BRUISES THAT WONT HEAL.

2089. The world crumbled to dust from the raging fires of nuclear bombs. Humanity has died. Those who are still breathing are changed, no longer deserving to be designated as humans. Vermin, scum rummaging the ruins of the earth, hands digging into stones and flesh, all for one single goal — survive. War is imprinted on the last souls walking this earth, as it is graved in ash and blood into the cold, infertile soil covering half the planet. Life is slowly rebuilding itself, plants and greenery winning terrain inches by inches, while humans hide below the ground, in communities born from cardboard and trash. Years after destructions was brought upon the earth, some courageous souls venture outside of their terriers, discovering miles and miles of desolated landscapes. The air is breathable, though not recommended. Lifespans are significantly shorter due to radiations still lingering in the atmosphere, in foods and plants, woven into the very center of the once beautiful planet.

In this ambient chaos, some beings rose above the others — children, born in the midst of the apocalypse. Mothers exposed to radiations during their pregnancy gave birth to offsprings with genes muted, giving them a mysterious ability to provoke cell duplication in others, thus bearing the gift of healing. This strange power seem to be drawing its energy in their own health , draining life out of their bodies, resulting in numerous early deaths. Healers are worshipped, believed to be the final gifts of a deserting God.

Yet radiations have as well affected an entire different part of the living beings that once roamed the earth — animals. Muted, distorted, grown in size and weight, they scour the planet searching, like those who live below their feet, for survival. To make the world above livable for the buried populations, some set the hand on riffles and weapons, tasked with the impossible mission of creating a remnant of safety.

One particular community detached itself from others, believing itself to be noa’s ark and having the personal task of restoring humanity from the flood, with an army of both healers and hunters. Nested in the abandoned metro system of Paris, it has grown into the largest group of survivors under the surface of the earth, and has become a point of ralliament for strays from above.

In this forsaken world, two girls. One is a machine made to kill, the other a being created to heal. Fated.

PROLOGUE — 419.
ACT I | PARANOID ANDROID. — 8,604.
chapter one - 2,329 | chapter two - 587 | chapter three - 1,357 | chapter four - 1,116 | chapter five - 646 | chapter six - 1,323 | chapter seven - 1,246
ACT II | WHERE I END AND YOU BEGIN. — xxxx.
chapter eight - xxx | chapter nine - xxx | chapter ten - xxx | chapter eleven - xxx | chapter twelve - xxx | chapter thirteen- xxx
ACT III | PYRAMID SONG. — xxxx.
chapter fourteen - xxx | chapter fifteen - xxx | chapter sixteen - xxx | chapter seventeen - xxxx | chapter eighteen - xxx | chapter nineteen - xxx | chapter twenty - xxx
EPILOGUE — xxxx.

don't hesitate to let me know if you like it ><

PROLOGUE

May 4th, 2089. Cabin.
Beads of sunlight shone through her fingers, tiny echoes of a distant star, fireflies dancing in-between the worn out tips of her hand. The other drew lazy patterns on a freckled shoulder, brushing against fire-colored strands, counting each mark detaching itself on sunkissed porcelain skin as though they might vanish with every breath taken. Morning dew traced its course down the petals of a daylily, lazily tracing a path against the woven patterns adorning its sunbrazed surface — a fleeting moment it halted, remaining on the verge of the corolla, frozen in time, before rolling down the edge and crashing down into the loamy soil. A silent way to disappear. A beautiful one, even, admired by attentive umber eyes, a quiet reverence to an endless cycle. For the droplet would melt into the earth, allowing roots spreading underground to quench their thirst — roots that will give birth to a pedicel, itself permitting a flower to bloom in its stance. And so, other pearls of morning dew will draw their gentle path down tangerine petals, perpetuating a cycle in which they were unaware of partaking. And yet this particular one, this sacrifice for the story to continue, belonged to umber eyes and to them alone.

A head tilted upward, hair resplendent like the rising sun cascading down in luscious, effortless curls as two watercolor eyes blinked in a sleep-drunk haze, a clear stream flowing over smoothened stones. Sunburnt skin pressed a rosy cheek against a stomach, plum lips parting in sweet sloth as a heavy sigh escaped them.

