Samantha Shiwata, the only daughter of the Shiwata household. Her hair was long, straight and silky; tainted the color red; the color marked for fire. Her eyes are shaded scarlet and her skin a radiant white.
The sun’s gentle light peaks through the thin glass and into a hobble of decrepit memories and neglected dreams; which took the form of dirty garbs, littered around her room. Her room was adorned like a noble, yet her clothes were simple and delicate. She didn’t care for the finer things in life, yet she wanted so much from it. Her parents had graced her with this lovely home and a wonderful brother to share it with.
“Why aren’t I happy?” Yet she didn’t care for anything else they gave, non of it mattered.
“Saturday morning, the pinnacle hours for relaxation.” Samantha sighs softly in bed, laying on a blanket of smooth silk and fine linen. As she lay their deep in thought, contemplating how she she’d spend her only day off. The birds outside began singing frivolously. Their song was like a siren’s call. “Your songs always cheer me up.” She smiles to herself, indulging on the sweet innocent thoughts of spring.
As the ebony father clock above her wardrobe struck 10, Samantha leaped out of bed, sauntered over to her private bath. As all people do, she proceeded to her morning routine. After rummaging though her dresser, she settles for a simple white V-neck t-shirt under a tan leather jacket, with regular old shorts and short black boots. Samantha dressed in a way that most people would pass of to the lower class. Though she cared not for what others thought, she was very comfortable in her own skin.
As the blue jays hummed their morning tunes. Samantha trekked over to the bedside mirror and evaluates her look. “How much have I changed?” She pondered alone, Combing through her long silky red hair. The unpolished mirror revealed a blank canvas of a face; a face that told sad tales of repression and hardships. Her smile was youthfully faded, but her eyes burned with a fiery passion and unswaying determination.
A slight knock on the door broke her gaze and ripped her attention to it. “Whose there?” She called with minor panic.
The door creaked open to reveal and thin but tall old women, who was anything but frail. The women wore a lavish dress of gentle satin and silk. She bore only the finest jewelry below her silver hair; held tight in a bun from a thin silver tiara, The crest of house Shiwata, the silver crane, was embossed on its center. Her skin was beautifully aged and her ears were pointed to the sky. Her eyes were a vibrant ocean blue; matching well with her soft but firm voice, and she wore the finest style of makeup that clearly told many tales of her lavish lifestyle like an open book. “Samantha…”
Samantha discreetly rolled her eyes as she proceeded back to the mirror to braid her hair in a single strand. “Good morning Nana.” Annoyed she rolled her eyes.
“I have another job for you. I want you to go to this address and pick something up for me.” She snickered, handing Samantha a small slip of paper. The neat cursive on the parchment read;
-247 Wallace road.
When you get to the door guarded by a greyhound in a purple collar, garbed in a doggy shirt. Retrieve the password from its pockets. Speak it to the person who answers the door, tell them Madam Laura sent you.
If they suspect anything, if you fail, you will be captured immediately.
Samantha analyzed the peace with a puzzled grin. “What!? What is all this trouble for?” She scoffed.
Laura furrowed her brows, slapping Samantha with the feathered fan she had clasped in her hand. “Foolish girl. You dare not ask me of my affairs. Just do what your told. Understood?” Rubbing her cheek, She nodded in hesitantly. Laura rolled her eyes while slamming the door shut.
Walking down the stone brick road was met with the sweet songs of her birdy friends, followed by the crude stares of strangers. They gazed at her eccentric garbs and od appearance. For the norm was far different the she. Women wore long thin frilly dresses of spring colors. While the men wore crisp jackets of pastel shades. The jewelry was nothing but gleaming, and their hair was kept in high curly buns and suave straights. The scene here always looked like something straight out of a Victorian painting.
“Ok 247, 247 247.” Samantha mumbled. She searched for the address for a short time before stumbling upon the door. It was a small pristine white house with a decked porch you’d see in a restraint or fine pub. The gateway was guarded by the grey hound as Laura wrote, but there were 3 of them. ‘This seems like more of a club house then a home. Who would live here.’ She pondered while hiking up the white wooded steps. The front was adorned with the silver portrait of a grey hound posed of a picture, the plague below it reading 247. ‘This has to be it.’ Before she could use the silver knocker hanging from the plague. The dogs began to bark. Their cry was loud but hesitant. “Aw how cute! My heart is melting.” She smiles with glee at the cute little puppies as she bends done to pet them. The mother was tied up by thin rope to the farthest end of the porch’s little white pillars. Samantha pulled out a rough piece of jerky she kept in her satchel as a snack; the babes went nuts. Their distinct puppy smell made her smile.
