The streets ran cold. Cold shoulders, cold wind, cold cobblestone it was all frigid. Fury disliked the cold. Not the physical pain that it could cause, no she disliked the things that went along with it. Ice, snow and the people's need to congregate indoors to tell their tales, drink their drinks while simultaneously wiping their noses on their sleeves.

At the moment that was what she was looking at. He had wandered in off the street with teeth chattering, a tattered coat pulled tightly around his torso, and a bag of coins clenched in his fingers. His thinning hair was neatly styled, and it was obvious he had taken the time to shave, albeit poorly and he had missed a patch under his jawline.

It was these small things that she disliked. It was a person's inability to pull it together and the weakness to have to come to her in their darkest moments in the hope that she would save them, their wives, their children, their money.


"Mind'n if I 'ave a seat missus?" He was already pulling out the chair before she could tell him he had to stand. It was another antique piece she would be forced to dump on the street.
Pushing a pair of wire frame glasses up on her nose, she appeared to be stately and very business-like. It was all a ruse. The man visibly relaxed and dropped the coin purse on her desk, pushed it over to her. His hands were shaking, whether from nerves or cold it was difficult to tell.

"How may I help you today?" She already knew, but for the contract to be binding she had to have him talk.

"Well, beggin' yuir perdon ma'am. I 'ave heard that you can bring health to those w..w...w..who are ill." It was his twitchy eyes, and shifting positions that belied his unwillingness to be in the office. However, like so many before him the heart often wins out over commonsense.

"Oh you have? Have you?" Her tone was quiet, and even. Leaning forward and resting her elbows on the edge of the desk. All professional. All too human.

"Oh yes'm. I brought our life savings. M'child is dying and m'wife's heart is breaking. I don't want it." His courage was growing out of desperation. Wringing his hands together like an old dishcloth, it appeared that he was willing himself to stay.

"Relax, sir.. I don't do these things. I merely facilitate the transaction." Pulling open the door and pulling out a book. Its bindings were frayed, and the cover was black, black as the night sky with a new moon. There were signs of life through the book though. The engraved leather kept changing and shifting before finally settling into the shape of a weeping willow.

"My wife didn't want me to come." She had heard this before. One spouse wants it, the other doesn't. But, again.. the head is ruled by the heart in cases of life or death.

"It is a tough decision. If it is of any help you are not the first to have said that. I can assure you that I will not force you into anything you do not want to do. You have come here of your own volition and that shows me that you do want your child to live to save your wife the distress and heartache of losing a child. What I ask of you is simple. You will sign your name in the ledger here." She patted the waving willow tree.
"And when the time comes your soul will be forfeit. It is a small price to pay for the life of your own flesh and blood is it not?" Her voice lowered, all velvety and full of compassion, it was a trusting voice. She offered the man a sympathetic smile. It was all wrong and layered in deceit.

"I will cut the price in half. And you will still have half of your savings. As there has to be a fee for my mediation in this deal." She knew when they were sure of their decision. She knew when he had pulled off his gloves and started to reach for the pen.

"Well, missus, do you know when I have to give up my soul?" His hand hovered over the pen. It was all dependent upon her response now. He could stay or run.

"It won't be for a very long time." A serpentine smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkled, she even winked for good measure.

"All right then. I hate to see my child suffer. " He plucked the pen out of its holder as she slid the ledger over to him.

"Please sign your full name. I will know if you are writing the wrong name, Andrew. Then, there will be the matter of payment. "

Fury flipped the book open, all the pages were blank. Andrew's hand shook as he pressed pen onto the parchment. His writing was poor and sketchy. His name written, it disappeared into the paper.

"Now, just prick your thumb on that pin right there and press it down next to your name." Andrew's pale gray eyes opened in fear, but at this point he was compelled to do so. Thumb pricked and pressed.
The deal was done, almost.

The coin purse was emptied. She counted out her half of the copper pennies, and silver medallions, put the rest back into the satchel as was her promise. Andrew's face was slick with sweat and his skin held a gray tint. He looked about ready to fall over. Pushing her seat back and walking over to him. She dropped the purse into his lap.

"Your child is safe."

"T..t..thank you mum. I have one more question to ask.." He rose and put his gloves back on. She placed a hand on his shoulder and ushered him to the door.

"What is that, Andrew?" Dark eyes doeful and filled with false caring.

"Who has my soul?"

She laughed, it was unearthly, like cathedral bells. It would be pretty if it weren't full of malice.

"Oh. You know who. And he will come." She slammed the door in his face with a smirk. It was too easy.

It took a moment, but she began to cough, choking. She clawed at the material around her throat, trying to wedge her fingers in the tarnished gold band around her neck. It tightened one more notch.

Apparently, her antics have not gone unnoticed. Who to follow, who to serve?

Fury was stuck in the middle once again.

The sun was nearing noon in the sky. Clouds were scarce, they offered little reprieve from the heat. The Marketplace was stuffed full of bodies, all pressing forward to get to the vendor's and their wares.

This was the type of environment Fury would normally avoid. All these people and the scent of unwashed bodies permeating the air. The pushing and shoving it was all so very unbecoming what people would reduce themselves to for the promise of food, something pretty, or something new.

