell, she could have probably left town completely and no one would notice until they called the roll in class or she missed one of her damn therapy appointments. That'd scare them. They'd get all of the police force out looking for her, and they'd storm the school and shut down classes, and maybe if she never was found again they'd close the school and send all of those psychos home to their families who thought they'd been freed of their responsibility.

Hell, she had half a mind to just abduct and murder herself right then and there just to imagine the looks on their faces. Maybe she'd go find a nice old paedophile over by that night club. They seemed to get some strange characters. But, no. The idea of being touched by some filthy old man made the whole thing seem less appealing. She shivered and it was only half because of the cold.

Sinking back into her thoughts, she lost track of her surroundings and forgot the time.

[Vital Larkane Sage]

theres a thunder in our hearts baby

so much hate for the ones we love

WORDS: 0624 TAG: Élodie OUTFIT: HERE ONE LAST THING: OHAI. LET'S DO THIS.

"Come, little children, I'll take thee away..." Vital sang softly to himself as he wandered through the woods. It was cold, but the alcohol coursing through the overly feminine boy's system had him on the warm side. Typically, he was not a fan of drinking; but, he had felt like indulging that evening. Yony was out doing who knew what with who knew who, something that made Vital sneer. He was not jealous in the slightest. The only thing he did not like was the chances of the other teen catching something, condom or not. It made Vital very, very wary. He had never gotten anything and he did not plan on changing that any time soon. Vital took very good care of his body. His blond hair was in curls that day, simply because he had not wanted to bother with straightening it. Though as he walked, he almost wished he had, or at least pulled it back. Vital was not exactly sure why he was wandering through the woods. He had always been warned about the bad types that tended to lurk out there, but Vital feared no one. He had never seen anyone out there, anyway. Maybe that was what he was searching for, someone to try to take advantage of him and regret it or something. Anything was better than continuing to sit around the school, simply plotting. He wanted impulsive, he wanted violent. He wanted something that was far more satisfying than removing that stupid kid's eye. The stint in solitary afterward had been rather ridiculous, and it made Vital roll his eyes. He was not sure how long he had been wandering around when he stopped to listen to someone bitching about something. A slow smirk formed on the teen's face as he listened. Oh, now this girl seemed to have promise. He wondered if he could get her to run, not that it would do her much good. Vi spent enough time out in the woods to know different paths, so he had that advantage. He could just picture the girl's last moments and a shudder traveled along Vi's spine. Yes, this girl would do nicely to fill that itch he felt. "Such a pretty little star," Vital said to the girl as he stepped out from behind the trees he was lurking behind. The falsely feminine teen spoke in a thrown voice still, in a way that would lead the brunette girl to believe that he was a female. A smirk found it's way onto his reddened lips and he flicked the fringe of his hair out of his eyes. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to go wandering in the woods alone? There's no one around to hear you scream." There was also no reason for Vital to put on much of a front. No one was out there. It was too cold. They were alone. So many scenarios flashed before Vital's cold eyes, and if it were possible, he would act on each one. He almost seemed concerned or that he might care, almost; however, he knew well that he was one of the things that the girl should be wary of. The things he pictured his blade doing were wonderful, and deadly. Rainbow Brite was safely tucked away in the top of his boot, between the material of it and his jeans. He could feel it pressing against his leg, probably leaving a red line from its edges. His entire being screamed for him to just grab it and take it to her skin. He waited, though, wanting to take note of her initial reactions, to savor the moment. Who knew when he would get someone so completely alone like that again?

tell me that we both matter dont we

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[Élodie Caroline St. Cyr]

Outfit

Élodie froze when she heard the voice, but turned in its direction without allowing any fear to reach her features. It sounded like some girl, probably one from school. She could handle any girl from school in a fight. The other possibilities flitted through her mind, but for the sake of keeping her cool she dismissed them. She met the voice with a challenge.

