Façade [Book 2] (Glamour Series)

6 | Haunting Fate

I step out the back door, bracing myself against the afternoon sunlight. I had been in bed for three days before I made an appearance. Oliver didn't visit me, not that I cared, but my bruises did concern him enough to increase protective services around me at all times. Two woman were always stationed beside and around me at an arms-distance and ear-shot.

I guess being a guest at the Dead King's Mansion meant I had to be safe, even if bullies did kick me senseless in the middle of the day. But right now, Oliver was waiting for me across the field.

He was swinging a sharpened sword around like a toy, gracefully gliding on the balls of his feet and dancing in swift practiced moves. His arms flexed and his legs squared themselves to pounce on an invisible opponent. The green grass below him was practically untouched he was so light in his feet.

I watched him from across the field: a large vast land with a fence made of a bustling forest containing thick branches and weeds. Once he looked up and made eye-contact I didn't flinch like I usually did around the Dead King. I wanted to face him head-on this time. He wouldn't create fear in me any longer, for I had no fear left for him to gain.

"You look better, are you sure you're ready for some more practice?" He yelled, tossing the long sword to the side and tilting his head to the side to crack his neck. When his neck did pop I steadied myself and squatted down without hesitation, my hands sliced the air and my legs lifted to bring a flow to my actions. Over and over again I thrust sharp slices of wind in his direction.

The first attack he ducked, a smile spreading across his face as he continued to dodge my oncoming attacks. His movements were fluent, as if I was a puppet-master and he was my puppet. He danced and listened for the screams of silent thin gashes within the atmosphere. The smile spread as he continued to jump, roll, duck, and flip to avoid my offensive attacks. His legs were always bent, his arms at bay, and his eyes direct and ever-watching.

When my hands couldn't take the pain any longer, my blood feeding the grass below my dancing feet, I stopped and waited for Oliver to come toward me. But, as soon as I stopped, his expression darkened.

"Why did you stop?"

My eyes wandered to my hands; they were unrecognizable and held no strength left in their joints. I don't respond to Oliver, hearing the challenge in his voice, he wanted me to continue.

So I did. I continued to break a sweat until my blood and sweat flew across my face and stained my white t-shirt. My hair, once in a high ponytail, was pooling across my shoulders in large waves. My breathing was jagged and my heart was hammering across my chest. My jaw clenched together and I concentrate on my target. It felt like hours went on; my hands attacking and Oliver dogging and staying on the defense.

That was, until, I saw Joe appear from absolutely know-where, walking up to a concentrating Oliver. Soon I realized that I was trying to kill Oliver and that I had been so concentrated on defeating him that if I did defeat him: he would just be added to the list of people I murdered. I'd just be what people see me as.

I stopped, standing with my shoulders back, and turned around to walk away. I was done for the day and just wanted to go to my room and heal my hands in silence.

Because silence is all I deserved now.