A chuckle, a hand tucking sunburnt orange strands behind an ear, trailing back down to lift a chin. A poke, crunching the tip of a freckled nose, promptly followed by a groan and a push.

“You're an idiot, jumpy.”

A frown, a pout distorting rosewood lips.

“Don't call me that.”

A glimmer in river eyes, a smile curving itself.

“Fine. You're an idiot, sunbeam.”

Golden brown hair shook left to right, as a hand buried a stubborn mind back against the skin of a stomach, muffling any protest, though only laughter rose from beneath.

The delight, the honey-sweet sound wove itself into the air, rising in smoke-like patterns up to the wooden ceiling of the cabin, joining beads of light peaking through the planks. A chute could be heard nearby, and yet it was as though the moment had frozen itself — preserving this haven of delicious ecstasy in the implacable machine of time, and doomed cycles.

ACT I — PARANOID ANDROID.

CHAPTER ONE.

February 16th, 2089. The Ark.
Stomping a foot on the ground to stimulate the slumbering heat production of her inert cells, Diane adjusted her grip on the crank, fingers turned into frozen, useless limbs by the cool breeze coursing through the tunnels. With a loud grunt, she dropped her weight on the stubborn lever, standing on the tip of her toes in a desperate attempt at forcing into submission the mechanical piece of this rusty well, which had not been functioning properly since Doomsday and which was unfortunately the unique way her table could be graced with water accompanying the bread she had bought earlier this morning. Arms shaking from the strength they had to contain, her weight shifted into her left toe, which someone caused the entire structure to collapse. Ejected at a supernatural speed from the well she was trying to subdue, she stumbled backward from the strength of the blow, as the crank spun backward at high speed, undoing fifteen minutes of uninterrupted labour.

“Stupid-,” she cursed, kicking the wooden planks stapled around the decaying stones — and regretting it immediately, jumping around like a madwoman, holding a feet and swearing in a way that would have scared one of those sailors people used to make comics about. After a few minutes of recovering from this unfair, totally uncalled for wound she stilled, glaring at the well as though it might cower under the arrows she was mentally throwing at its amused, mocking face. I will dismantle you brick by brick until your muddy, crumbled facade gets-

A scratch echoing from the left side of the room made brown eyes divert towards the source of this unexpected sound, and she was faced with blonde hair, a few missing teeth and currently the most impressed, bewildered, and slightly scared expression a child could possess. Lukas, if she distinguished the twins as well as she claimed to — a highly risky bet, given how often they cherished confusing others as to their identities. Great. Now he’s going to run and tell Thom his best hunter has lost it, and I still don’t have a single drop of this forsaken liquid. Eyes narrowing, Diane tilted her head slightly, a conspiring smile drawing itself on her sunburnt face. “Hey, how good are you with a crank ?”

Ten minutes and a lightened pouch later, she was proudly marching with two buckets of water, ignoring the judging figure she could feel at the back of her mind, keeping its tongue tied but its eyes full of blame. Shush. I have water. Nothing else matters. Lowering her head to duck the wooden bar sticking from the wall, she saluted the old man forever glued to his stool, tending to his salads — Frank, whose wife passed away last winter — and jumped over a broken halfwall, making a note to offer to repair it. Out of all sectors, the third was in the worst shape. Buildings collapsing on themselves, insufficient resources, cracks running along the cables that give us light… Last winter a generator completely shut down, leaving an entire area in utter darkness for days. Matches became a rare value, and their price skyrocketed, bringing the entire section on the brink of a true civil war. Luckily Thom had managed to defuse the tensions, and power was back in a matter of days. Diane had kept a truly vivid memory of this terrifying period — crowd movement, a mass of people shouting and rushing towards a spark flickering in the night, a pack of starved hounds assaulting a petrified child holding a half-consumed match.

This atmosphere of unsafe chaos, where each step you take might turn out to be the last and where civilization has lost its meaning, had been their daily life in the early beginnings of the Ark, before it found its name and purpose. A bunch of survivors stacked together in disaffected subway stations, establishing territories in abandoned tunnels — fights and petty wars would spark at each turn, for as such as a stolen piece of bread or a toe set over a predefined line. Each breathing soul had yet but one goal in mind ; keep inhaling and exhaling until the next sunrise. Paranoia reigned, for as much as a cough people would be banished, every piece of food brought from above was thrown and burnt at stake. The fear of being already poisoned by radiation drowned minds into terror, and the rare comics found laying around depicting zombies and mutants didn't help.