"Which mother is that? I've had more than one of them." She didn't see anyone immediately, and that put her into defensive mode. They were trying to scare her, whoever it was. That's why they were hiding. So, she put a darker edge in her voice. "And, last one who told me nobody would hear me scream... he died in a pool of his own blood. Nobody heard him scream." She wasn't lying, and the boldness came through her voice. She had a voice like a circus barker: shrill, clear, but somehow retained a bit of that little girl's sing-songiness.

She felt instinctively at her coat pocket for the knife that was not there. She felt naked without protection. She'd taken to carrying one after what happened at her first foster home. There had been fights nearly every hour at school and every kid seemed to have a knife. If you didn't arm yourself and happened to get caught alone there, well, you had best just make your peace with god. One of her foster brothers, Josiah, had stolen the pocket knife for her from a souvenir shop in the French Quarter. She'd given him a kiss for that, even though he smelled like dirt and neglect. That was the only kiss she'd ever willingly shared with a boy.

He'd shown her how to sharpen the knife so that it was more than just some stupid souvenir. Josiah was a good friend. She wondered what happened to him from time to time. She liked to think that he'd been adopted by some rich family, but she doubted it. Older kids never got adopted, especially when they were 'deformed' like Josiah. His parents had died in a meth-lab fire and his face had been severely disfigured on one side. He could hardly eat with one side of his mouth. But, that only made him all the more street wise and respected. His scars gave him character, as far as Élodie saw it. She really hoped that he hadn't gotten himself shanked. He deserved a good life.

She'd already broken his first rule of survival: always have you a shank on hand. And, now she realized that she'd broken another one of the rules: never go alone to places that you don't know is safe. It seemed like common sense, but she'd forgotten. Solitude didn't always mean safety. She had forgotten that she was unarmed. It was frighteningly easy to do so, even after years of training yourself, after you've been in confinement and living by somebody else's rules for a couple of months.

Still, she plunged one hand into her pocket. They didn't need to know that she didn't have her weapon. Sometimes the idea of a weapon was just as useful as having one. Unarmed and alone, Élodie glared out into the trees. "So, you best show your face." She was little red riding hood--- and she was back-talking the big bad wolf.

[Vital Larkane Sage]

theres a thunder in our hearts baby

so much hate for the ones we love

WORDS: 0647 TAG: Élodie OUTFIT: HERE ONE LAST THING: OHAI. LET'S DO THIS.

"And, last one who told me nobody would hear me scream... he died in a pool of his own blood. Nobody heard him scream." A wicked smirk tugged on Vital's reddened lips at the visual. That was a lovely little picture his new, fading star painted for him. It would be a good way to go. Bloody and preferably violent. That would be a death worth having, in Vital's opinion. He watched her as she seemed to grip something in her pocket. A knife maybe? Armed or not, Vi was not too worried. He was determined. He wanted to be the one to put his pretty little star's light out. "Oh, but I bet his screams were delectable to hear," the blond teen commented with a soft hum, unable to keep from laughing softly, the sound echoing a little in the trees. The effects of nature could often be beneficial. Fear was easily manipulated by sounds, visuals, ideas, thoughts. He need not even try too much if she was the type of girl to let her mind wander too much. Vital could clearly remember a girl before, back before St. Helena's. He had simply made a side comment about how easily flammable someone's hair was when they doused it in hair spray after she had accidentally sprayed him with some as she fixed her hair. Her eyes had widened as he toyed with his lighter; and, from that day on, she did not use hair spray. He wondered, though, if his silly little fireball thought her loud and demanding voice would make him fear her. He sneered slightly at the thought alone. Vital feared no one, period. He could be wary of a person, cautious of the damage they could do; but, that was not the same as fearing them. He was the thing that went bump in the night, not the one hiding under the blanket, telling himself that he would be okay. Besides that, to fear someone was a respect in Vital's eyes, something that no one had earned. It gave someone power over you, control in a way that Vi was not willing to give. So, he feared no one, even when they had him near death, as a few of his flings had managed to do a time or two.

