Behind Blue EyesShe was the sort of girl that you saw every day.Or at least she looked like she was at first glance.Tall and dark and pretty, with a heart shaped face and a bright, paper lantern smile, painted on crooked, that she took out and dusted off every once in a while.If you had bothered to look again you might have seen something else beyond the obvious. A dark light about her that made you think of fallen angels standing on street corners, wearing dirty All-Stars and crooked smiles. There was a vulnerability to her, a quiet sadness beneath the strength that made you want to protect her, even if she was more than capable of doing it herself.She could have been any girl really, and she often caught herself wishing that she was. It would have made everything so much easier, so much simpler just to live the lie, not knowing what she knew and doing what she did night after night.An Irish Catholic born on the dark streets of a fallen city, she had been taught from her first breath the differe
FFM: Day 26He was painted before the feast. Skin turned black, eyes too white, his smile turned ferocious by the contrast. They were allowed only plain garb, loose and dark, the leather sandals and the spear; heavy and silver tipped.They gathered in the antechamber and ate the ceremonial meal. The rites were observed, the anointed oils placed upon their brows, the burning incense and ritual horns. They were given no ball of string. This was not a labyrinth from which one could escape.It was a glory to be chosen. Their families would be honored, blessed by the holy priests and given succor for their children's sacrifice. Only the best, the brightest and most beautiful of their youth could hope to be worthy of the challenge.As the gates swung open for the first time in 7 years, he felt only the expectant hush, the deep star-quiet of the alien structure, full of twisting passageways. He did not know what lay within. There were only stories, unreliable, for those who entered did not win free again
FFM: Bowie ChallengeTime offered her a cigarette; lit it, fingers shaking. He'd dismissed the hasty sandwiches laid out on the table. "You don't eat when you live too long." He'd said, grinning that uncanny smile, hesitant and manic and beautiful all at once.A girl could fall in love, no matter how pragmatic.The lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling cast a shady light, golden and seedy, shadows pooling on the bits of junk that were piled into the corners of the room.In the centre under the spotlight, waited the statue. Shrouded, veiled in white, its shape outlined by vague protuberances beneath the cloth.Grinning soul he'd called it, catching sight of its face. A glimpse of the infinite, star-man. It was of course a reflection of his self, as she had first seen him when he arrived, sooty and stinking of smoke and bearing all the gifts of the world and the weight of the stars cupped in his thin white hands.She smoked her cigarette leisurely, then finished the sandwich, chewing mechanically, gaze fixed o
FFM: Day 24It was a dark and stormy night.No, wait, that had been yesterday, when the hero had ended up dead on his porch. Matthias still maintained that getting up at the three in the morning in the dark and the pouring rain for some guy with a shiny sword was asking too much.Of course he'd only seen the sword later. But he'd known, the man had sounded like a shiny sword kind of guy. You could just tell with some people.Looking back, he should have got out of bed. Not because the guy died; though that was unfortunate, but because of the wizard. The bloody wizard
He'd arrived just in time for lunch, and since then the day had devolved into one long, nagging, nightmare.Chosen one, he'd said. Brought on the end of the world through sheer stupidity, he'd said.Matthias couldn't take much more of it. So the man at the door had been some sort of big hero? He couldn't have been that wonderful, having perished under such dubious circumstances.The wizard claimed dark forces were at fault. Matt
FFM: The Undrowned ChildWater lapped at the side of the boat as her sisters gathered beneath the surface. She was the Seventh, the un-drowned one.She wrapped small fingers around the caul strung around her neck. A relic of her birth, to keep her safe and guard her from the water. She had never listened to the stories as she should have.She could almost hear them singing now, the music just beyond reach, rising from beneath the water to perish in the open air.Her sisters hair floated about them, dark fronds fanning out above black depths, catching hidden light.Each one had been taken by the water, but she was the Seventh, the seer, the fisherman's daughter. She could speak to the sea and listen to the wind on a still day, and the drowned gathered about her. Spirits in the water, dark heads bobbing like seals.She took the caul from around her neck, dropped it in the bottom of the boat, and after it the dress. Her flesh goose pimpled in the cold air. She rubbed her arms for warmth and considered the water a
FFM: Sympathy for the DevilRed light spilled from the windows and splashed wetly across the street. A bit Tartarean for his tastes.Mephisto wiped bits of the previous owner from the invitation and handed it to the doorman; his expression all teeth.The Dante Club, they called it.It wasn't home; naturally. But he'd heard the entertainment was excellent.
FFM: Day 21His hands were bloody as he knelt there in the dirty snow. Slow drips of red running down his forearms, his life flowing away into the ground.It had haloed around her, a strangely beautiful mess, too bright in the monochromatic hues of the battlefield where everything was black and soot.There was a whir of engines overhead as the warships fled. Many had fallen to enemy fire, listing towards the ground like great metal leviathans, their descent slow, inexorable, deadly. He crouched now in the twisted remains of one such. The flames had long since gone out.He had somehow missed the exact moment of her passing. It had been small, unremarked. The gun felt heavy in his hands, as though burdened by some terrible weight.He reached to her, fingertips hovering above her face, as though to touch. His hands were shaking. Above, a patch of blue sky opened up in-between the smog, the reflection passed across her eyes, staring, open.There was a dimple in her cheek, the remnants of a
FFM: Day 20 ChallengeThe femme fatale fell from the balcony with a strangled cry of horror. She died on impact.She had been a nuisance, though to be fair, she had done it purely by accident. It was all horribly cliched.Rosin didn't care what he had to do to obtain his objective, his intentions were entirely selfish, the result would not be even remotely justifiable by his actions, but he didn't care about that either. Obstacles were to be removed as and when they arose.The difference engine was set to begin the countdown at midnight, and when it stopped, the face of London would be transformed. Exactly what form that transformation would take was difficult to say at this point. The calculations were a little vague. Rosin had brought along some goggles, just in case.He settled back into the armchair he had placed on the balcony, perfectly situated with a view of the city skyline, and retrieved his pipe. The cake had gone over the edge with Sylvia, which was unfortunate. Rosin was fond of Black Forrest,
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