*Childhood found...

[Oris]

The Great Hall burned in Isaac's fury, as above the possesed students were allready wreaking havoc upon the common rooms. From across the room, Michaela sneered with sadistic delight, watching Isaac work. She was glad the Innocence Lost had turned him to her will, instead of killing him. He would prove most useful. She now turned and stalked out of the Great Hall, pain and passion driving her steps. Behind her, flames sprung up across the tapestries and paintings, tailing her down the hallways. No sooner had she turned the corner then the cover of night blown. She heard screams far above as the dormitories emptied. Frenzied students spilled out into the hallways, scattering in every direction. Michaela allowed herself a moment of grim satisfaction as she saw the first of the students entering her own hallway. He was so panicked as he ran he did not even look to see who she was, but kept right on running. A second before he reached her, Michaela's new sword flew from its hiding place beneath her shroud and caught him the chest, engulfing him in that same red light. A moment later the now red eyed boy was running off in the opposite direction, wielding a flaming picture frame. Michaela pressed on, holding the sword out to one side, scraping it across the wall.
She turned the corner to see her newly possessed student launching another screaming out the window. She smirked... but the amusement was cut violently short. Voices welled up in the back of her mind... "Rhea..." passed her lips once more. The world around her vanished. She now stood in a very different place... Marble floors..... The light of a moon which hung in a sky unpolluted danced on it's smooth surface.. Then she saw it... Deep red... Blood... running hot, over the marble. Whereas usually this would have enticed her, it now repelled her. Made her sick. Her eyes followed it upwards to find a figure, consumed in shadow, blood dripping from its lips. And two pale, yellow, cat like eyes staring up at her. In its hand... a girl, choked of life, blood streaming from her childlike neck...
Reality came rushing back to Michaela and she found herself in the hallway, now humming an eerie lullaby, just beyond memories reach... The student was gone... The hall was now empty but for one person who she now saw standing, gazing out the broken window. She began to walk towards him... voices playing in her mind like a record. Michaela..... Her view was now clearer. He wore large black garments, obscuring his form. Why do you call me that?.... His skin, even more pale then her own. It is your name.... Deep blue veins, she could see, running beneath it. The name you are to have.... His hair, black as a starless night. No... My name is....
"ORIS!" she called, finally reaching him. "Your name is Oris!" she cried as he turned to face her, "Why do I know that!?"

[Michaela]

As it had so many other instances that night, time seemed to liquefy for the vampiress as she stood, unable to bring herself any closer to the man at the window. A five-foot distance separated them, and her feet seemed firmly rooted to the ground.

There seemed no reason at all that Michaela, of all people, should be intimidated by that wraith-like being, his flesh nearly transparent, his height barely breaking the margin of five-foot-seven. On occasion she believed even herself to be short - and without the heeled boots she now wore, the vampires was a clean five-foot-eight. She felt as though simply touching Oris would cause him to break, but at the same time knew, somehow, that it wasn’t his physical form she had to worry about. It was what she couldn’t see that caused shivers to roll up her spine in sweet synchronization with her thoughts, with bubbling memories, incomplete, scattered, and for the most part, completely nonsensical.

The scent of smoke still lingered in the halls, and those stone walls still retained the sound of screaming. Distant and echoed, nearly stilled, it was ironically amplified by the encroaching silence. Silver eyes darted once down the hall towards the commons, before turning back to rest on Oris. Question was still evident behind them, buzzing beneath the voices in the back of her head, each violently fighting for supremacy over the other, each valiantly struggling against the breakwaters in her mind.

“How do I know your name,” she asked again, this time the words passing her lips in a soft undertone. However soft they seemed, they were anything but absent of insistence, and barely sheathed demand. Little was making sense, and the walls in her world were crumbling with a steady force that was suffocating. Any answer would be clung to, any answer was needed as desperately as a man in the desert needed water… even though the bare thought of such an overused cliché incited irritation.

Oris returned her gaze, staring deep into her eyes as they burned with a desperate thirst for answers. His demeanor remained tranquil despite her insistence – something that impressed her, though the emotion was barely registered far off, in a place where she still retained the peace-of-mind to form such a realization. “You’ve always known,” he said, his foggy voice seeming to move in around her. “Since you were a small child…”

This character mystified Michaela. She could sense no trace of a lie in his words, couldn't say she had ever seen the figure standing before her, who appeared to be little more than a fifteen-year-old boy. “When,” she started again, judgment as of yet reserved, “When did we meet?”<br>
Oris’ words seemed preplanned, as if he could have said them without listening to her side of the conversation. “Better I show you.” Michaela felt the mist of his voice surrounding her mind; “For the answer is still dormant in your mind.” The hallway left her vision once more, leaving only herself and Oris, shrouded in the ever-thickening fog. “I’ll take you back…” his voice sent her deeper and deeper into this dream world, “to Rome…” And with those words, her eyelids flickered closed.

