So, things have brought me back into the realm (pun intended) of writing. My goal is to get back to Salvation and not let it go until it is finally finished. I've been getting reacquainted with it, and I'm feeling good about getting back to writing it.
She entered and looked around the room. It was nothing like she had expected. She had imagined a cold, dark room with a stone floor and skulls and spider webs menacing the walls, but it was not so. Decorative blades of various lengths adorned two of the stone walls. The large room was very homey and welcoming. It was brightly lit, mainly by the high flames in the fireplace, and torches lit those places that would have been in shadow. The floor was made of smooth, even planks of a light colored wood. There were trunks here and there along the walls, rugs of various animal skins laid out around the room, and bookcases full of books, many with their ribbon markers trailing off the edges of their shelves. The air was comfortably warm and smelled of woodsmoke mixed with a pleasant fragrance of sweet incense. It reminded her of visits to her grandparents' house in the fall.Dividing the room were two broad wood steps leading up to a raised half where the head of a large four poster bed stood against the left wall. In the center of the far wall was a bay window, facing a magnificent sunset in a purple sky. And near the wall opposite the bed sat Venger, slouched in a large chair of intricately decorated black wood � like a small throne, she thought � and looking at her passively.
She had never seen him dressed as he was now. High black boots, tight black leather pants (at least, it looked like leather), and a loose black shirt only halfway laced. She had to force her eyes away from his exposed, pale blue, muscular chest. She instead looked at his sagging wings and long black hair. He looked like a winged rock star � and suitably tragic-looking. She thought it wouldn't be out of place for there to be empty beer cans, liquor bottles and cigarette butts on the floor around him . . . and maybe an electric guitar propped against the wall behind him. But she decided that that was truly ridiculous.
She finally made herself look him in the eyes, and a shiver coursed through the whole of her body. The door quietly closed behind her, causing her to gasp and reflexively glance behind herself. She looked back at Venger and could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She wished that Donnova had come in with her.
"You fear," said Venger. Not a taunt, a mere statement. "You need not." He continued to sit, unmoving.
Sheila didn't know what to do or say. The coming words just seemed to spill from her. "I've always been afraid of you."
He turned his head away. "I know." The words came out like a sigh of defeat.
She had never seen or heard him so gloomy. Slowly, she approached him, more out of curiosity and concern than anything else. But when she started closing the distance in earnest, she averted her gaze to the sunset, the ceiling, the floor � anything but him. Still, she stopped in front of him.
"Why?" he asked.
That brought her attention immediately back to him, and she looked again into those crimson eyes. He was like a different person without the helmet. This wasn't Venger, yet it was.
She thought for a moment, wanting to take his meaning without asking. She didn't want any more words stupidly slipping out. She wanted to get a hold of herself in his presence.
Why had she left her friends behind to go to him? That seemed the most obvious question. Now, what would be her answer? There were so many she could think to give. It seemed that Dungeon Master had abandoned them. No one knew what to do now. And Hank's outburst hadn't helped, either. The rest was just opportunity and impulse. Someone had to do something.
It sounded as good an answer as any. And it felt like the truth.
"Someone had to do something," she said, mimicking her inner voice.
Venger tipped his head back and smiled slightly. "A forthright answer."
A dagger came at her from its mounting on the wall behind him and stopped in front of her, pointing upward. She recoiled at first, and for a moment, she only stared at it. Then she tentatively took it from where it hovered in the air, not because she particularly wanted it, but because it was obviously what she was meant to do.
"You have a unique opportunity this day, Thief, to be that someone who does something."
Her eyes widened as they refocused on Venger. He sat there, holding his shirt open wide to fully expose his broad chest. She couldn't help but take notice of the darker blue of his nipples and the finely toned muscles of his upper abs. When she looked into his eyes again, there was no trace of derision or trickery in his expression. There hadn't been before. He remained somber, and it was throwing her off.
"Point it at me," Venger instructed her.
She hesitated, shaking.
"Do it." His voice was so placid. He did not raise it, and there was no threat in his tone.
She did as he said, not knowing what else to do.
"Just as your Ranger had his one and only chance to kill me, I give you yours. I am an evil who serves a far greater evil. You cannot deny such an opportunity. You cannot allow me to live on. I tell you I will ruin. I will kill. I will destroy. Save the Realm. Put an end to me. Now."
She couldn't make herself stop trembling. She felt like a child trying to play the role of a sophisticated grown-up in a prime-time soap opera. She'd never been in such a situation before, but she knew this wasn't right.
"You wouldn't make it this easy. I know you wouldn't. This is some kind of test or trick, a� a game. You're playing with me."
That small smile again. "I leave the games to Dungeon Master."
Despite what he said, she was sure this was some kind of game. Even so, she took a step closer to him, holding the dagger out in front of her and aiming it at his chest. Another step, and then another. She stopped when its tip touched the surface of his skin but did not penetrate.
"How does it feel . . . Sheila?"
Her eyes darted up to meet his when he spoke her name. She had been staring fixedly at the blade's point of contact, still undecided about what she should do next, but her name spoken in that rich, deep, unnatural voice took her completely out of the moment.
"Think of the glory and fame you would gain were you to slay me. You name would be legend, overshadowing that of even Dungeon Master, for he has never been able to accomplish such. Think of the celebrations held and the monuments erected in your honor. You would be hailed the Savioress of the Realm!"
She fought to think of how best to answer this. She didn't dare look away from those eyes. If nothing else, she wanted to show some strength of character as she knew Hank or Diana could.
But then she saw him wince, and she looked down. The dagger's tip was embedded in his chest, and blood had run down to pool in the folds of his shirt. She hadn't felt the blade pass his flesh; she had been too distracted to realize what she was doing.
"I bleed . . . the same as you," he whispered hoarsely.
Sheila gingerly pulled the dagger's tip from him. It had gone in farther than she'd thought. When it was finally withdrawn, her hands began to shake beyond her control. She threw the weapon aside as she backed away from him. "I can't! You asked me how it feels. It feels horrible! And I don't care about being famous or having glory or� or any of that! I believe there is good in you, and I believe that good is worth saving!"
Venger said nothing to this. His demeanor did not change.
Sheila stood there, panting, waiting. Say something, Venger! "Isn't this where you call me a child and a fool, or something like that?" Her heart nearly stopped and her hand shot to her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd just said that.
Now he rose, and she stepped back. But he only stepped to the edge of the stair and stopped, covering his wound with a hand. Without looking at her, he said, "A fool? No. You may have just proven yourself the wisest being in all the Realm."
She watched him as he walked out of the room. She wanted to collapse right then and there, but she was still in his room. His bedroom. She would at least get out before she gave in to her quivering legs.
Thank you for reading.
