Rivetra weekend 2019

Violent

Storm. Raging and ominous storm. Branches violently hit windows and windowsills. Drops wildly hammered the roof and pavement. Nothing was sleeping. Everything was alive and awake. Even if some souls wanted to sleep, they were too afraid. By the shadows dancing on the floors of their rooms, by the icy howling of the wind.

Through the darkness, only a dimly lit candle levitated, its light luminating the ancient walls of the hall. At some times, the flame would quiver just casually, like someone was breathing too deeply in that direction.

But who would disturb the flames of the levitating candle? The person holding it. The person so little, and wrapped in black, warm coat that weld with the darkness around them.

A hand took a hold of the handle of an old door. Pushing it carefully, with a creak door was opened. Ears almost hurted how whistles were intense. It seemed absurd, thinking someone can actually be here during the storm, but the person knows what they've heard.

At some point, our cloaked person heard a sound again.

It seemed as if someone's breath hitched. But why? Was that person crying? Was that person welling in sadness or curling in fear?

There was only one way to find out.

Our person carefully approached an old commode, curling their small, pale fingers around a rusted handle.

Hatch was so little and thin. Narrowing their golden eyes, which glimmered like ones of the cat, the person could discern the shape of a man, whose legs were against his chest and arms wrapped around them. His unseen face was buried in his knees and he was trembling, completely unaware, or unfazed by someone watching him.

"Hey," the person softly said.

Softness in voice was something someone alone wouldn't expect during the raging storm. That must be the reason why the man winced and shot his head up.

The person shuddered and wanted to withdraw, to take one, two steps back, but their legs were glued to wooden boards of the floor.

Man's hair was tousled, his eyes bloodshot, face contorted in grimase, teeth gritted so much that our person feared they will break instantly.

"What do you want?" the man growled, his raspy voice cracked at the end.

Person released a breath they were unconsciously holding. Taking a deep one soundlessly, they spoke in the same manner as before.

"I've heard someone here, so I came to check," they started. "Were you crying?"

It came out like a whisper, but the man heard it nonetheless.

"I was. Happy now?" he spat and turned his head, jaw still clenched, every spoken word being a heavy burden.

Person presumed there was mistrust from his side because he could barely see their face, so with one swift tug at a hood, their head and face were visible.

At the sound of slight rustling, the man moved his orbs and then his eyes went wide.

The person smiled kindly. "My name is Petra Ral. You?"

Man sat still, muscles tense. Truth to be told, he was confused and astounded. Why would a girl come up here, let alone trying to comfort the man she doesn't even know? And... the man had to say, he's never seen a girl like her before. Ginger hair, golden eyes, short physique, maybe even shorter than him.

By looking at her eyes, he could guess she was kind-hearted nature, which he thought was absurd. Why would such a person join the SC? To see their comrades killed. Just like-