Upon opening them, the vampiress found herself once again staring at marble floors - this time, however, no blood lined their pristine surfaces. “Why do you eat these?” At the sound of the voice, Michaela's attention was diverted from the polished stone, and she spun to see a small girl, her head resting in Oris’ lap. Rhea? The word shot through her mind, it's repetition that night uncounted, and nigh uncountable. No, she thought. This, she recognized. The scene, the air, and the nightdress the girl was wearing… This girl, she knew, was her. Her long black hair spread over Oris’ clothes like liquid, and in her tiny hand, she held a lemon. The fruit was larger than her entire fist, and Mich felt a pang in her chest as strings of memory tugged at something long buried and left for dead. Everything about that child was so dissimilar from what she was now… Oris, however, looked no different then he did now, though she knew the scene she was viewing had to have taken place at least two thousand years ago.

“To taste,” came that same, misty voice, heard in both body and mind. “You need to sleep soon, Michaela…”
The child Michaela smiled, and there was an innocence in that gesture that ached. “Why do you call me that,” she asked, not sounding very concerned with the answer.
“It is your name,” said Oris, stoically, “The name you are to have…”
“No,” She said, yawning, “My name is Antonia…”
“Sleep now…” He said as she yawned again, seeming to hug the lemon she held.

[Michaela]

Art by Oris. For more of his amazing work, check out sorse.deviantart.com/

[Oris]

As Micheala walked towards the pair, they faded from view. The room around her seemed to shift, and her attention now came to a girl in front of a mirror. This time, she was much more recognizable as Michaela, though her cheeks were currently full of colour. Still human, she thought, still very much intrigued by this memory world.

In her hand Antonia held a sparkling green gem, threaded on a silver chain. Looking a little past her own reflection, the memory Michaela caught site of Oris, and smiled as he approached from behind her. “Oh Oris,” she said, her voice full of joy, “I… I think I’m in love. Isn’t it wonderful?”<br>Oris stopped just behind her, the grey pools of his vision gazing into the reflection of her eyes, “It’s good that you’re happy…” he said, his words still seemingly devoid of emotion. She grinned at this, the buoyancy of her demeanor not in the least altered by his lack. “His name is Rags.”<br>
From across the room, the vampiress’ eyes narrowed. She hadn’t heard that name before, yet it seemed all too familiar.

“Look was he’s given me.” Antonia continued, her eyes fixed on the dazzling green gem in her hands.
“A beautiful trinket.” Oris remarked, taking the chain’s ends lightly in his long, thin fingers and drawing it up about her neck.
“Oris?” She said, examining her own reflection now that the gem rested upon her chest, “Does he love me?”<br>Oris still stared into her eyes, though his hands moved to fasten the chain together. “Yes…”
She smiled a bit, “Would he die for me?”<br>“Yes…”
“And we’ll be together, even at the end?”<br>“…Yes…”
Antonia’s smile widened as she turned around and hugged him, gently, knowing his frailty. “He’s waiting for me. I should go.” Her voice held a hurried tone as she stepped away from Oris. The rosy-cheeked youth grabbed a thin black cloak from her bed and, wrapping it around her, made for the door. “I’ll be back by morning. Good-bye Oris,” she called, disappearing from view. Oris stood alone, his eyes now drifting towards the ground. Once again, all was mist, and only Michaela and Oris remained…<br>
Michaela turned to him, “I don’t remember any of this,” she said, all traces of anger now gone from her voice. Now only confusion and open awe remained.
“You wouldn’t.” said Oris, watching the fog curl about his fingers, “You blocked the memory…”
“What?” she said, her eyes narrowing again in thought, “Why would I have blocked this out?”<br>
Oris’ thin arm extended at her question, pointing off into the fog. She looked to where he gestured to see Antonia form again out of the mist. Then the marble floor, sprawled out from around her, a familiar accessory causing the acrid sting of bile to rise up in her throat. Blood. Blood on the floor. Just like before, she thought. The figure was visible again, holding the corpse of that little girl. A little girl that she hadn't recognized until that moment.

“Rhea…” the woman whispered, beginning to understand. “ Rhea was… she was my sister, wasn’t she..?” Not really looking for an answer, already knowing it, she continued. “But who is he? Who is that, that killed her?”<br>“Rags…” Said Oris, his whisper echoing endlessly in her mind.
Her eyes darted this way and that, making and breaking connections in her mind.

“ He killed her…” she uttered softly, starting to remember, “And… my parents, too. He killed them all…” She rounded on Oris. “What happened next?” She demanded.
“Thaddeus,” was Oris’ reply.
“But I remember that!” She began. Then, “Wait… he was… Rags’ apprentice, wasn’t he? Thaddeus was Rags’ apprentice! And he’s…. Still alive!”<br>
Such a rage welled inside of her that the fog begun to

[Michaela]

spiral around her, faster and faster. The wind picked up, catching her jet-black hair and making her vampiric shroud whip around her figure, tugged relentlessly by the icy grip of that raging current. Her grip on the Innocence Lost tightened, and she raised it before her. With a wave of red energy, the fog around them vanished, leaving the two back in the darkened hallway.