In this chaos, one soul rose above others, somehow managing to turn distrust into common work, hatred into tolerance, survival into something less harsh. Thom, a failed musician coming from New York — a city on the other side of the ocean — and who had been living in Paris for half a century. Blonde dreadlocks gathered into a loose bun, jeans so large you could fit the entirety of the Ark in each leg, large shirt with a faded slogan promoting peace. He had a calming quality to his presence, one that would immediately appease spirits and defuse tension. In a few weeks organisation had started to settle, and within a year a true community had emerged. A decade later, the Ark was standing firmly on both feet, welcoming survivors from all around the world.

Well, what was left of the world.

As taught in the makeshift classrooms erected around the Ark, doomsday was brought down by the highest spheres of the ancient world, safely secured behind reinforced doors of steel. A few threats, a limit trespassed and the first missile was shot, leading to a week of mutual destruction. Until the air stilled above the surface, until not a breath was heard. For almost every life above had been touched, either directly from the blow or from the low, torturous consequences that followed it. Clouds of poison infiltrating lungs, earth, water. Radiations distorting everything around — until nothing but abominations walked the world above. As a result, populations buried themselves deeply within the bowels of the planet, using disaffected underground systems such as train, metro stations, canalisations, and so on. Times were rough, and millions died from thirst, hunger, cold… Thirty years after the catastrophe, scientists estimated about ten percent of the population was still breathing, huddled like rats in tiny holes across the entire planet.

The Ark is to this day the largest ‘hole’ known, welcoming around five hundred thousand survivors from the entire globe. Split into eight sectors, each divided into designated areas specialized in various domains — agriculture, masonry, water supplies, schooling, etc. People would usually remain in their sector their entire life, tho one could decide to move to a different zone of the sector should their heart wish it. With it being housed in Europe, euros had been voted the main currency, and english remained the primary language. Each zone had their representative, and each sector had their Head of Sector, which answered to Thom and a large council of citizens who changed every year, through vote. There were more subtleties to their political system, but Diane had never troubled herself in knowing more — it functioned, and she had more important things to care for.

“Mom, I’m home !”

Pushing open the aged rickety rectangle that posed as their front door, Diane hopped inside, groaning as she hoisted the two water buckets onto the nearest flat surface. A hand rubbing her sore shoulders, she used the other to snoop inside a cabinet, reaching for a glass. “Diane,” a voice rose behind her, making her freeze into place from the tone that was used, “shoes.” After a quick glance towards the dirty, muddy boots her feet were currently wearing she flashed an apologetic smile towards the short woman standing in the doorway, before kicking them towards the entrance — where they luckily landed straight, otherwise more trouble would have dawned upon her brown haired head. “Hi mom,” she finally beamed, waving towards the two massive containers resting on the table, “Water.”

“I would say I still possess the ability to see things,” her mother jested before softening, “but thank you, my firefly.” Soon candles were flickering gently at the center of the table, casting a warm glow over the rusted planks as forks and knives clicked against plates with broken edges. Eyes tracing the pattern of a crack splitting in half what must have been a tall pine, Diane savoured the moment. It was one of the rare nights the two of them could enjoy a lonely respite — Jim and his wife had gone out hunting for a few days — and one of the even rarer moments her mother allowed herself to unwind. Despite Diane being the main source of income for their household, she still insisted on earning a coin here and there, draining her already diminished health by clearing out collapsed tunnels or mining new ones. It was idiotic, especially given her own occupation as a hunter. It was the most dangerous post around, hence the best paid. By running above the surface of the earth, trailing and killing — all while trying to remain alive —, Diane had allowed her family to move into a house, a real house. Sure, they had to share it with three other hunter households, but it had four walls and a roof, something they didn’t have before. And yet still-

“I still don’t understand why you need to risk your life every day.” Brown eyes flickered back to her mother, wrinkled face frowned and a light hint of worry woven through a tone filled with reproaches. “Mom…,” she began, already weary of a conversation they had on a daily basis. “I mean it,” her mother continued, rising on both feet and starting to pile up plates, “it’s stupid. We don’t need to get out of the Ark. Life is fine here. Besides, who’s telling them it will be better outside ?” Eyes rolling, Diane sighed and mirrored her movements, picking up the tired cloth they used to wipe any remnants of food left in the plates.