She was not dressed for the heat. Fury was still dressed in black and stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of all the women wearing their frilly, colorful numbers. She kept her arms to her sides as she wormed her way through a rather unpleasant gathering at the Fish vendor.

"Hey watch it lady! You almost stepped on my packages." A voice filtered through and hit her ears with a ping. Her expression changed from annoyance to anger, slowly turning to face the offender.

"Perhaps, you should not leave your precious packages on the ground." Illustrating the point, she neatly kicked his stack of goods over. The man wasn't quite sure how to respond. His mouth gaped open, then closed, and opened again like a fish.

"If you weren't a lady. I'd give you a lesson in respect. As it stands, you can just pick up your mess and we can forget this. I'm sure the heat has addled your brain."

She took a moment to assess the situation and look over the man. He was middle-aged, still in shape. His brown hair was cropped close, although he needed to shave. He dressed like a farmer. He stood there with his hands on his hips, sweat stains under his arms and sweat beads forming on his forehead. It was obvious he was trying to keep his temper under control.

Fury smiled a sickly sweet smile at the fellow and acted like she was going to pick up the scattered boxes, instead she took a heel and crushed the contents of one with a crunch.

"My mistake.. My brain must be addled from the heat, I don't know how to pick up your trash."

By this time there was a small circle forming around the two. Fury straightened up and brushed off her hands, leaning in so that she was practically nose to nose with the man. He was curling his hands into fists. And she was waiting for an excuse to actually hurt him. He gave it to her. The man unclenched his fists and gave her a shove.

"No, you will pick them up. "

"I will not." Stepping in closer, she didn't even give the fellow time to react, grabbing his index and middle fingers in one hand and his wrist in the other. She cranked his fingers back so far that they snapped. Tendons, bones and veins all exposed in one second. A snarl as the man crumpled onto the ground cradling his hand in his lap. The look she gave the crowd quickly quelled any thoughts of trying to do anything to her.

"Pick yourself up. You're embarrassing yourself." Fingertips pressed into his shoulder and pushed him over as she walked by. She still had her own matters to attend to.

She left the commotion behind her with no worries from the guard, or retribution. She paid the guard off well. They knew better than to bother her. And the people were sufficiently afraid for their own hands that they would just go about their daily business. The crowd was thinning out as she hit the edge of the marketplace.

There it was: tattered, patchwork tent standing all by its lonesome. Only a handful of people were gathered there, but mainly out of curiousness. They soon scattered allowing her quick access. Pulling the cloth aside she ducked her head in.

"It has taken you long enough to get here." She stepped in the rest of the way.

"Wash your hands, Amitiel.I'll not have you bloodying up the place." A craggy voice came from the back of the tent. Fury looked down at her hands which were caked with the blood of that man. Shuddering she turned and dipped her hands in a bowl of water, watching the liquid turn red. The coppery smell wafted to her nose forcing her to gag.

"Fine, It's done. Do you have what I asked you for the last time?" Drying her hands on the tent itself as she turned back around to face the hooded figure. Wispy strands of white hair peeked out from under the cloak. The face that peered out was withered and aged.

"Of course, Amitiel. I wouldn't want to face your wrath." The person held out their hand, the fingers clenching an aged paper scroll.

"You should be able to find him with this. If this doesn't work, then he doesn't want you to find him."

Fury snatched the scroll from the ancient with a frown.

"What's that mean?" She unrolled the parchment to look down at the angelic writing. It was gibberish to anyone but her.

"You will figure it out, Amitiel. Now go... Our business is done. If you need me, you know how to find me."

She wasn't used to being dismissed, but she rose and backed out with a nod of thanks. And for a moment Fury felt happy, it was possible she could find him.





*Author's note: A flashback. This particular piece is a character illustration more than anything.

It had been a productive morning technically speaking. The comings and goings of clients was steady. Old women wanting to save their husbands, old men wanting to save their wives as neither could live without the other. That was the tragedy of her "job".
Then there were the young entrepreneurs that did not want to wait for wealth, they wanted it immediately. Their loss was not nearly as sad. Greed was a deadly sin so Fury was always pleased with this type of person.
Of course, it was hard to ignore the young women who came in search of beauty those who are not content with their own natural beauty and want the above average. Vanity was a delicious sin and she was always more than willing to get the women their heart?s desire. And these women usually forgot to ask for one small thing: for their looks to be eternal. They never did and their beauty always faded.

But, it was the children that Fury could not deal with. She refused their requests?usually.

There was a timid knock on the door and from beyond the heavy oak she could hear the shuffling of feet, and sniffling, then the wiping of one?s nose.

?Please come in.? Watching the door now as it opened and in stepped a boy about ten years of age. His face was smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. He dragged a box about half his size in behind him. He didn?t approach the desk but stood close to the door. He looked frightened, but something, some sort of desperation had driven him.
Poorly hiding the surprised look on her face, she did at least attempt to be nice.

