Witch Sister Three and TMNT *EDITING*

47- The Storm Before the Calm (Kylee)

My body feels so tired. Numb. Lifeless. In the cool of the evening, I look at my hands but almost can’t move them. I guess Death hasn’t fully released its grip on me yet.  Being that close... I had been almost at peace. There was just the fall into silence, the final, sweet peace.  But I’m back here. I now know what it feels like to be old, though. Maybe Death left another scar on me, or maybe it’s just my body healing itself. It feels as if my skin is only a frail rice paper encasing around bones made of dried mud and sinew made of dust.

​I stand on a rooftop near the Tower, my hair kissing my shoulders in the breeze- the discheveled bun I normally keep it in had fallen sometime during my brush with Death. One can hear the low roar of chaos. It’s calmed down since the first day of the attack, but the cries are still there; the grief and the outrage are still demanding to be felt. If it weren’t for the war, it’d actually be a pretty nice, early fall evening. I just hope it isn’t the people’s last, or my sisters’ last. These faces counting on me to get them through the Tower, to the Shredder and the Demon. Morgan, Caitlyn, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Leonardo are going to be looking toward me to bring them through what must be done.

I have to lead two families. Have to attempt to keep two families from meeting their end. It’s odd. I’ve been groomed to be a leader since I was very small. I was taught to put aside emotions in order to make me a calculating matriarch. Obviously, I was never good at that. My rage was too great. My frustration was too open for my parents to accept. My annoyance, my anger…I’m not the stable person my parents want, my emotions are a disappointment to my “loving” mother and father. But I’m still the head of the Halliwell family; still the heir to the Foot. I’m still Kylee, daughter of Karai and Chris Halliwell, villains as they are. Seeing as I’m all these things, seeing as I’m still alive (more or less), I’ve still got a job to do here.

I don’t want to be alive, though. I wish Mo would’ve used her endless compassion for the pathetic on some more deserving person’s carcass rather than my own. I wish Raphael would have left me where he found me. It’s hard to be alive, to live with what I’ll be living with the rest of my life, however long that is. At the same time, suicide isn't an option.  Falling from a building was a one-time thing, I think. All I am is tired. My chest feels…so heavy.  Earlier I noticed the purplish mark protruding from my breast…Nightmare's mark- something of ultimate shame that I’ll carry until my skin finally rots off my bones, and maybe even beyond that. I suppose I deserve no less.

I sigh and stand tall on the rooftop, watching the city burn slowly, becoming smoldering ashes. It kind of hurts to be standing like this, I’m not exactly 100% after being resurrected. I stand here like this because I can’t show weakness-not with the hothead turtle behind me. We were told to sit here and wait, together, alone. I think the gang did it so that I wouldn’t kill myself without them watching. I can’t blame them for taking the precaution- I mean, were I in their shoes, I would’ve ordered the same. But that doesn’t mean I have to like the babysitter act. We stand in silence, our arms crossed and scowls dictating our faces. All is quiet (well, save for an occasional crash, scream, and normal city under siege noises.) We just stand there, like angry statues, waiting for either the end or the dawn. I’ll look back at him occasionally-taking in the sight of a humanoid turtle seriously since I met them. It’s bizarre, unnatural. But yet it looks as if he belongs in New York as much as any other regular person- the city’s touched him in ways I can only guess at and understand. He’s more New Yorker than any of his brothers.

Sometimes he’ll look back at me with those amber eyes of his and I turn away. All the while, just standing there, waiting for Leo to call on us, only one question runs through my mind. Why did he save me? Why did he spare my life (which was pointless anyway-I died about, what, fifteen minutes later)?  It burns inside me.