Plague - Final

Blood wafts over my mouth. The coppery taste filling it with a certain disgust that I couldn't ignore. The smoke in the air, their dark billowing cloaks. It all brought a scowl upon my lips.

As I raised the rapier in my hand. Flames sparking in the air, creating flowers filled with power. Ones that with little effort ignited into blazing balls of fury.

Blooming with it a symphony of pain. Burning the air of the gaseous poison. The plague that they had spread. Of their lives.

A tribute to the dead. Bodies burned to ashes and dispersed into the wind. Documents gathered and placed into neat stacks.

Ones that detailed records of transactions, of vats of materials used for this attack. Spies that rose through the ranks.

Telling of their missions and partings. Of my own to the academy. A time in whence they thought it safe to enact their plan.

Yet this was only one part. Their true goal remained unseen, unheard. Unknown.

As they were groups, splintered in leadership. Only that unknown goal in common. The attack was one of vicious proportions. Yet of this town, of the Lauragne's, this was only the start. What would seem to be the main attack was merely a distraction.

Found to be so after a mere glance at the documents. Whatever this plague was, there was an antidote, a vaccine that rendered them immune to the effects.

And it was hidden in the blood of others.

That was the only information that I could gather, even as I rose through the sewers, burning the poisons they had spread through the water.

We were lucky that we had a separate source, a precaution made specifically for this situation. But it was weird. 

From the information I held in my hands it was to be known that they had information on our water. That they could poison us.

So why?

Why had they not? What was the reason behind this seemingly inane attack? Was it to disillusion the citizens of their very town. To make them distrust us so, it was the only reasonable thought.

But that had several flaws, namely, the dead. The death toll would be beyond natural. Thousands would die before we could mount a response.

There was only one answer. They knew. But how? Was it some leak, his own family giving him away. 

No, from what I knew of them, what I thought I knew, they were tight knit. The only reason that they had given Gabriel away was because of the pressure, that they could not keep their son to themselves for so long.

I sighed, wiping my blade upon a rag, cleaning it of any and all blood that it may have taken. Only then did I rise back to my feet. Placing my thoughts into a locked box, making sure that I held no bias.

Making sure that as I went towards the surface, as I cloaked my face once more. From the poison, from the masses, that I held no anger in my eyes.

As I rose from among the dwellers, taking with me a bag at my side. Filled with everything that I had gathered.

Only for a moment though, did I allow myself a moment of respite. Of peace as I turned and watched Gabriel play at doctor. Fixing the injuries of the poor girl that had tried to help. Only to be injured grievously in the process.

I scoffed as her injuries were healed, her arm regrowing within moments. Yet a feeling of absolute rage overcame me.

Soon it was overcome. 

But in that moment, in that extreme pain I saw through his face. Through his visage. Where he screamed bloody murder. Trying and failing to contain the pain.

I felt absolutely outraged. Wanting and willing to kill all those that had tried to gain the service of my man.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

Once more I jumped from the side, keeping the injuries that I held close. The clothes that veiled me closer.

And when I was done I tore Gabriel from the bed. Ignoring the pleas of those girls. To let him stay, scoffing at the pathetic attempt at protecting him.

He was mine, even if I could not proclaim that to the world.

…

I had to watch as he was scolded by mother. Her overbearing gaze falling upon him, even if he could not see it.

Gabriel certainly felt it. And I felt no greater anger at my mother than in the moment that she slapped him.

But I stopped myself. Asking myself a simple question. One with an even simpler answer.

'Why did I care for him so?'

'Because he cared for me. Because he is mine.'

It was that simple. He was mine, I was his. So it would be that his pain was mine, and my own his. 

The dishonorable actions of my mother, felt not only in the slap, but in the anger of my stomach.

Eventually she left, and hours passed. Gathering courage. Only to remember something.

To rush back to my room, nervously gaze at the gift I had bought. At the wrapping paper and bow. 

Yet as I picked the book up, leaving the room. The only thought I had was why I hesitated. He was blind, he cared not for useless pomp.

So when I entered again, catching his gaze. And bringing his hand to mine, resting his head against mine breast.

I gave him his gift, humming a slight tune as I turned the pages for him. Monitoring his progress.

It was joy, it was a warm feeling in my stomach. Beyond base desires, beyond simple lust.

I wanted to kiss that face, to hold him until he no longer would let me, and even more. Yet as he uttered another word.

Another joy, greater than even the joy I felt before. A peak that I never thought could be climbed.

"Thank you. For the gift…" He trailed off, as if trying to reference some other scenario. Trying to say something but failing for words.

Yet I just hummed. Leaning down and taking one of what would soon be many.