?How may I help you?? Not making any sudden movements the boy looked like a rabbit about to dart. She attempted to lace her fingers together, but winced as the lacerations from the glass the night before prevented full movement. So, she settled for a relaxed lean in her chair, hands hanging off the armrests. She gave him a smile and hoped it wasn?t too forced.

He sniffled again and pushed the box in front of him. He didn?t look directly at her, but somewhere over her shoulder.

?My mum says I can?t keep her and I want to keep her. I?ve had her since she was a baby and now I can?t keep her? And? and?and?? He started crying which left Fury unsure about how to proceed. She walked over to him and patted his shoulder awkwardly like she was patting a ticking bomb. His little shoulder shook and he continued sobbing until snot was running down his face, the tears were soaking the front of his shirt.

?Uh?? She frantically looked around her office for something to give the kid. Spying a handkerchief on one of the bookshelves she quickly grabbed it hand stuffed it into the kid?s hand. He blew and sneezed, wiped his nose until the sobbing had settled into a hiccupping accompanied by a few tears.

?Ma?am, I really want to keep her. And my older sister said you can do that for me. She said it was easy, just sign your name-it?s done.? Bright blue eyes looked up at her. They were bloodshot, making the blue look almost purple. He finally reached into the box and pulled out a giant lop eared rabbit. Its nose was twitching and legs were just dangling in the air. Apparently, she was used to being handled. He cuddled the bunny and started to sniffle again. Fury really didn?t want the waterworks to start again. Neither did she want him to sign any ?paperwork?.
?Please ma?am, my mum says we can?t keep her. She eats too much and she also says ?I can barely feed the lot of you. You either get rid of that infernal rabbit or I will turn it into a stew.?? He started crying again.
?We?? He sobbed. ?can?t eat her!? The rabbit wriggled its nose at Fury, while struggling to get out of the boy?s grasp. He lowered the bunny to ground and it started to hop around. Fury flared her nostrils as the bunny started to nibble on one of the bookshelves.
?Please!!!!? He gripped her shirt tails and tugged.

?Fine, we can work out an agreement.? She kept an eye on the rabbit, who seemed content to chew on the wall.

?Oh, thank you ma?am!! I will sign right now.?

?No! No, you will not.? It was a very matter of fact statement, and she would not have him saying it again.

?Why? I don?t want her to be stew!?
?I will keep her for you, until you can come take her back.?

The boys face lit up, and he seemed a bit relieved that he wouldn?t have to sign anything. Not that he even understood the concept and real reason why he would do it.

?Oh, thank you ma?am. Thank you.? He wrapped her into a hug. She stood there and uncomfortably patted the top of his head.

?What is your name?? Figuring it was best to know who he was and who?s animal she was now taking care of.

?Fergus? Fergus Little at your service.? He took a step back and gave his most proper bow. ?And my rabbit?s name is Lady Hopkins. But, I just call her Hopkins.? The rabbit in question was currently under Fury?s desk making a mess. She just scowled seeing what she was getting herself into.

?Well, Fergus is there anything specific I need to know about her??

?She likes apples and oranges as treats. I can?t afford them very often. I feed her lettuce and carrots when they are available.? Fergus was crawling under the desk now to gather Hopkins into his arms. He held the bunny out to Fury motioning for her to take the rabbit. She scooped Hopkins up with an expression of repressed dislike, but she covered it with a smile.

?That is simple. Anything else you need to tell me??

?N?n?no? Just don?t turn her into stew, please.? And Fergus started crying again. ?And can I visit her??

Fury hissed through her teeth, but kept a smile frozen on her face.

?Of course you may, Fergus. Please stop by anytime.? She knew she would regret saying that. He would probably walk in and spend the whole day there while she was trying to do business. But, if this kept him from doing something stupid then she would allow it.

?Thank you, ma?am!? He gave a glance to the window and saw the darkening sky.
?I have to go. My mum is going to smack me senseless for being out so late.?
Fergus leaned in to kiss Hopkins? nose then he gave Fury another tight hug.

?Good evening, Fergus.? She shouldered open the door for him. He bowed deeply to her before walking out. He was putting up a brave front. But, the moment the door clicked closed she could hear his sobbing once more.

Were she a more compassionate being she would feel bad, but she did the only thing that was right. Normally, right didn?t play into it. She couldn?t let the boy be a part of a hellish journey, not at his age, not for that reason. Letting the Hopkins do whatever a rabbit did as she started to close up shop for the night. While in the middle of sliding ledgers back onto the shelves the throbbing in her head began. This was something she knew was coming. The blood trickled from her nose, she just wiped it away.

This was the situation she was stuck in. Everyone wants truth on their side. Good for truth is righteous and Evil for knowing the truth you can spin a lie.

It was mid morning before she finally pulled herself out of bed. Dried blood encrusted her cheeks, lips and chin like a theatre mask. Her feet dragging along the floorboards with a swishing sound. She passed the full length mirror without a second glance. The black linen tunic was wrinkled from the days of sleep. She didn?t seem to care.
Upon entering the kitchen, she headed for the icebox and pulled out the milk. She poured it out for Quinnley who was mewing and weaving himself in and out of her legs. He happily lapped up his breakfast. Fury moved to the pen she had set up for Hopkins, and fed the lop-eared rabbit. Who really did not seem pleased or upset about the irregular feeding times. With a sigh Fury turned and grabbed a roll out of the breadbox and nibbled at it for a bit before discarding it on the table.