She removed the slip of parchment form one of the collars and went to the door and spoke the password as instructed. “Um…The crystal Dragonfly does’t fly too far.”
A few moments later the door creaked open ever so slightly. Samantha’s gaze was met with a shriveled old man’s. His eyes were as icy as winter snow, and his breath was a cold as it to. The man looked a bit withered from the powers of father time, but he appeared anything but weak. “What do you want?” The spat sternly.
Samantha fumbled for a respond. Making sure not to mess up yet another one of her grandmother’s tasks, by her eyes. “Um, I came here to pick up something for Madam Laura?”
“In here quickly, make haste girl.” He motioned for her to step inside. Once in, the home had the outward appearance of an elderly couple’s simple little home. Everything was crystal clean. From the plastic sheltered furniture, to the dusted grandfather clock in the corner beside their neat book shelf of assorted spells and crafts. “Through here. Once your down, take the chalice and spill it.”
Her face soured. “What? Don’t speak in tongue old man.” He grabbed her arm with one hand and tightened his grip.
“I’m serious young lady. If you’re here instead of Madam Laura, then I’d watch your back if I were you.” He muttered in her ear. Making sure to speak in hushed tones.
"What are you talking about? What has she done?” She questioned.
“No time, go. They’re waiting for you.” He quickly says before shoving her into the basement door and down the steep wooden steps.
Hastily grabbing the guardrails, she gains her footing. “Where hell am I? Damn, Nana, what have you gotten me into this time?” As she walked deeper and deeper down the steps the walls seemed to changed. Shifting from wooden panels to polished stone bricks. The air was thin and stale. With the lingering smell of something rotten. Beyond the small room she entered was a ring of darkness, but just before that darkness was a stone pillared table. On it lay a silver chalice.
“What in the living hell is this crap?” Samantha took a few steps forward. ‘I’m not going to call out like a moron, but imp sure someone is watching me. For now, ill wait.’ At least that’s what she thought. She picked up the chalice and read the inscription engraved around its edge. It read; Δύναμη του δράκου αρχίζει και τελειώνει στο αίμα. “Crap, Dracoil. I don’t speak the dragon’s tongue.”
“The dragons power begins and ends in blood…” A group of eerie voices spoke in unison. In that moment the air felt instantly thicker.
“What do you want form me?” Samantha asked sternly. She refused to let these people scare her.
“Drink child, drink from the chalice and relieve yourself of weakness forever.” They spoke again. From behind that veil of darkness that she couldn’t breach.
Her mind was clear but her heart was clouded. Clouded by feelings and desire. Such emotions is a plague to the human heart. “What!? No way, why would I do that?” She questioned.
“Because, you have offered yourself in Laura’s place, and her sins must be washed away.” They calmly responded.
“What do you mean, offered? I just came here to pick something up for her! I don’t even know what it is. So just give me the- “
“Drink!” They interrupted. Her heart kept screaming at her. ‘Drink it, drink it! What’s the harm?’ It spoke quietly. ‘The dragons never steered us wrong before, right?’ Such thoughts were the naïve ones she used to have, but not anymore. Now she was a brave, independent young women, and…
“I refuse to let this world define me!” She shouted as bright red magic engulfed her right hand, up to her wrist. In an instant a magic circle passed through it, creating a gun; Yes, a gun. It looked sawed off, with two barrels. It was a pristine white, with a golden strip running along the middle of the barrels. “My shotgun…”
“What are you doing with such an archaic weapon? Such tools shouldn’t take the magic form.” They scolded her. Their surprise could be herd in the undertones of their voices. So she knew they were shocked. To think they would live to see the day the human weapons made its way in the magic world.
“What, surprised?” She mocked them with a smirk as she held up her gun, silently laughing.
“What shame; Ντροπή. You are defiantly scared with sin. Lucius will claim your soul if you don’t drink the- “
“Shut up!” She yelled. “Now its my turn to talk.” She demanded, aiming her weapon at the chalice.