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Zoe in a land of daydreams (which my teachers say I visit too often) |
At last Azara awoke, breaking out of dreams she wanted to hold to. She fought for sleep once more, then regained herself and stood, shivering in the morning air. Her teeth chattered and her cloak could not shield her from the wind. Azara's thoughts were running freely, her feelings sitting upon her chest. It was this way. Each morning. And she hated it.
Azara put up the shield, the one she held on to externally, the one she relied on to keep her from unessacary thoughts. All uneeded thoughts were blocked from her mind, all emotions diminished. This way, she could get things done. She could do what was needed.
Today, as it had been for nearly a year, what was needed was the gem. The gem. She had been searching for so long, and had come so close, then been pushed away. She would find him though. Jim. And she would get her revenge.
Azara was suddenly aware she was walking, in long, cool strides against the crisp morning air, the air that chilled her bones. The air she had to ignore.
Azara did not know where she was going. The bar, perhaps. She was scared of the thought, going back there, for some reason. Like all, she pushed the emotion out of her mind. She had to. Others did not understand, but she simply had to. It was not like she knew anyone, had anyone, to understand anything about her. She was a mystery, a child to be feared. And she liked it that way.
Or she thought she did. Truthfully, Azara could not remember being anyone else. Her past life was a blur, something she had heard about blabbered from soldiers mouths. Or, it seemed that way. The memories she had seemed not to be hers. She did not even know if they existed. But something did. And she was looking for it. Power. Some sort of power. The gem.
azara was not aware of where she was. She was caught in a swirl she did not want to be part of. Yet it swallowed her. In reality, the world where peasents stared as they passed, and soldiers kept a keen eye on her, Azara stood in the street. She did not realize it. Not until she was knocked out of the street, to the path where people walked, and lay there, as a man leapt from his horse-drawn-wagon to aid her.
"Miss, miss, are you all right? I am so sorry, miss, I did not mean to hit you, miss-"
He drew back in shock, for she had just hit him against his cheek. He reeled away, and the people about Azara backed. She stood, grimacing and trying to block the pain of being hit by the wagon, and walked. No one dared to follow her, to so much as raise their hand to stop her. And the mystery about Azara grew.
She only thought of the gem. Nothing else was in her mind, the gem was all she thought of. She needed to find Jim, to sqeeze the information from him. It was her need, plain as that. She would do anything to get that information, no matter if he died while giving it. She would be out of the town as soon as she knew where to go. She never stayed in one place, never. She never had.
Still in pain from the wagon, Azara found an ally to think. She needed to find Jim, but she would not go into the bar. Not this time. She would meet him as he went into it. She heard a churchbell ring in the distance. Eight chimes. Eight o' clock in the morning. She had nine entire hours before he went to his bar to prepare. Nine hours for her to prepare.
By the time late afternoon came, Azara had a plan in her mind and enough fury and determination around her to... Well, to get the information from him. Jim. She hated even the name.
As she had said she would, Azara met him at the door to the bar. She stood, arms crossed at her chest, blocking the door. He was whistling as he came, holding a barrel and not seeming to struggle with it. Then he saw her and his load almost dropped.
"You," he gasped, looking over the barrel at her.
"Me. Did you think I would leave? I need information."
'No. Look, okay, this is too important for a child like you to understand. Get lost, oki'? Go back to your parents and enjoy your childhood while you can."
She struck at him. Hard. Only her bare fist hitting his face, but enough so that he dropped the barrel and its liquidy contents spilled. She struck him again, harder. And again, screaming.
"You think I have parents? No! You think I am a child? I passed childhood long ago, old man, who do you think I am? I have no parents! None! They died at the hands of-of- I AM NO CHILD!"
Her hands were covered in his blood, and some of her own. Her knuckles were raw from striking him, and his eyes rolled in his head. He was dying, sure as anything, and yet Azara did not stop until he stilled beneath her hands. Not a breath escaped him. Not a pulse was felt when her hands thudded against his head. Azara was breathing deeply. Her hands were purly red, and his head was as well, hair soaked as if it had been died. His face was disfigured, nose pressed in against his face. Blood was everywhere, pungent so that Azara could smell it. It almost sickened her. Almost. Everything she had done. Almost sickened her. Almost. She would not let herself go past almost.
A soldier shouted from behind her.
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