Twisted Alchemy (Lynexa) (GirlxGirl)

Chapter Three

Song: I Didn't Say I Was Powerful, I Said I Was a Wizard - Chiodos
-
These unchanging and fatal landscapes seem endless.
Her concept of time is blurry, her pursuers long dead by now.

Death ravishes the land, and even she and her knack for elixirs, the ultimate cure that dwells inside of her, could not cast it out from the world if she tried.

She hikes up her cloak hood and remains in the shadows of civilization for now.

Alexa's POV:

I can tell that the Gunnulfsen girl has a crush on me.

It's obvious really, and kind of endearing. I know that I like her as a person, but I'm not sure if I feel that particular way about her at all, at least not yet.

I also know that I accidentally spelled her sweatshirt. Maybe I should explain myself.

Or maybe not, you'll find out in due time.

Point is, I totally hadn't meant to do that, and she's probably noticed and will wonder. I could just erase her memory of that detail, it would be simple, but I don't want to. There's a big part of me that doesn't want any harm to come to Lyndsey Gunnulfsen. Part of me may want myself in general to stick in her mind like glue.

Are these thoughts a bit extreme for someone who just decided to include someone in their life?

I'd be lying if I said an ounce of myself were straight, I had an attraction to girls like the opposite ends of magnets to eachother. But... I wasn't looking for someone to be with in that sense, I'd gotten out of a relationship which had ended badly still all too recently. I'm no diviner though, not a power I have a certain affinity for, so I guess I can only wait and see how this all plays out.

Lynn, well, Lynn was absolutely entrancing. The way her green eyes glowed, open big and wide as she held out the hoodie, the way her hair, swooped over her shoulder, steadily became damper and damper from the downpour, the way I felt that I had her undivided attention- it was all so new to me and yet not at all. And she seems to want to give that attention, the fact that we share a class helps.

Chemistry class.

Is such a class necessary when it's explaining what you already know, minus the fact that some humans have mastered its more mystical arts? Why mix chemicals to create a reaction when you can create said reaction in the flick of a wrist? There's no need of flint, kerosene, whatever to start a fire when you can conjure one anywhere you please (with some restrictions of water and wind, obviously), no need to mix chemicals when you are the fuse which can cause controlled- or uncontrolled- explosions.

Although, we're - I'm- hardly chemists, however much we could be called such. There are many names for what we are, ranging in obscurity. Magicians, wizards, sorcerers, alchemists... Many prefer to classify themselves as the final, given the history, the common ancestry that we all share.

So yes, plot twist, this bitch is magical.

And if I'm being honest, I have my suspicions about Mrs. Penceworth. She's got this vibe about her, and her teaching methods and subject matter are both hardly common core.

As the subject of those senses is up, a great deal of mine are towards Lynn. I sense something about her, also, something that she possibly can't know yet.

I stretch my arms out, getting up from my bed. Sometimes my thoughts take over my head, and it's hard to get out -or rid- of them. This particular train of thought has lasted much too long.

I get ready for a day of school, the details involved there are well worth sparing. Not-even-long story short, soon I'm making the trek back up to the building, dressed comfortably in a white t-shirt and sweats. The early fall weather leaves goosebumps on my skin, and I silently curse myself for not bringing a jacket. Ironic, that I'd need one for the second day in a row. I decided to suck up to the cold before any more attractive girls pranced up and offered me their coats. By "suck up to" I mean casting an invisible barrier against the cold, letting it settle around myself. Which sounds pathetic as hell, and unnecessary. I'll admit to my own abuse of my abilities later.

My mother always jokes that if I keep using my magic on miniscule things, I'll run out. I beg to differ. I use my powers any chance that I get, keeping the consequences of those actions in mind but otherwise throwing caution to the wind. Instead of sapping me of strength like that killspirit contributing half of my chromosomes prefers to think, I feel strong. Every cell of my being stands alert, buzzing with energy.

Yet my magic is an untapped reserve I've yet to really delve into. Maybe I seem scared of my own capabilities, not doing so, but general statements such as that can be misleading. For as long as I can remember, I've lived the most mundane life. There's no reason for me to try to harness my powers, although lots of people similar to me do. Compare it to fighting a bull; could be accomplished, but not by just anyone, and there's even less who would be willing to finish the job after the fight's said and done.

-
Stopping at a town might not have been a good idea. The smells of these crowded places are never pleasant, but she'd take the more familiar ones any day over their current state. Much rather smell human waste and veer around crowds than smell rotting flesh and find the streets nearly empty, apart from the piles of dead and the passerby with downturned heads.

She soon notices the smoke, mixed with what is probably the most putrid scent she has ever had the misfortune to endure, as if this place weren't putrid enough already. Burning the corpses, then? Even she, who has watched many of her own go down in flames at the hands of those inquisition bastards and knows that some with similar ideals must be smoldering right now, feels no gratification. To go by flame is in no way calming in this time, even if already dead. For an existence to be so ruthlessly turned to ash- a body full of life, a human being reduced to nothingness in minutes- was a terrible thought, to put it lightly.

These people had died as unfairly as the ones they had persecuted, except these people hadn't had a planned or known fate. They had been ruthlessly wiped out by plague; she knew this, having barely followed God, at least didn't have enough belief in Him to be blinded and claim that He was the one who had done all of this, that the end times were near.

It's late afternoon yet still light out, but she is still surprised to find a group of children outside in this mess as she passes through the town, too horror-stricken to retreat now. She's not sure how they're allowed to be outside, especially to be in contact with eachother, but there they move in a circle, hands linked, singing an awfully warped song to pass such young lips.

Ring around the rosie
Pocket full of posies
Ashes,ashes
We all fall down!

The last line is said with almost decided inevitability and exclamation, as the children all fall to the ground, hands still linked. They're faking, of course, but they know all too well what they're emulating, what they speak of. They're taunting death itself, maybe even accepting it. She's awestruck by the display. The children rise, repeating the same chant, but this time some stop singing and notice her, look up questioningly.

The woman decides she'd best be off. She turns on her heels, looking away, and hears the absent voices fill in again as the confusing attention of an adult is gone. She walks forward again, soon reaching the outskirts of the place. Stopping at a town might not have been a good idea, so why are her interests peaked?