Her brain felt like mush. So much so that thinking hurt and she spent the day in a mind numbing haze. For Fury this was abnormal. She was, by nature, a productive, always busy person with numerous projects going on simultaneously. But, now she was just there, only existing, barely scratching on the surface of her former life. She was however scratching at the dried flecks of blood on her cheek in an idyll manner as she shuffled her way back to her bedroom, ignoring her chessboards in the hallway. The pieces had been scattered and knocked over by Quinnley and she had not bothered to pick them up.

The piano and all her music, books were locked shut behind the study door. There was no song for her to play now. Her voice long since taken and her songs were the only memories she had and those were almost too painful to recall. She hid them away behind a door to be left to their own devices.

Her circular trek brought her back to her bedroom. This time she paused in front of the mirror. She took in her all-too tall frame, just a tad on the thin side. Her skin was not really ivory. Looked at in the right light she almost looked silver. But, that was rare and she just looked pale and hollowed. Her hair which,normally, was meticulously groomed instead was a tangled mess which she pulled back to examine the small nubs of demon horns. The sight made her scowl, so she dropped her hand letting her hair fall back over her face. She was not a weak person, but a torn one. Leaning over that proverbial precipice staring into the depths of hell with a chained halo holding her back; she could go no further in any direction. And the inability to do so was maddening. Her fingers curled into tight little fists which she planted neatly into her reflection. The glass shattered, her knuckles crushed and bleeding, but she wore a smile on her face as she turned back around. She took a long step to the end of the bed before she just faceplanted into the comforter. It would be awhile before she awoke.

The hopes of a father, the dreams of a fallen angel, and the manipulations of a dark prince all converge at a single point.. And her life was no longer her own, her decisions, her actions all had immediate consequences.. She could do no good, and she could do no evil.

She just is.

The paper was crumpled in her hands. Fury had read it a thousand times before, so she knew it by heart. She sat with her legs drawn up to her chest, and staring out at the grinning crescent moon. No secrets to keep, and no prayers to make.

She spoke quietly there was no one to hear.

The moon was high. It hung in the air like a Cheshire smile-the devilish cat disappearing into the stars.

There?s stillness in the air that was only disturbed by the hoots of owls, and the call of foxes.

But, she could hear them.

Hear their songs above on high.

Watch for your sign.

These things will come.

Bright/burning/as the Sun.(Son)
Please.
Do not beg.

This is your sign.
Your sign.
Your sign.

Amitiel gave the sky a longing stare, and hoping for a sign that she?d been forgiven.

And every night she watched the night sky.

Those songs quieted. The people came and went. It never came.

Each night that passed she grew more and more detached.

And soon enough-she did not care if she would be redeemed.

Her gilded wings are broken things, and the wounds she won?t ever forget.

She will never forget.

Her sign had come in the form of a Sinner. She may not forget, but she would at least be free.

The comets
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness,
So your gestures flake off---


Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling

Through the black amnesias of heaven.

Sylvia Plath
?The Night Dances?

(Author?s note: Fury has been around for quite sometime in a historical sense. So, what is written is a partial children?s story-meant to deliver some message to do no wrong.)

Upon returning to where she had originally seen the house Fury was not at all surprised to find it gone with the forest reclaiming what had been rightfully its own.
The difficulty in accepting its now complete disappearance was that it had appeared to have been a permanent fixture. The house had been set back from the road, but it had a drive, picket fences and a perfectly landscaped yard. All of it was gone, nothing but the old oaks, and ash staring back.

She didn?t dare wander into the maze of trees instead she opted for the quickest route possible back into town. It was nearing dusk. The sun was trying to hang onto the horizon but the pull and heaviness of night forced it away. Her step was light with a barely a sound to her walk. She had relaxed, and perhaps this was a mistake upon her part to think that the fear was gone. Being close enough to the town to see the glow of street lamps and the low hum of people she quickened her pace.
Then, she stopped dead in her tracks. She did not turn around, or even twitch. Normally, people she tried to avoid. But, tonight it wasn?t a person that caused her to halt.

The giggle.
A giggle from some other time.

It unnerved her then.
It unnerved her now.

Her feet started moving, she stared straight ahead as if turning around would validate her fears. But, the faster she walked, the longer the road got. Town and its promise of safety were always twenty paces faster than she could take.
Another giggling from the darkness behind her, this time she spun around to face an empty road and the shadows of trees with the whispers of night.

Just stillness.

A dance of a turn, one foot carefully placed before the next one was lift-she turned her head last. When she had come round full circle it wasn?t the forest she saw but the cobblestone streets and the street lamps of town and the door of her loft to her left and the clamor of people heading in for the evening.

?Mon dieu.? The utterance was foreign on her tongue. It had been centuries, but memory was a damnable thing.

