Feeling Peachy

Murder Row.

The start of the street was right before her, dark, for the light of the day could not reach this abandoned area. Lamp posts of arcane rose, though their light glowed weakly into the ominous shadow. Peculiar individuals, conniving into a corner, or holding a bottle loosely occupied the area. Lost causes, the work re-educators would hopefully, one day, give to themselves. Until then, young citizens, like Celysiel, had grown to be warned. "Do not ever walk in the Murder Row."

But the power burning into her veins was comforting. A thirst, something different, something that defied fear and rule alike. She was no longer afraid.

Her leg reached forth to escape the warmth of the sunlight and enter the infamous street, as her bruised features frowned with certainty. Yet her foot never reached the ground. Something coiled around her shoulder.

Claws. Long claws. Violently gripping her, sinking into her flesh, while laugher echoed behind her. So familiar and poisonous. Laughter linked with pain and agony, the torment that would endlessly be repeated, again and again and-

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Miss." suggested a gentle voice behind her. Celysiel flinched and pulled back, trying to contain the fright that was evident across her face. Her body was shivering. Her eyes were wide with panic. However, behind her was standing no demon, tall and red, looking at her with murderous intent. The man was lean and somewhat lanky, wearing his long, blonde hair into a ponytail over his shoulder. His face seemed warm, cheerful.

"Are you well, Miss?" he asked, now the smile fading with concern. "I apologise if I scared you."

It took a while for her to calm down. The apprentice shook her head, as if denying the fact that she had been scared. That her heart was racing into her chest and the pain of claws was still too vibrant into her mind. The scent of brimstone, the ash into her mouth. Her hand moved swiftly to her locket, holding it tightly. Everything was fine. Everything had to be. She did not speak, however, for she could not bring herself to. There was no telling what her voice would sound like if she made that mistake.

Of course, the man did not seem very convinced, but perhaps he decided against prying. A kind smile returned to his features, though no there was no telling if it was forced, in order to pass some warmth to the young elf and undo her worries. "Are you Miss Ashfury?" he asked. "You quite fit the description."

Without any questions regarding the last part, Celysiel nodded warily, but the man's smile widened. He reached back to his backpack for a moment, shuffling through it quickly, before pulling out a box made of wood. It passed down to the girl's hands, who was staring, quite bemused.

"This is for you." the courier hinted. He did not leave instantly, waiting some form of reaction from the woman. She nodded slowly, now unable to take her eyes from the box.

"Have a nice day, yes?" Once again, the man showed some reluctance to leave behind the girl he had startled, or he rightfully so found something awkward in the moment. However, his steps soon echoed in Celysiel's ears, sounding further and further, until they were overshadowed by the sound of the large fountain behind her.

Feeling the weight on the wooden box into her grasp, the apprentice turned to look behind her shoulder, into the dark, notorious street that was spreading at the other side. Her pink lips released a sigh, before she began moving away from it. The benches by the fountain had began to beckon. Yet even under the warm sunlight and the sweet scents of the flowers, as much as she wanted to, the girl could not feel any normal.

At her every step, she could feel something rolling into the box. Curious. Once she finally reached the bench towards which she was walking, her fingers moved to the sides, lifting the lid quite gently. Doing so released a fine fruity smell that just so suddenly soothed the woman, much like the caramel-scented cream she wore other days. It was not long until she noticed the luscious, large peaches into the box. And then, the note.

"PS; Don't eat the seeds."

Where others would have chuckled, her wide eyes grew even softer. Though it did not without being noticed, she realised she did not need to have seen the signature in order to know whose the kind gesture must have been. It gave her great relief to receive such a fine gift from Lieutenant Adhemar.

Instead of reaching out to the fruit, Celysiel closed the lid and took the box into her arms, only to hug it closely, burying her face into it. In the way that she craddled the item, looking so vulnerable, so broken, reaching out to a box of peaches for comfort, one could mistake her for crying. But she was not. Never again.