Vital's icy eyes danced in amusement as the girl demanded he show himself. He could not wait to see her reaction. After all, despite his words, who would really fear a petite little girl? If only, if only the woodpecker sighed... Vital stepped farther out of the trees so that he was no longer hidden, smirking a little as he studied the girl more. She was not too thin, but she was not fat either. She was a decent size; nothing to be threatened by. "I am curious, what did drive such a pretty young star out here all by her lonesome? Boyfriend troubles? No... that doesn't seem right. Homesick?" Vital pulled a face at the idea alone. His own home was nothing to be desired. Sure, he had all his things there that he had not been able to take with; but, there was only his idiot father there, probably adoring the sympathy he was getting for losing his wife to his psychopathic son's antics. A slight twitch upward in his lips proved that Vital's thoughts were ones that amused him. He really had enjoyed being able to end that silly woman's life, very much so. "Three, four, better lock your door..." Vital sang under his breath before laughing softly and flashing a charming smile in the other girl's direction. "Would you like some advice, little star?" His fingers twitched and brushed against the top of his boots, thumb slipping between the material and his jeans to run against the cool metal of Rainbow Brite as he gave another, deceptively sweet smile. "Run."

tell me that we both matter dont we

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[Élodie Caroline St. Cyr]

"Oh, but I bet his screams were delectable to hear,"

"They were." Élodie was bluffing now. She'd not heard his screams. The gunshot had taken care of that. But, yes, she had enjoyed that last moment, when his eyes snapped open for only a second in wide terror and confusion. She could have lived in that moment forever. That was power. She'd been weak for so long, and that day she'd turned from prey to predator. That was justice. "I watched the light go out of his eyes and I loved it." She didn't know why she was telling the stranger this.

Maybe some part of her already knew this was the end of the road. Maybe she'd been feeling it for days. Like watching the tide go in before a tsunami, she could read the danger in that inviting voice. She should have made to escape, or attack, or something. But, something about that voice kept her spellbound like some stupid child who was afraid to move. It wasn't fear that froze her there. It was something else. He had a thrall over her, and she was helpless to resist, helpless to keep from falling into this trap.

"I lived half of my life waiting for it. And, you know, that was all I ever wanted. I wasn't afraid to die. Killing him was just about all the purpose I needed in life. And then... I did it. I should have been struck dead on the spot, but I lived and ever since I've been waiting for my penance." She knew that she was condemning herself now. Any sympathy would be gone, if there was a bit of sympathy in her wolf. Maybe this was her confessional. She realized that she'd come out here with the intention of never returning to school. Some part of her must have known all along.

"Homesick?"

Now, strangely enough, that elicited an actual laugh from Élodie, who rightfully should have been terrified, but could not bring herself to feel real fear, just a sort of gut dread that was near to acceptance. "Homesick? Honey, my home was sicker than any of those crazies at the school. Sick, maybe. But homesick? I am not." She knew what was coming next before she was fully aware that she knew it.

"Run."

But, she'd been running all her life, as clichéd as it might sound. Running from her step father. Running from self-loathing. Running from all of the men of the world. Running away from family after family after family. Running towards her little sister but never quite reaching her. She didn't dread dying so much as she dreaded running again. But, her legs spoke first out of survival instinct, and she lurched away from the pretty wolf.

She was usually a pretty fast runner, but her heavy rain boots were slowing her down. She couldn't keep this up long. Her limbs were too numb. Her soul was too tired. She didn't want to keep running, but her heart was beating like a jack rabbit's and she wasn't going to give up without some effort. She would run while she could, and then she was going to give her wolf her best fight. Maybe she could get the upper hand? She was in flight, but she was thinking about fighting. Her pursuer was a good four inches taller than Élodie was. It wouldn't take long for the wolf to catch up with its prey.

