Finding the Raven Witch (A Soul Eater Fanfiction)

A Delinquent Wreaks Havoc

Rosalyn couldn't sleep. The metal queen-sized bed squeaked faintly as she tossed and turned restlessly.

The bed was from a second-hand store. It had been one of her first big purchases after she had first gotten a decent job as a restaurant waitress and had rented out the small bungalow she and Max lived in now. The bed had been in horrible shape; it's metal bedposts were rusted, and it had been horribly worn down. But a few weekends of fixing it up had it good as new; minus the squeaking.

Rosalyn thought about this now. She remembered how lonely the first few nights here had been; how she had tossed and turned similar to now, pining for her comfy bed in Death City.

Her thoughts drifted to Max. She sat up, with half a mind to go check on him; but decided against it. He hated her enough, without her invading his privacy. In her mind's eye, she could still see him; hunched over, his piercing golden eyes brimming with tears that rolled down his thin, pale face.

He had his father's eyes.

With a sigh, she lay back down, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to think about her husband, the Shinigami. She remembered sitting in his huge chair, leaning back against the backrest so that her feet didn't touch the floor, giggling as he bounced around, carrying on animated conversations with his students. He had loved all the weapons and meisters in training, especially the younger ones. She remembered walking down the halls of his school, her small, thin hand enclosed in his huge, gloved one. He would glide along, his black robes billowing, waving goofily as he passed by each student. Even though Rosalyn didn't know all of them by name like her husband did, she still smiled warmly at each of them. She had grown to love them all as much as he did.

Rosalyn rolled over again, this time remembering a darker memory. She was sitting in Shinigami-sama's chair again, although this time, she was pregnant with Max. She was hunched over, her knees tucked to her huge stomach, her arms hugging them close. She was watching her husband and his Death Scythe as they paced in front of the huge mirror, watching a young meister and his weapon go after a witch, eager to complete their soul collecting.

This upset Rosalyn. She hadn't liked the fact that the young teens were being forced to fight powerful witches.

"Why?" She had asked, distressed. "Why are you making them do this?"

Her husband didn't avert his masked gaze from the mirror. "It's every meister's dream to create my next weapon. If they succeed, they will have gained the highest honor."

"If they succeed? You mean that they might fail! And then what?"

"These two have been training together for a very long time now. I have faith that they will succeed." The Shinigami had turned from the mirror, and begun pacing, slightly agitated by his wife's unrest.

Rosalyn had stood, pressing her lips together. "Witches are a lot more powerful than you think." Then she sighed, and her eyes filled with tears. "I should know."

Her husband stopped pacing. He had turned his back to the mirror. Slowly, he came towards her and lifted his mask.

He had done this many times before, when he thought nobody was looking. He would use his huge hood as a blocker, creating a small space just for him and Rosalyn. And it was under the protection of this hood that he called her by the special pet name only he used.

"Rosie-chan," he had said softly, "I don't like to see you this upset. I know it bothers you a lot, but..." He had sighed. "Some things just need to be done. Why don't we go for a walk? Spirit-kun can keep an eye on our young weapon and meister."

Rosalyn awoke, suddenly realizing she had been asleep. She raised her head off the wet pillow; aware now, that she was crying. Sitting up, she took a few deep breaths, composing herself. Taking the remote from her bedside table, she turned on the small TV set across the room. The news would take her mind off things, she knew. But as her eyes adjusted to the blaring light of the television screen, a fearsome sight met her eyes.

"ARMED DELINQUENT WREAKS HAVOC AT SMALL TOWN BUS STOP" screamed the bold red headlines at the bottom of the screen. Rosalyn immediately recognized the bus stop in the small heart of Grenon. The picture showed a strange looking boy about Max's age. He was standing on the roof of a parked car, swinging a silvery mace above his head. It looked like he was screaming something.

Rosalyn sat up in bed, wide-eyed in horror. Weapons were unheard of in Grenon. Only the municipal police carried tiny pistols, which they never used. A lone teenager walking around with a mace would have been deemed impossible. But the blue-haired boy stood frozen on the screen, swinging his mace as the headlines rolled along the bottom, explaining how he, who referred to himself as Black*Star, had been charged with public mischief and taken into police custody.

Rosalyn gasped. A strange, blue-haired boy carrying a strange weapon with a strange name. This could only mean one thing. The DWMA kids had found a way into this dimension! She could bear it no longer. The rickety bed gave a high-pitched squeak as she hopped onto her feet. Without a moment's hesitation, she ran across the hall to Max's bedroom. Throwing open the door, she gasped as she took in the scene.

Max's homework and books were spilt all over the floor. His dresser drawers were all opened, and the clothes inside were rumpled as if someone had hastily rummaged through them. The underwear drawer lay on the floor, upturned and empty. And the bed... The bed was empty! Max was gone!