“We can’t remain here forever, mom. People are dying-,”

“They will die either above or beneath, Diane. Why should you risk your own life for a future we’re not even certain will be as perfect as they promise it ?”

“- and it’s my duty to do anything I can.”

A silence, both holding the gaze of the other.

“Don’t you want to see the surface again ? Walk the earth, smell flowers and sit under the sun ?”

Her mother’s shoulders slumped, features softening. “Of course I want to, my love. But not if your blood stains the earth I’m walking on.”

Guilt seized her heart, clutching it and draining its air out. She tiptoed closer, pulling the tired woman facing her into a tight embrace, which was returned. Warm bread, charcoal and dirt — her scent surrounded the young girl and suddenly she was eight again, running home with a bloodied knee and fighting back her tears. “You’re a brave girl, Diane,” her mother beamed, kissing the tip of her nose. The child sniffled, trying to smile despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am !”

Oh how badly she wanted to show her the wonders of above, and yet she couldn’t — not until Thom had decreted the surface safe enough to depopulate the Ark. For radiations had not only poisoned every soil, they had also deranged DNAs, turning harmless animals into muted beats roaming the earth, desperate to feed. Thirty years after Doomsday, knowing the tunnels were not a viable solution for an entire lifetime, the council had voted the creation of a new post — hunters. Trained to kill, taught to hunt, they were charged to make the world above as safe as possible, by tracking down mutants and stopping them. Many died from sessions that turned wrong, even more from a too long exposure to the remaining radiation, eating poisoned food or drinking contaminated waters. Samples were brought down each day for the scientists to analyze, trying to determine an approach as to how to distinguish safe resources from rotten ones. Humans had also been affected on a genetic scale by radiation, causing children born after the catastrophe to have strange conditions — additional members, defective organs, distorted features… Half beast half living, true products of nightmares. Rumor had it some of those creatures had grown the ability to influence other’s cells, making them something akin to healers. No one on the Ark had ever seen one though, except drunken teenagers who claimed having escaped to the surface, spent the entire night above and having met an entire village of what they called ‘wizards’ with healing properties. A very unlikely story, as any untrained person would not survive more than a few minutes without getting ripped to parts. Still, it fueled the mystery, and heaven knows the residents of the Ark need something to light up their morose existence.

“You’re going back tomorrow ?” The question pulled Diane from her divaguations, and she pulled away from the hug, shaking her head. “Day off. In two days, when Jim and Mia return. Thom mentioned something big, so I might not return for a few days.” She saw the exact moment her mother’s expression darkened, and the sight of it made her heart ache. I’m sorry, mom. She had no choice. Already she had caught her coughing and spitting blood, accusation which she denied, probably knowing medicines were out of their budgets. If a big hunt was truly coming, it meant a large reward, and maybe then Diane could procure herself a few antibiotics. Ignoring the hollow feeling within her chest at the idea of drenching her hands in blood again, she focused on the round features of her mother, and on the absolute certainty she could do anything for her.

Soon, mom, soon.

CHAPTER TWO.

The Fox and The Wolf.
Long before the clockworks of time stilled their pointers,
In a foreign forest nested a pack of hunters.
Ravenous, fur of burnt ashes and copper brown,
Famished from the frost winter had brought down,
They foraged the grounds for sustenance,
Praying Fate to revive their lost abundance.
Yet Fate was deafened to their supplications,
And so they starved, longing for a collation.

In the midst of an ordinary hunt, they faced a kinship,
Vermillon pelage, hirsute tail with its whitened tip.
The Fox, unbeknowned of the hostility he personified,
Kept a constant pace, its merry spirit unmodified.
The pack, having found the instigation of their starvation,
Grew irate and bitter, calling for purgation.
And forward they went, promising demolishment
Of these vermins who shamlessly pilfered their nourshiments.