It was strange that she would feel so calm inside when her worst fears were being realized. Her lips, cheeks, and nose were tinted ruby red from the cold to match her coat. There would be no hunter along to save this little red riding hood. She didn't dare to look over her shoulder. Concentrating on where she was going to was always best for speed. But, it was dark and visibility was low. A tree root would prove to be her undoing. There was a sickening crack as the bone in her ankle snapped. She fell hard on her hands and knees.

No use running any more. She turned to face her wolf, the blood in her veins turned to ice momentarily, until she remembered that it was all a game. Temporary. Life was all temporary. She couldn't contain her sublime amusement. A high peal of laughter burst fourth from her lips. "God-damn fucking faggot forest." She muttered. There was no point in pretending she would make it out of this alive. Her wolf was going to find her and rape her and kill her. That was generally the way things worked, right? It was funny because this was what she feared the most and now that it was happening she wasn't really that afraid at all. "Come on and get me, you ugly cunt!" She called into the darkness. "Come on! Show me what you've got, bitch! Impress a girl!"

She couldn't have moved if she wanted to. Her ankle was snapped in such a way that it stuck out at an odd angle, the bone nearly piercing the skin. She looked down at it and laughed again. It hurt. It really hurt, but somehow it made the entire situation that much less frightening. Pain! What more did she have to fear than pain? Death? What was death? Just an absence of pain! It all fell into place.

"Come on, fucking come and get me!" Just for the sake of the sport, she attempted to struggle to her feet. Useless. Somehow, the more it hurt, the more she laughed. She was aware of the gravity of her situation, but somehow okay with the idea of dying. She hadn't even entertained the thought of death before, even when she was being beaten to within an inch of her life by her step-father. She'd been near death many times before, and now it came to her with a pretty face and a honeyed tongue.

Death didn't seem so bad. She'd see her real father in heaven. Or, she'd go to hell for killing her false father. She wanted to see Papa again. She missed her Daddy. And, now she was close to him. Maybe she'd always been close to him. Yes, she was beginning to see it. He'd always been there for her, she'd just been too hurt and angry and blind to see it. He'd never left her. Papa, give me strength.

[Vital Larkane Sage]

theres a thunder in our hearts baby

so much hate for the ones we love

WORDS: 0786 TAG: Élodie OUTFIT: HERE ONE LAST THING: OHAI. LET'S DO THIS.

Vital seriously hoped his overly talkative little star did not believe that being a Chatty Kathy was going to change his mind. It did not and would not work that way. She could talk all she wanted. He was still going to end her, to make her already fading light go out. "Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket..." he sang under his breath before letting out a soft, almost giggled laugh. Oh, how amusing his little star was to think he cared about her pathetic attempt at being a predator in a world of sheep. In the end, she was still the prey, still the weak, still the fading star. He needed a name for his little star, something to remember her by. Narcissa. Perfect. She thought higher of herself than she was by her little dip into the darker side of life. However, she was still sniveling and weak at the end. "I lived half of my life waiting for it. And, you know, that was all I ever wanted. I wasn't afraid to die. Killing him was just about all the purpose I needed in life. And then... I did it. I should have been struck dead on the spot, but I lived and ever since I've been waiting for my penance." Vital's expression was one of the utmost boredom. Why did she think he cared? Did he have a sign around his neck that said confess your sins? He did not think so. So, why was she yammering on like an imbecile? "...Boring. I don't care," he replied, flicking his hair out of his eyes as he, in a rather swift motion, pulled out his knife and flicked it open. Yes, it felt amazing to have Rainbow Brite in his hands once again. He waited only for a moment, to give the girl a bit of a head start before starting off down a different path, one that ran next to the one his little Narcissa had taken. The blond teen only paused when he heard the tell-tale snap! of something breaking and watched her go down. He let out a deep breath and smirked as he watched her, only to have the expression change into a scowl at the word choice she had used. Now that was not very friendly. "Now, I might just have to take your tongue for that, little star," he stated as he walked over to her, watching her struggle to stay on her feet. He did not mind being called a bitch; in fact, he took pride in it. The other word, however, was dirty and had no right to be directed toward him. He was no woman. Vi grabbed her by the neck, his fingers pressing into her skin, though he did not use his nails. He would not risk leaving more DNA than he might already, just in case she was found; though, he did not plan on making that a possibility. He'd have to return and bury her once the ground was not frozen. Until then, he'd simply store her somewhere safe. Shoving her toward the ground, Vital did not let go of her neck and he moved so that he was straddling her waist. "I think I will take your tongue for that, little star." Vital bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to her cold lips and smirked wickedly as he adjusted his grip on his blade to be more of what he needed. "Scream pretty for me, now."

