<span style="font-weight: bold">Cry for help.</span><br/><br/>â€œEveryone has a price. Even you,â€ such bite and venom in her words, such hatred, and such anger, all balled up into her small frame. It ran  rampant in a blazing torrent across her soul. He would be back, she knew. In some particularly twisted way he would directly or indirectly be back. She confused him; and she reveled in this fact as she felt the small, fickle stream of blood trail from the back of her skull where her head had hit the stone wall.  It was only the monster within her, that kept her from screaming in pain; the only cries that came from her mouth were ones of defiance and divine rage.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">You are so angry at the world, Foxâ€¦donâ€™t be so cold.</span>She heard his ringing in her ears.<br/><br/>~<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Once I got caught in an avalanche, I must have died.</span><br/><br/>As the wheel spun the sparks began to jump to life as the guildâ€™s blacksmith began her work on one of the memberâ€™s blades. It was so small, so dull, and so unexciting. Still the weapons were the only company she had. She saw how he had been mistreated, misused by his current owner. She saw his flaws as the weapon told her all it had to tell; for she knew just where to place her hands and just how to speak with that delicate tenderness that was needed to make him open up. Taji she had called him; while others may have had other names for him, he was Taji to her.  He was just as outraged at the shackles about her wrist as she was. Seven long years living amongst theses scoundrels, and still chained in the forge. It didnâ€™t make much of a difference to her; coveting no semblance of freedom for there was nothing to go back to. There was no family; no place to live, and no way she could escape the Hunts master should he choose to pursue her. He would never let her get away.<br/><br/>It was then, as Taji was almost finished, that the Huntsmaster appeared in the doorway. She tilted her head in curiosity, and he looked back at her. He had never came himself, always throwing the job on someone else to do. Not many people came near her. They were frightened of her; the woman that was so quiet was so very unsettling. From the day she had shot the arrow, the seed was embedded of the killer within her. That look that never left her eyes no matter how she felt. The other thing that disturbed them; she never showed that emotion. She never showed any emotion.<br/><br/>â€œI need my blade sharpened,â€ he tossed it to her out of arms reach of her, and she caught it in her hands. This was the prize she had waited to get her hands on. This was the blade that had been passed down through the guild for centuries. He left, without another word, while his eyes travelled, she remained oblivious. It was the first time she had laid her hands on Vengeance.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">When the black swan flew to the rescue and cried.</span><br/><br/>Two years pass and the time etches away slowly. She had not even yet escaped the shackles but she had been right; she could not fight against the Huntsmaster should he have chosen to pursue her. He did; in an entirely different matter. Over the years her expressions, her speech became all the more deadened; an icy glacier of impenetrable strength. The only thought on her mind was for the sake of revenge. There would come a day when Vengeance would betray the Huntsmaster. How terrible it must have been for him to lay there and watch. No, they werenâ€™t soul mates. They were never be soul mates, but they were kindred enough to feel for one another. As skilled as his master was with a blade; his master didnâ€™t listen.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">An offer I could not refuse, now I'm working on the other side</span><br/><br/>He had convinced her to do it; to gather her strength and channel every ounce of rage she carried within that one defining blow. How he glistened with his masterâ€™s blood. He wanted to kiss her; he wanted to be one with her like how he tried to be when she sharpened him; but there is only so much foreplay that can occur when one is being sharpened.  Her eyes flicked downward as she brought a cloth across the blade.<br/><br/>â€œAs amazing as you look in crimson you know how I am about dry blood on steel; it does nothing for your complexion,â€ she commented as she took the keys from the dead body to unlock the shackles upon her wrists. â€œTomorrow I will be gone, but we will at least have tonight  Perhaps, a dance? There are many others that will try to stop me; so that should give us enough time to get warmed up.â€  Her lips curled into a fake smile.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">I stabbed you in the back, who will save you now?</span><br/><br/>â€œWhatâ€¦Zara? The blacksmith girl?<span style="font-style: italic">She</span>did THIS?â€   The body rolls easily underfoot as the thief checks the paths for those alive. None drew breath. â€œWhat have we done?â€<br/><br/>â€œWeâ€™ve created a monster.â€<br/><br/>The demon sat upon her shoulder as an angel lounged on the other as she turned from one to another confused. Perhaps she should have felt some pity or remorse for what she had done; and yet she felt nothing. It was what she had always wanted; revenge. She wanted the man that killed her father dead. The man that had tortured her in countless ways; and he was. She wasnâ€™t sure what to do from that point on. Perhaps her own form of justice, so that the same thing wouldnâ€™t happen to another eight year old girl. Maybe that on the side. Until that time came, she would do the only things she knew how to do to survive. Steal,  hunt, and kill.<br/><br/>~<br/><br/>The pain must have overwhelmed her as she finally came to; not realizing she had passed out. Lezarr reminded her so much of the one she had slain those many years ago. It always started with torture, and then lead to other things. As the fire died down and her eyes she stared blankly at the wall in the crimson haze of her own blood, waiting like a dormant volcano. In the night she whispers the silent vow to Armada through the bars; and while he is not with her, he is there. She whispers sweet nothings, and promises all for the sake, of revenge.<br/><br/>It was the one promise she had made to Armada and to herself, she wasnâ€™t confident she could complete.