The door unlocked with a click of key, reluctantly the door creaked open. It was there that she was greeted by Quinnley looking down at her from the ceiling?that used to be the floor. The floor, one could surmise, should have been the ceiling. Instead it was a black square, followed by a white, for as far as the eye could see. All she could think of was ?games..? However, she kept her mouth shut. The cold slick sweat of fear was beading on her forehead, absently she wiped it away. There was no way she would go in, even as the squares shifted lining the hall.

Welcome Home, was all she could hear. But, no actual voice had spoken.

Standing there as if balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff she leaned over the threshold to peer in. That was enough it would seem. The door with more force than a wind could muster slammed into her, she went stumbling into the hall. Quinnley mewed down at her, and cocked his head to the side. The room seemed to shrink, or perhaps the light was dimming.

It just all went black.
No sign of light.
Abysmal black.

She stood unmoving for a very long time, paralyzed by fear.

After all-Angels-even fallen ones preferred light.
Absolute darkness?was petrifying.

All memories lead to one moment.

All your fears lead away.

Fury couldn't recall where she had been exactly.

But,she finally stepped out of her loft.

A distinctly hunted/haunted countenance plastered across her face.

She pressed her back against the brick lined walls of the streets and watched the passers by.

She whistled a soulless tune.

And Fury waited.

But, what was she waiting for?
(Author's note: I'll fill in more later. I've had a couple of rough weeks. But, there is always more to the story. Cheers!)

Tilting her chin upwards, stretching out her neck as fingertips pressed to now healing burn that encircled her neck. The reflection caused her to grin a cheshire smile. All teeth-she was just missing the points. It seemed somewhat feral.

"It suits you." The voice came from somewhere beyond her shoulder. Although, no face was seen in the mirror besides her own.

She just hissed through her teeth. And continued to look at her reflection. A forefinger and thumb at the corners of her mouth pushing the corners upwards. All a mockery of a smile of happiness.

"You're fair game now, dearest Amitiel. Don't you realize that you had some vestiges of protection with your halo all fallen down? Now, there is no crown of safety to keep me from you. "

Ignoring the voice she continued to look at her reflection.. She turned her head to the side slightly to trace a finger over her jawline. The remarkable thing-she still looked the same-minus the promise of a scar about her throat. It would not leave her. Reminders..we all need reminders.

"What do you think I fear? The darkness? The absence of a son? Do your best...Your games are tiresome." Smoothing her hair back and knotting it at the base of her skull. The angles of her face seemed more severe, less heavenly. Such a blackness that permeated her very being. Nothing to fear now...
just fear itself.

The thing that nightmares are made of: spider's webs, and endless hallways.

Her mouth was sewn shut-stitches like a line of hot-crossed buns.
The voice was quiet. The sound was like water ripping through paper, and the screaming of the damned. The whispers bounced off the tiled walls.

"It isn't wise to raise my ire. Perhaps, it's best if you sit in silence for sometime. "

So, she was left-silenced to stare at a reflection of the angel she used to be... And the promise of what she will become.
No reason to scream.. No one will hear.

The nightmare is to come..

She's just the bearer of bad news.

"Fear grows in darkness; if you think there's a bogeyman around, turn on the light." -- Dorothy Thompson


Somewhere in the deepest dark, tucked away in the hearts and minds of every living creature in the universe, in several, there exists a place.

When we close our eyes at night, it is there, waiting for us. Safe and sound beneath the blankets, in our beds, protected by four walls, a ceiling and a floor, we begin to doubt and question. Did I lock the door? Did I lock the windows? Did I remember to turn off the oven? A thousand different unsettling wonders tumble through our heads. Are we truly as safe as we imagine ourselves to be? The most disturbing is whispered in a child's prayer.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

The backs of closed eyelids become a projection screen. Our imaginations, wild and unfiltered, play out the reels. It starts as darkness. Ribbons of dark and foreboding colors, reds and purples, slice across the screen. They flash as star bursts which become eyes and whispers in the dark. A landscape of undulating colors carry us reluctantly into our dreams. This is the place that unites all living beings, for even dogs dream.

And in this place resides something terrible.

They say the Nightmare Keeper was spawned the moment the first mortal woke sweating and trembling and screamed his terror into the night. He poured out of the mouth of the terrified and was made into being. People say a lot of things. No one knows with any certainty why this creature exists, and not even he will tell you.

All that any can say is that it has always been his task to shape and mold and direct the flow of nightmares. Once he was asked what he does with them, if he is indeed the Keeper of Nightmares as his title proclaims. The answer was quite simple: "I place them where they belong."

Day in and day out, depending on your outlook, this is his eternal function. For where it may be evening on one side of a world, it is morning on the other. There is always darkness somewhere. Always a gentle sleeper waiting to be reminded of and disturbed by their fears.

Fear itself, the Keeper himself, is a malleable entity. His appearance changes to best suit the needs of those perceiving him. Whatever one may fear the most, that is what is seen. Whatever is disturbing and unsettling, that is what he shows himself to be, and in some cases the vision is unified.

Fear is his domain. This is what he thrives off of, feeds on. Without fear, he cannot exist.

What, then, do angels fear?

What did Fury see?

