Clara - The lady in black

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Clara briskly stepped through the streets of Port-à-Lucine as the colour of the sky faded to an orange hue, she had been caught up at the publisher and in her excitement while working through the finer details of her first book had lost track of the time. Night was fast approaching and she wasn’t where she wanted to be. The sound of her boot steps echoed on the cobblestones and resonated down the alley. In the confined space the winter winds picked up, rippling her hood and caused her dark auburn hair to dance. Night fell and the days finality was announced with a choir of locking doors, in a moment the sound of a bustling district hushed to the crashing of waves and laughter in the distance. The quiet darkness gripped her with a sense of dread and she picked up her pace as the light of the city lamps diffused in her foggy breath.
 
She rounded a corner and stopped abruptly as a figure stepped out of the shadows before her. Gasping in a sharp breath her attention was immediately drawn to the glinting light of a crude blade. He moved with speed and before she had a chance to react he grabbed her head by the hair

“Aren’t you a pretty thing…”

His voice was cold and his breath putrid. She cried out in pain and her body tensed, grabbing his arm  she struggled to stay on her feet. Her assailant tried to force her down the sword now clearly visible, a promise of injury or worse if she resisted. The alcohol on his breath filled her nose and in desperation she raked at his face, finding purchase on his cheek she drove her nails towards his eyes forcing him to recoil.
 
She found her feet and pushed out putting a small amount of distance between them. With a roar her assailant lashed out wildly with his blade. Clara scrambled back desperately to distance herself and fumbling drew her own from the sheath hidden under her cloak. Her swords polished silver gilding shined brightly and her assailant hesitated momentarily; he was not expecting her to be armed. She took full advantage of the moment and speaking studied words ran her hand up the flat of the blade covering it in a white glow, the blade began to hum as the magic ran its course. He struck and she riposted, the clash of steel sharp and clear time and time again, the light from her blade causing shadows to dance around them. As they fought his fury began to grow, she was supposed to be an easy mark and in his rage his form faulted. Her blade found its way past his guard and drew blood as he stumbled back.
 
Adrenaline gripped her and Clara’s lips began to move, a secret whisper learnt long ago. The cursed words came not from her lips but from many, in the air around him, the shadows of the night, the sky above and from behind no matter which way he looked. A warmth began to run from his nose, his blood leaving scarlet tears on the stones. 

“Leave!”  She warned; her voice shaky but direct.

Clara knew she should not let him go but she doubted her courage to see it through. The whispers mocked him and with a defiant roar he charged at her, it was no longer her decision to make.
 
His lunge was sloppy and parrying she twirled past his defence with practiced expertise. In the single motion using the sword as an extension of herself swung low. Utilising the full force of her swing the blade connected behind his knee. Her strength, the quality of the blade and the magic of the weapon coming together in devastating effect as his lower leg separated in a sonic explosion. A second twirl behind him and she drove her blade forward, the horror screams of his lost limb cut short as a silver tongue burst through the back of his head spraying blood and teeth into the night.
 
As his body collapsed forward Clara screamed in horror, the full realisation of what had just happened hitting her immediately. She had killed and often but never a man, never a human, this was different, this was horrific. The trauma of the event overwhelmed her and tears filled her eyes as her hands and sword began to visibly shake. Bloody footprints trailed her as she stepped back distancing herself from the corpse of her assailant. She wanted to get back to the quartier, to safety, she turned to leave but then there was another, far larger than a man and he loomed over her. She moved to get past him but he blocked her path with a flurry of blows. Through shaking lips she cast another spell projecting a ghostly visage as she stumbled back out of the range of his blades.
 