Red lightning crackled outwards from the blade, mirroring her anger. “Where can I find him?” she barked at Oris, who, throughout all of this, remained wholly calm.
“You won’t have to.” He said pointing to the window only a few feet away.

As though on cue, the glass shattered inwards, and a figure landed on the stone floor to Michaela's left. As the shards of melded sand tinkled downwards, they created the effect of a glittering halo around a man shrouded in red. A quick pass-over revealed to the vampiress that the fabric about his shoulders was very similar to the stuff that rested on her own. Along with that, the survey concluded that he was just as dead as she was, and equally armed. In one hand he held the slender length of a katana.

"Michaela, I presume?"

Glancing back towards the place Oris had stood in askance, the vampiress visibly tripped when her gaze was met with empty air. He had gone, and she hadn't even noted his leaving.

[Sven]

Slowly, Sven rose to his full height, standing a little less then six foot. The Katana, sheathed in blue, came to rest over his shoulder, the hilt still in hand. This grinning boy before her, Michaela knew, wasn’t Rags. However, he had a familiar aura, somehow. His toothy grin, however, was all his own.
“And I would be Sven.” He said, exuding confidence. “An old friend of yours sent me to ‘quell the destruction’, if you will. So… how was Rags back in the day, anyway?”<br>Michaela glared. “So, this little stunt has caught his attention, has it? Maybe if I up the stakes a bit we can get him to make an appearance. That would make things interesting don’t you think? Bring him down here… so I can kill him.” She said coldly, raising the Innocence Lost out to the side, preparing to strike.
“Well, you’re a cheerful sort, aren’t you?” Said Sven, cocking a sarcastic brow. “Nah, as fun as it would be to see the old man in some real action, I’m supposed to deal with this myself. Sorry to disappoint, lady, but it’s me that’s taking you down!” That said, he whipped the Katana out from its scabbard with astonishing speed, now holding it in both hands, parallel to the ground. He pulled his arms back until the hilt was level with his chest, and shifted his weight to his back foot, crouching a bit.

Michaela drew herself up, now an imposing figure in leather and this mystical shroud, which looked quite awe inspiring. The blade in her hand glowed a malevolent red as she sized up her new opponent. He had blond hair that swept up and backwards. A black dress shirt with cuffs unbuttoned. A vampiric shroud to match her own, and blazing red, passionate eyes. Hardly visible beneath the shroud was spectacular silver armor. His keen blade, with hands, tattooed with crosses wrapped tightly around it’s handle. Another sword, at his side, bound into its sheath with ropes and silver chains that matched those intertwining over the length of his…. “Is… that a skirt?” she asked, with malicious amusement.

Sven glanced down to the expanse of fabric covering his lower half. His red eyes returned to her with a spiteful look. “AHH!” he let out, leaping into action, his sword heading into her heart…<br>



Sven, in all his baddass glory! ;D
Once again, courtesy of Oris. More/better at www.sorse.deviantart.com

[Michaela]

The vampiress’ quiet chuckle was cut short as Sven lunged forward, the cool steel of the weapon he held threatening to slice into her chest. In one quick, reflexive motion she batted the blade aside with her own and stepped to her right, the swirl of her shroud emphasizing the motion. “Oh, touched a sore spot, did I?” Michaela’s smirk widened considerably. “All the other kids bother you about your skirt, too?”<br>
Mich had developed a habit of assuming she was the senior of most vampires she ran into – very, very few could still trace the path of their existence further back than a thousand years, and Mich had easily doubled that time. Even Ace had been twelve hundred years her junior. And something inside her shuddered at the recollection of that name.

Sven’s momentum propelled him past Mich several steps and she extended her side-step into a spin, rounding on the man's exposed flank. The flat of her sword connected with his backside and filled the room with a resounding crack.

"Your clothing aside, might I observe how unlikely it seems you'll be capable of taking me anywhere?" The woman arched a brow in something akin to amusement, but the faintest undertones of disappointment lined her features. "Come on, now. Impress me, and I might kill you quickly."

Sliding into an 'L' stance, the vampiress tossed her blade up into the air and caught it with her left hand, gesturing that Sven should come at her again with the faintest hintings of a nod. Despite all of her talk, it had been quite some time since Michaela had fought with anyone that didn't possess a beating heart... and the cold, dead type tended to be faster and more knowledgeable with a weapon. The idea that she might actually need to exert herself to win this confrontation sprouted a hopeful excitement where her heart should have been, and she couldn't help but let the edge of her mouth tick upwards in the pale mockery of a smile. Sure, he was an obstacle... but perhaps a means, as well. And every once and a while you had to enjoy jumping hurdles.