"I've been told plenty of times I'm a monster - it's time to prove them wrong. Even the devil knows that's a compliment."
Her friend was one of many to die at the hands of the Winchesters. Another splash of blood on their red stained hands. They di...
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The Winchesters picked her up a few days later in the parking lot of a nearby motel. She was still dressed in the same clothes she'd left in when she went on her date with Rebecca, the stench of sweat and dirt enveloping the car as soon as she stepped in. Her hair was untamed, riddled with grease and tangles. Her shirt had been dyed red. Her eyes looked puffy. She looked as though she had been through hell, which was a small comparison to the reality. And, for her, things were about to get a lot worse. With Celeste's birthday having recently passed, and the Winchesters indirectly killing her, she wasn't entirely eager to see their faces. But after having destroying her relationship with Rebecca, she had nothing else to do but follow her orders.
When she had left Rebecca's apartment, she prowled around the town, blending into crowds and picking the pockets of the unknowing. She didn't feel any remorse or guilt as she stole an elderly man's wallet, who's walking stick couldn't catch up to the same speed as the thief. Her heart had been aching all day for Celeste, and that ache had numbed the rest of her body.
That night she slept on the streets.
It hadn't been a pleasant experience. She had chosen the alcove of an old antique shop, with layers of dust that Ebony had reckoned had been there ever since the shop had been bought, thirty years ago. The spot was spacious, giving the girl chance to curl up comfortably into the corner and to stretch her legs, if she needed. Cold, solid ground pushed into her body, and she had to keep shifting to try to aid the numbing sensation. Her spot did very little to block the wind, leaving Ebony shivering and freezing, pinching herself when she pitied herself. Celeste was dead, and she probably felt so much more than Ebony did in that moment. These morbid thoughts silenced her whines. Smoke poured into her nose whenever she breathed in, polluting her insides and drying out her internal organs. Yet, despite her complaints about how chilly it was, about the floor and about the smell she knew it was much better than what other people living on the streets got. She found this out when a group of them approached her some time in the night, kicking her out of her fitful slumber. They threatened her, yelled at her, abused her and stole what little money she'd been able to scrounge up. There was a point when they were screaming at her, with some of them patting her down to grab the cash, did she think to herself that their blood would warm her just as well as a blanket.
They were missing the next day. And she had the all of the money she'd worked hard for. She slept peacefully after that.
The following day, she made a beeline for the nearest shop with a printer. Inside the store, she embraced the confused and horrified stares, daring them mentally to call the cops. An hour later and a envelope full of freshly printed photos, she walked to the furthest motel she could think of, on the way dumping the phone and sim card into the nearest trash can. It wasn't the cleanest motel, infested with mysterious marks and made strange noises in the night, but it had a bed. The uncomfortable bed was no luxury for her - she tested it to see whether or not it was bumpy, and she discovered, to her shock, that it wasn't. She threw a few objects underneath it, dropping the mattress back down with a heavy slam. The discomfort of the mattress kept her from falling into the beast infested pit of nightmares. To fill her empty hours she memorised the printed memories, smiling sadly when she hit a particular tear jerking photo. Some of the photos she bought got blotches on.