Fury Finds a Hobby

When one is attempting to avoid sleep it is important to occupy the mind, and then in turn. the hands..However,this does not always work well, nor does it soothe the affected soul in the manner it was originally intended.


Quinnley stared up from a pile of yarn that was wrapped over and around him. He mewled, rolled and batted at what was attempting to be a sweater, or maybe a hat. It was hard to tell.

A long hiss escaped through clenched teeth.

"Stop moving..I've finally figured it out." Which wasn't true, Fury had a lot of talents, knitting just wasn't turning out to be one of them. If working on this for days, hadn't turned a somewhat decent purl-one-purl-two, then something was definitely wrong.

And Quinnley happened to be the one who enjoyed the knitting experience more than Fury.

The needles clicked together, but her finger slipped and all the stitches slipped off. She shrieked and tossed the needles, and the ball of yarn went tumbling after. Quinnley went bounding after the ball. He pounced and suceeded in gutting the yarn, then knocking it all over the floor.

Her nerves were already frayed as it were. She stood and stalked over to the needles, snatched them up off the floor. Off to the kitchen she went, two apples were grabbed from the fruit basket, she set them on the counter.

A knitting needle was then shoved into each one.

The apples set on the counter, along with two oranges stuck with crochet needles.

She stood there for a long moment with hands on her hips. A tongue cluck in thought.

Fury was going out.

She was tired. Tired of not sleeping. Tired of falling asleep in the strangest places. It was a slow season for souls. With Easter and Beltane fast approaching people tended to try to do good things. Winter was more her season for collections.


The walk started off as aimless. Just another thing to do keep herself busy and out of the house. Were she a more concerned pet owner, she would have brought Quinnley with her. But, he seemed less affected by fear and its manipulations.

Fury, on the other hand, was like putty.. The fallen was about to snap.

This was something she had been putting off for weeks now. But, she had run out of options. The piano strings had gone flat, the new hobbies she tried were not appealing, nor appeasing. But, she did have an employer now. Might as well see if the Sinner had anything for her to do.

Now, her walk had a destination: Ambrosio Enterprises.

The door was locked behind her. Once the key was pulled from the keyhole the door became the bricks in the wall. A well rested Fury was a happy one. Okay, not necessarily happy but one less inclined to remove someone's fingernails with a pair of pliers.

She didn't venture far these days. In fact, she pretty much kept to herself. Keeping business limited and if anyone who came to her seemed even the slightest bit suspicious she turned them away. At very least, her sleep had been dreamless.. But, she still wore a distinctly haunted look. Dark circles, hollowed cheeks, blue-ish lips. It was as if she were just fading away.

That's the thing about Angels, Demons, Fallen Angels-they all had a purpose. An Angel without a purpose was a lost one..

Today, she wandered aimlessly, every so often stopping at different vendors to check their wares. Nothing was appealing. So she kept walking, through town, out of town.

It was as if she had become a ghost of her former self.
The fear had grown exponentially-it seeped from her pores, and hugged her close, whispering soothing, sweet nothings into her ear.

By the time she had stopped walking.. she didn't know where she was.
The town was long gone, and the sun was setting.

Darkness would fall.


Don't be afraid of the dark, sweet.

?You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer trace constellations. You?ll care only about the darkness and you?ll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you?re some kind of indispensable universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you?ll be afraid to look away, you?ll be afraid to sleep.?-Mark Danielewski

Staring at the door to the loft from the street, Salvador knew immediately that he didn't like it. Why, of all people, had Fury charged him with this task? He decided then that the woman needed friends more than he did.

From the outside looking in there really wasn't anything particularly too daunting about the place. The building was just as unremarkable as the others in the area. In fact, it looked as if it could have done with a decent paint job. Maybe some reshingling. Aside from being another dull house in an equally dull neighborhood, the loft looked harmless. Well, it looked harmless to anyone who saw things in any normal way.

Salvador did not see things in any normal way.

There was something clinging to the building. Under the right amount of illumination, say the sun at high noon in the middle of the desert, any average eye could have seen it too. A very thin layer of something hallucinatory, something that shimmered and undulated, with all the colors of the rainbow threaded through inky black ooze, was coiled tightly around every sheet of siding and shingle that made up the framework of the building. Over the windows, the under layer was crystal clear, but the hair thin ribbons of colored light still glinted tauntingly every time a breeze slid through. And the wind was particularly breezy today.

Salvador had seen something quite like this at least once before. More than once before, to be honest. All those times he had seen this, he hadn't liked it. Least of all did he like seeing it here. Right out in the open. Right there, in his face, mocking him. He could almost hear the high-pitched cackle traipsing in from far away. That sickening twist on a child's laughter. It was all in his imagination, though, only a memory.

He stood there in the street scowling at Fury's loft. The skeleton key she had given him was flipping through the air. At set intervals he caught it in his fingers and gave it a toss, over and over and over again. If there wasn't a living creature in there waiting to be fed, he never would have gone in. Her home could have sat there collecting dust for all he cared. But there had to be a damned cat to take care of, didn't there.

