I own nothing. Seriously.
As they approach the door to the Queen’s chamber, John can hear screaming. There are thick, meaty snapping noises, the heavy sound of flesh being forcibly pared from bone. Before this, he had thought the Wraith only tortured with the draining of life. Apparently, things have been changing since he was last captured.
Two of his guards bolt forward, activating the door.
Beyond it, John can see the Queen crouching over a figure. She is making soft, almost gagging snarls. He wonders why. He’s never heard a Wraith make sounds like…
The very sharp, very shiny, business end of a sword explodes from the Queens back. Blood spatters like rain. Her body is thrown down by the figure: a young woman clad in leather and ruined silk.
John suddenly notices the numerous Wraith corpses strewn about the throne room.
rises resplendent from the accumulated gore, dark hair thick and matted with blue blood. It gleams in oil-slick patches on the leather pants, and has plastered the once-red shirt to her body. It gloves her hands and arms to the elbow and drips, viscous, slow, from the edges of her sword. A line of it has run from her scalp down her face, just past the inner corner of one half-lidded, lustrous eye.
She’s smiling, and the laugh that bubbles from her lips is low and smoky and sets him on fire.
She strides toward John’s guards, shredding them in mere minutes. She dances, her blade flashing, rending. And if they escape the sword, she uses her hands, carving them to pieces.
Then they’re gone, and she’s kneeling with him, still laughing softly, naughty cupid’s mouth curled up at one corner.
“Faith,” he manages to croak out.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” she croons back, breaking his cuffs and pecking his cheek. She leaves behind a copper-scented print on his cheekbone. Later, he’ll think how it looks like a blue butterfly. “Fancy meeting you here.”AN:
Sometimes, I wonder what goes on in my brain. Then I take a quick peak, wish I hadn't, and write things like this. Yeah.