Don't Tell

The Beginning

Black.

Storms.

Midnight hours.

Love.

War.

Free.

Violins playing.

People crying.

San Marais is being murdered; one by one; people uniting, fighting, screaming, desperate...

#3 takes her steps forward. Towards the trees hanging dimly over the dust road. Men and carriages with broad horses kicking up dirt; making townsfolk lungs expand with grit. Stopping by the stream, she watches the pulse of the earth skim over the pebbles, picking one up at a time, compiling them in her side pouch until it was full.

With the berry blood painted across her high cheeked face she slipped her shoes off, stepping foot by foot deeper into the flow of life.

How silly is it that this life will cause death.

As she's falling the Corp fish flutter by, unamused by the occurrence of such hostility.

Her body slowly relaxes its muscles taking in its final breaths.

She hits the hard bottom.

There's more movement as she closes her eyes for the last time.

A hand, extended with a powerful gleam.

Side by side, we'll be...