The feeling of fear wasn't what kept him at bay. Salvador wasn't afraid of this house. He wasn't even afraid of the shadowy luminescence that enveloped it. Though fear itself was surely what hugged the walls and windows so tightly. There was no mistaking what he saw. This place was, for lack of a better term to describe it, cursed.

With great irritation, Salvador stepped forward and reached for the knob of the door. He felt some grim satisfaction for the fact that the thin layer of glittering dark slithered away from his hand before he even touched the knob. The substance moved out of his way as if he were soap and it was the oil being dripped into the glass. Still, it couldn't touch him.

Inside the situation was little different from without. That same smothering substance was clinging to the walls, the floor and even the ceiling. It made the interior of Fury's home dark to his eyes. To anyone else nothing would have looked amiss, unless they too had eyes like his own.

Quinnley was there to greet him in the way that any cat may greet a stranger trespassing into his home. The little ball of fluff hissed at him, spine arching high and tail turning into a bristle brush. Salvador sighed, rolled his eyes, and slipped the key into his pocket. He walked further in. The cat gave him one last menacing growl, then scampered into an adjoining room, likely to hide under something.

The disarray wasn't what he had expected. Fury had always struck him as an impeccably tidy person, much like his father. For the most part her loft was rather clean, but there were scattered bits and pieces of her life tossed carelessly in places where he doubted they were meant to be. She had left in a hurry, he noted.

Looking down he saw that the floor was clear and normal under his feet. With every step he took, the dark energy retreated away from him like some terrified creature. Funny to think that the one thing fear itself might fear would be him. But he knew better. The darkness wasn't afraid of him, no more than he was afraid of it. They both simply loathed each other. He tread through the loft carefully, disgusted by the presence that surrounded him. He no more wanted to touch it than any rich debutante wanted to touch her own dog's poo after taking him for a walk.

The last time he had seen this much of this in a single place had been a few years back. As thickly as the loft was coated in this particular energy could only mean one thing. Salvador didn't like what he was thinking any better than he liked being surrounded by this presence. How long had she been plagued by him? How had he never noticed? "Astuto hijo de puta," he muttered.

Quinnley wasn't hiding under anything as he had suspected. The cat was waiting for him in the kitchen, hunkered up high on the counter overlooking a pen. Inside the pen was a rabbit. Salvador frowned. Fury hadn't mentioned any other animals. "F***ing fantastic," he grumbled. The cat growled at him again, probably telling him to back off and leave his friend the bunny alone. Sighing irritably, he stepped closer, lifting his hands.

"Look here, stupid," he said to the cat. "I'm here to feed you. At least, that was the plan." Looking around the place, he was starting to reconsider. Neither the cat nor the rabbit seemed to be affected by the energy surrounding them in any way. In fact, they too had clear and clean spots beneath their paws. It couldn't touch them any more than it could touch Salvador. That was mildly reassuring, but some other, we daresay kinder, smaller part of him didn't much like the idea of leaving Fury's pets in this cursed place.

If the situation weren't as it was, he likely would have taken the time to nose around. There was possibly quite a lot he could have learned about the Fallen by investigating her things. Down one hall he thought he saw rows of chess tables. He never knew Fury liked to play chess. More and more she reminded him of his father, and that didn't settle well with him any better than the fact that fear essence painted everything she owned.

He looked back at the cat and frowned. "You're coming with me," he said, reaching out to grab the animal by the scruff of the neck. For his trouble he got bit, scratched, and had to contend with a whole heck of a lot of squirming. But being bigger and meaner than a territorial cat had its advantages. Eventually he got the moody beast shoved up into his jacket, under his arm. Once that was settled, he bent down to scoop up the rabbit. "And so are you." Hopkins put up much less of a struggle, and for that he was glad.

It wasn't easy to dig up a scrap of paper with a cat biting his ribs and a rabbit hooked under the other arm, but somehow he managed. Dropping that down on the table, he scrounged for a pencil next. He wrote a quick note for Fury which only said: I took them home with me. Putting the pencil back in his pocket, he left the note right there and turned about to head back out the door. He wasn't going to stay here any longer than was necessary, and as far as he was concerned her loft could collect dust in her absence.

Much to the world's amazement, Salvador just wasn't mean enough to let two animals starve.

Fury chose to walk. Not because she lacked other transportation, but because it provided her the time to mull over her words, how she would explain the lost years and why she was suddenly returning now.

?Well, children?? She started. But that felt awkward and foreign. Doubting that they would appreciate such a moniker she nixed the idea of referring to them as her children in any sort of way.

In all honesty, she had nothing to say to them to explain her actions. Every word that would fall out of her mouth would be like hollow casings. Shells of that told of something powerful.

It would take her another two days to reach her destination.

The lights of the town flickered up ahead, and the sun?s last vestiges of life for this day were dropping below the horizon. A grinning moon took up the watch post.

As she drew closer the caravan of covered wagons, and rag-tag performers was all that she saw. Well, her destination had met her half way it seemed. A grim smile, a tightening of jaw in determination as she pressed onwards to the town. Someone had beat her to the gypsies. They had come to meet her instead. This did not please her anymore than having to come out to this god forsaken land. She?d ruined at least one pair of boots and was working on the next. About to stop and examine said boots was when she heard the noise of celebration.

