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Rated: 13+ · Book · Fantasy · #1553348
a little something before chapter 3 :)
From the desk of Prof. Gregor Willington

In previous documents, I have noted the presence of beings unknown to man. I have just recently had an encounter with one of the beings and I shall note once more that these beings are not extraterrestrial, coporal or incoporal. They can be noted as nothing but simply the darkness in the corner of a small child's room or the shady alleyway in our crowded streets of London. Though they appear to be all human, the events I shall note are not human and nothing seen by the human eye.

This incident has been seen and heard on Febuary 25th 1894 at 12 o'clock in the morning.
I was merely walking home from a late night poker game with the rest of my colleagues, an innocent night of cards, pounds and tea. The wind was rather slow for a winter night and the snow was as lively as death itself. Upon turning the corner on to Murdoc and Welsh Drive, the harsh breeze stopped, going eerily still until I felt nothing at all. Nothing but the air growing thinner. And as I quickly scribed these events into my portable notepad, the clicking and clacking of heels drew my attention, the sound so faint but so abrupt. As all the Great Willington men of this time and the past, we explore every curious happening to the fullest extent. As the clicking and clacking continued, I quickened my pace, my loafers silently sloshing in the powdered snow until the clicking stopped at Welsh and Fairring Circle, I stopped skiding to a quick stop. I peered around the brick building, finding myself tranced by the creature that stood within 6 yards of me in the barren street next to the waterfront.

The creature appeared to be a 17 year-old female. Skin white as the snow around her (excuse me for the lack of description for sadly I am not much of the avid writer...) Dressed in the average noble woman's attire, most of the garments embelished and pink and white lace. 5'8", weighing in at about 120, though assuming it may have mostly been muscle. But it was now the following things that I shall note now that made me sure this woman was not human. I could visibly see that her right eye was indeed an amber colour. And her left covered with a pearl white eyepatch. But strangely enough, sprouting from the patch was a pink rose, one of the vines reached to the visible side of the bridge of her nose. And draped down to her waist was tumbling waves of easter pink. Her perfectly carved face twisted into a smirk of displeasure at yet another, I assume, being of her kind. The other woman was the polar opposite, a clad in black with ash blonde hair. All except the eyes, still the same desolate amber.

From where I stood the two were inaudible, but the way there lips had moved, the exchange of words neither polite or peaceful. The Rose Lady's voice became a little more audible, mentioning something about 'The code' and how it was all a lie. The Black Clad had responded in light chuckles and smirks, sometimes raising her voice also. But within my 2 minutes of viewing, the quarrel became...physical? If I heard correctly of was just imaging this, a snarl ripped from The Rose Lady's throat. This I am sure I did not imagine but wished I did. From the Rose Lady's palm came a moss green thorn covered vine, constricting the Black Clad. Though she was caught off guard , I noticed she flicked her wrist and from the snow covered cobble stone came rigid iron sculptures, sharp and dagger-like...cut through the vines like butter. I blinked and from there they flailed at each other with punches, kicks, slams and throws. (The damages I took pictures of the next day, also finding scraps of each fabric and a piece of the vine.)

The altercation had not lasted long, but ended violently. The Iron Maiden had bested the Rose , leaving her tattered and worn. From the wounds, a black gasy substance seeped out of them. With a rough lifted, the Rose dangled from the Iron Maiden's fist, limp and frail. The Maiden study the Rose, a smile of pleasure coming to her face. She then pulled the Rose closer to her face do their eyes met. At this point the Rose then tried to struggle, kicking and letting out silent screams. Part of me still wishes I could've helped her somehow. I then finally looked upon the culprit to the Rose's battery. The Iron Maiden's eyes clouded a dark crimson, just as desolate as before, the air suddenly growing thinner by the second. The Rose kicked and scratched, but failed as the Iron Maiden made her open hand into a fist. To my awe and disbelief, the Rose's body soon was petrifeied, leaving her motionless in a coat of iron, her terrified expression frozen, and the tears that flowed, no longer flowing and most likely to never tumble down her cheeks again. The Iron Maiden threw her into the closet building, coincidently the Jameson Ironworks, still smiling with pleasure and satisfaction. She turned,looking at the dawns horizon. With one last look at the petrified beauty, she had vanished, leaving behind a vast cloud of shadow. And I had went to retrieve her The Rose's body,(surprisingly very light weight) and walked home. And now, she nestles in my laboratory, still in the same scared and tearful state she was in that night. And myself, still trying to free her for I knew what she was...and who she used to be.
My friend, and my love...Cynthia McCoy.
5/6/1908
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