Regathering she disciplined herself and squared herself up against the newcomer, she studied him, his blades, his animal like teeth, his pig nose. He came at her but the blow that struck her came not from him but from behind. Clara cried out in agony stumbling forward, her black tunic filling with blood, the warmth of her life filling the cloth. She stumbled and fell into the waiting blades of the looming figure. The first striking her under the collar, the second passing under her chin through the neck of her visage. The strike was shallow, millimeters from her throat and would have been fatal were it not for the spell. Clara fell to the cobblestones, their cold face against hers as the rushed footsteps and cries of the Gendarmerie could be heard in the distance. As her assailants fled into the night her water filled eyes locked those of the first man she killed. Lifelessly he stared back at her, his warped, bloody mouth and smashed teeth almost mocking in a morbid and twisted smile.

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“Argghhh!” The door would not open, she grasped the brass fixture with both her hands and pushed with all her strength, it groaned momentarily before the handle snapped, ripping the fixture from its anchor. She eyed the useless thing and cast it aside, it was unusable. “Help!” she called out before kicking at the inn door furiously, her anger growing. It shuddered under the force and she kicked out again, it heaved a little but would not give. Swearing under her breath she went to move to the back of the room but stumbled, the heel on her boot was broken. Swearing, she removed her boot and lined up the door. She would not die in this damned room in this damned backwater city. She charged and braced herself for the impact but just before the moment of impact the door opened and she tumbled through. The figure on the other side quickly moved out of the way as she flew past, looking back momentarily to see his scruffy beard but her heroes face was shrouded. Her heart heaved and she braced for impact with the opposite wall but it never came, the dreamlike state carrying her into darkness.
 
The darkness remained and the temperature dropped as falling snow filled the air and the ground whitened under her feet, she was no longer in the inn but sprinting down the face of Mount Baratok, the cries and screams of battle behind her as wolf howls filling the night sky. The cold mountain air burned her cheeks and a fear gripped her unlike any she had felt before, “They will die and their bodies will return” the morbid words echoing in her head and she thought of those left behind. She didn’t want to look back and she ran for her life, the face was steep and the ice would not allow her to stop. She ran faster and faster. She slipped and once again the dream shifted, she fell into the white snow and it turned into the desert sky upon coming out the other side was falling down into the sand. Her fear was gone and instead her heart was light, she was laughing as she tumbled down a dune, the black garbed figure with white pants at the top was laughing in turn.
 
The tumbling halted and she fell hard onto the bed and her stomach groaned, she felt nauseous. “Men are disgusting Clara” A faceless blonde haired man turned and headed for the door and she watched after him, she didn’t know where she was anymore, the dream started getting more abstract as it progressed. She felt sick and scrambled to the side of the bed to throw up into chamber pot set out below but nothing came and as she reached to wipe her mouth upon the back of her hands were the burnt markings of Ezra. “You should get baptised.” the words were gentle and sweet and she looked up, blue eyes looking back at her from the darkness, they were inviting and beautiful but her stomach still hurt.
 
She felt herself being pulled in towards them and as she closed in they slowly began changing from the blue to a bloodshot red. “I will never be that weak again!” The man in white stepped from the shadow and threw a fist past her face, it crunching into the stone behind her with incredible force. His breath smelled of tar and fire, She couldn’t breath, she felt like she was suffocating as the other hand reached out grabbing her by the throat lifting her off her feet. Before her the figure grew, its features warping and the coat tearing into an abomination and began slamming her against the wall, her back and head screamed in pain, her breath weak, she desperately clawed at the hand for release.  Blood ran down her neck and shoulders and she could feel her body and reality fading as her body slammed again. The pain suddenly became too much and unable to fight it anymore, darkness took her...
 
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Clara awoke with a gasp. The hotel was dark with only the light of the small candle fires.  The familiar smells of vanilla, lavender, rose and candle smoke filled her nose and she was at ease. The warmth of the figure holding her contrasted the cold night air against the sweat on her brow and body. A hand ran up her side, gently brushing back her hair.

“You were having a nightmare..”

She relaxed and closed her eyes as lips tenderly kissed hers. Despite the horrible dream for the first time in a long time she felt happy.

“Thank you for saving me.”