Oracion’s Morning

Oracion wakes up after getting beaten black and blue after the clocktower incident.

I remember it like a bad dream.

Her red eyes shone through the inky darkness, long dress trailing the clocktower floor; itself now being plastered with the same darkness that spreads from the hem of her dress.

Coming ever closer until...

... until our eyeballs are nearly touching.

Putting a finger to her lips, she ponders one-eyed. There is an unfamiliar familiarity to this girl. Yet, I would wish to strike her all the same! If not for every limb of mine betrays me and stays stiff and frozen in place!

Then,

The sorceress laughed.

"Alike, but not the same!"

That was when I woke up.

How long has it been?

Once again, I am staring at the red canopy of my room.

I am alive. Every part of my body aches, but I am still alive.

"Its good to be alive, isn't it?", Master would say.

Not if it hurts to the high abyss. I should be glad, no broken bones. Resetting them would be a pain.

... ...

Looking myself over in the tall mirror, 'someone' had been 'kind' enough to slip me into my nightgown while I was out cold. I have half a mind to go downstairs and punch him in the face right now.

Dropping the nightgown to the ground, I swap it out for a uniform set I swipe from the rack. The tightly fitted blue jacket feels far more familiar and comfortable to me.

Still, if Master has time to goof around, that means we are fine.

Putting a foot on a tiny antique stool, I pull up a pair of rolled up thighhighs and turn a gaze towards the window. The morning crowd mills through the main streets of New Coimbra below, just as always. The scent of street temptations waft upwards, along with the familiar morning din.

Clasping the window shut, the time comes for the final touch; for a small rolled up bundle from under the bed.

Unfurling the leather bundle are the tools of my trade. An array of silver implements that look more at home gouging and killing. You can never be too careful, even in familiar ground. Strapping the short, thin, throwing needles into my thigh strap, a small pull of the taut white shortskirt keeps them out of sight.

Right.

Its time to face the music.