Vital was completely in his element as he did just what he sought out to do, and he did not leave until she was still and cold and the blood stopped pouring. There was blood on his hands, neck, arms where he had pushed up his sweater; staining his pants and scarf, he'd have to burn them. He felt sated, though, in a way that made him hum in delight. He wasted a few minutes, just laying in the snow next to Narcissa's body as he counted the stars that were just beginning to shine above him. After the high started to wear off, though, Vital hid the remains and snuck off to the dorms to grab a change of clothes. Once he was changed, he returned to the woods, finding a dry place to drop his clothes so that he could burn them. He still needed a shower to get the blood off of his skin, but he would worry about that later. For the time being, he would just enjoy the flames. With a soft, giggled laugh and a smirk, Vi flicked his hair out of his eyes and sang softly to himself, "Nine, ten, never sleep again."

tell me that we both matter dont we

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[Élodie Caroline St. Cyr]

The wolf was choking her. It wasn't the first time she'd been choked, but she figured this would be the last. Élodie could feel her death closing in on her, its darkness sifting in through the trees. The ground was cold, frozen. She wondered where he'd keep her body. It wouldn't be recognizable after he was done with her, she could see that now. But, maybe that was for the best. She wouldn't want Mama or Aimee to have to identify her. Let the dental records do that.

The wolf was asking her to scream. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, so instead she clamped her mouth shut, locked her jaw like a dog. She couldn't breathe. His hands were on her throat still. She closed her eyes as the lack of oxygen began to make her dizzy, and when her eyes were closed she could see white sparks behind her eyelids. It hurt. But, it would be relatively quick. It could be worse. It hurt all over. She wouldn't give her killer the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She felt the knife as it plunged into her body, cold and then hot. She bit back her cries of agony. She opened her eyes again and glared back at her killer, almost daring him to make it worse.

Some part of her, that fearful part of her animal mind, was terrified. It was anticipating the pain of the knife in her mouth, recoiling from the very thought of having her tongue cut out while she choked on her own blood. But, for once, it seemed that someone was looking out for her in heaven, as she would not be conscious when her tongue was removed.

Before Papa died, Mama used to sing to Élodie before she went to sleep. Papa did too, when he didn't have to work late. Élodie loved hearing them. They sang old folk songs and spirituals. Sometimes they sang together, harmonizing as they went along. Élodie had always regretted not singing those songs for Aimee, who had been too young when Papa died to remember any of the old songs.

Élodie was dying. Papa? She could smell him, he was so close. The dread in her heart was replaced by the joy of reunification. She was really dying. Her blood was pouring out in time to her pulse. She'd be gone before long. There was no question of that. She refused to shed a tear. She'd see Aimee some day, on the other side, wherever that was. She was free. She was leaving behind scarred physical form that held her to this earth for fourteen years, that prevented her from breaking free of her anger. Her vision was beginning to leave her, dark dots clouding her eyes.

She was losing consciousness, but she didn't want to stop staring her killer down. She would have the last word. She would not show fear. Her killer was inches away from her face, right within range. She spat at him and saw flecks of blood in the spit that hit his face. She glared death in his pretty face, and said, "It didn't hurt.". She thought she heard someone saying the lord's prayer. Her lips turned up at the corners into a little smile. And, then, she was gone.