Sounds of music and revelry lilted through the trees, decibels higher than the song of the whippoorwills. She paused for a moment, listening even closer. Fury could have sworn she heard a giggling on the breeze. It was dismissed. Her senses were already ratcheted up a few levels.

Another step. There it was: that recognizable giggle. Somewhere deep down she had a spine of steel. Except at this moment it was more like putty.

Another step, and another. Fury never ran. However, this was a pretty close second. Lights and laughter were an assault to her senses. She hissed, then gave a long glaring look back into the woods where she?d left the giggling darkness behind. The general jovial atmosphere was like a swarm of gnats to her. She was not the biggest fan of celebrations.

However, one drunk and rather daring gypsy spotted her. Not paying any attention to the gathered though, Fury was peeling off her gloves when the gypsy man took her hand and wrapped an arm about her waist, only to spin her into the crowd. The dark head bent to light and he whispered in her ear.

?Tell me why you are here or I will turn you into a child?s nightmare and slit your throat where you stand, Amitiel.? Alexander it seemed had been waiting for her. A laugh of cathedral bells, she leaned in biting down on his ear lobe with more force than necessary. It was all play acting. There was no flirtation in the meaning.

?Alexander, I?ve come to take Sofiel and Micah with me where they will be safe.?

His grip on her tightened and he jerked her to the side.

?If so, Fallen then you and I are going to sit down and have a long talk. Sofiel is safe and with me. But, your son, has gone off to the holy seat to have a long conversation with himself.?

There it was that giggle again. The darkness shivered behind Alexander, and she could have sworn she saw the grin of jagged teeth and a glow of red before it was disrupted by a some game of chase.
This was turning out to be more of a project than she had intended. Chasing down wayward children was tiring.

?Fine, Alexander. We will sit and have civilized discourse. And if you threaten me again I?ll be sure that you are wearing your teeth for a necklace.? She gave him one of her most brilliant smiles. All Cheshire and sharp.

The man just laughed, and slapped a hand on her back.

?It?s nice to see you haven?t changed one bit. When we are done talking you can see what your daughter has grown into.? He just shook his head with a secretive smile.

That statement was alien to her. And she wasn?t quite sure what to do with it. So, she shrugged and followed him into one of the wagons. Negotiations and deals to be made.

It would be morning before they emerged.

Touching the tip of her tongue with the sharpened point of the quill she spat at the sour taste of ink. Redipping the point into the inkwell and letting the ink drop onto the pages of the ledger. Hoping to write down the days events, they slipped away like eels in water only to settle in some deep abyss in the back of her mind.

She pushed back on the porch swing and set it into motion. A pendulum of monotony but Fury preferred it that way. Pressing knuckles to the line of her jaw with a wince. She was sure that it would be black and blue by morning. But, for now it was the darkness that was her only companion. Normally, Quinnley would be right by her side. But, Quinnley meanwhile had recovered from his stay with Sin and Sal. Now, the cat was less than content to stay indoors, he was itching to go hunting.
Figuring it was just a side effect of the caretakers. Fury let the cat do as he pleased. She wasn't about to keep one from its nature.

Pressing the quill to paper she scratched out lists. Lists of names. Lists of items. Lists of things to do. Lists of things to get. Nothing but lists lined the pages of the journal. Most people wrote of their feelings, their hopes and dreams and she had none to write of. So, she wrote the lists that ran through her head.

Occassionally there would be a break in the pattern and she would just write the word Truth. It was at these moments that the book would be closed and set aside. And so she did. Tonight was meant for watching, and contemplation.

She sat swinging on that porch swing watching the darkness.

And tonight was one of those nights where the darkness looked back.

The letter was crumpled within a fist. Fury sat there seething. Her normally impassive expression was marred with well, fury. Cheeks burned red, and lips were pressed into a thin white line. The Fallen had received some less than happy news.

"Dear Ms. Laroque.."

That was someone she thought she had laid to rest.

"A young woman came to our establishment asking for a Vivienne Laroque. I told her that we had not seen or heard from you for quite some time. But, the girl was insistent that our home was your last known location. I had to inform her that I thought you dead, or perhaps had gone away. At this news she seemed a bit disheartened. Although, I must confess I did let it slip that you sometimes you resided within the town of Rhy'din. I hope this does not inconvenience you too terribly. She was such a sweet girl. I saw a lot of you in her.

As always I hope you return to the church, Ms. Laroque. God bless.

Fr.Anselm."

She drew in a deep breath, then a slow exhale. Alexander had promised her the memory charm would be permanent. It would seem the man was not of his word. And it had only lasted months, not years. She launched the wadded up piece of paper across the room. It landed and rolled under a chair.
The letter had come to her weeks after being sent. It had been water stained, and grimy. It wasn't as if she feared seeing her daughter. No, she just didn't want to deal with trouble of it, of her.

Clenching her hands tightly until the knuckles went bloodless and white.

"This is not how I wanted to start my week." Dealing with wayward children was not her strong suit.