Amongst this bellicose clan of warlike hounds
Was a young Wolf, eyes bright with wonder for its surrounds.
Eager to show its mettle, arrogance portrayed,
Following a whim, diverged from the path the ancients had laid.
Senses in alert — olfactory sharpened, auditory acute,
He came to halt abreast a water chute.
There, on the edge of a towering prescipice,
Incandescent from sunrays, was its nemesis.

Crimson fur, ivory coat, living flame in the daylight,
Its limbs thick and plump, untouched by famine or fights,
Eyes the tint of a the brazen sky once the sun has set.
It lazily strolled, unaware of the threat,
oblivious to the Wolf concealed within a boscage,
observing this scarlet parasite, this savage.
A vermin, one it must exterminate,
To restore the balance, and for victuals to resuscitate.

The Wolf emerged from its hideout, and dove for its fairer foe,
Pinning it down, its mind from the hatred rendered hollow,
Jaw dribbling with bitter saliva,
Sharp claws drawing blood as ruby as its furry derma,
And duteous eyes met pools of endless contentment.
Cheeriness, serenity, fulfillment,
Eyes that spoke of respite, of neither affliction nor famishment .
How could a parasite be this resplendent ?

And The Wolf hesitated, seconds away from the kill,
You, said The Fox’s heart, could have better than this life, this ill.
And The Fox spoke of a den filled with abudance, of what Fate had denied them.
And The Fox spoke of paradise, and The Wolf listened to this haven, this gem.
And duteous eyes turned hopeful, and claws released crimson throats.
And sharp fangs pulled away from ivory coats.
The Fox rose again, promising The Wolf soon heaven will be theirs.
Perhaps fur of burnt ashes could, too, ignite under the sun’s care.

The Wolf returned to its pack to bid adieu,
Carrying oaths of light and delights, folie à deux.
Welcomed by the same ravenous hounds, it presented its resolution.
One wolf stepped forward, blaming treason, demanding The Fox’s execution.
The Wolf, enraged, fiercefully defended this fatality,
Preferring a bittersweet promise to their starved reality.
And by the pack he was thrown.
And The Wolf became lone.

Eyes glimmering with faith, it ran back to its new life,
To the paradise it had been promised, for which it had endured this strife,
To its Fox, for whom he had beared his honour being smirched.
Reaching the waterfall under which they had met, he searched.
When a red rain poured from the sky, ashes pearling down,
The Fox lied there, bitter blood pooling around its body, odd and twisted crown.
Woven through, the scent of its pack the air had kept.
And the lone wolf wept.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

CHAPTER THREE.

March 3rd, 2089. The Ark.
Muscles coiled, fibers tensing into hardened tissues, draining oxygen and energy from the arteries flowing straight into their core. Ready to pounce. An ear twitched, moving a quarter to the right, as hazel eyes narrowed to slits, unmoving, deadly, stared. A nose huffed, lowering itself to the ground as hind paws dug into the tender, loose soil. Stalking. Feets away, long taupe ears were peaking from the soaring pasture, whiskers gently brushing against their stem, rump shivering from the aggressive frost still covering the valley. Nibbling on a fragile strands of grass, the prey was unaware of its new denomination — considering no longer as a living, breathing creature rather as a mean of sustenance who will in a nearby future be deprived of said capacity of living and breathing. Hunger. Powerful, inevitable grip to its stomach, saliva drooling from its jaw as teeth bared, growling rising from its throat. Hunger. An urge, pressing against its chest, bound by years of evolution, transmitted from its ancestors. Hunger. Something primal, beyond its control. For what influence does it have on something that has been ingrained into its very own system, autonomous, independent of its will ? Something that has become its will, for it wants it. Desperately. Hunger. Ripping its tender throat, spilling blood over the emerald grass, still damp from the morning dew. Hunger. Jump, jump, jump, jump. Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill—

Woken up in a gasp, Diane slammed a hand on the heavy volume that was about to crumble from her lap, catching it seconds before its fall. Groaning, she stretched, neck sore from the odd angle she had fallen asleep at — slumped in the living room’s armchair, legs lazily sprawled over the worn out tissue. A burnt hole still proudly stood on the left arm, statement from a tiny incident quite some time ago. Something including a box of matches, a terrible sense of orientation, a sector blackout and a luckily avoided fire hazard. Better not to dwell on the past. Groaning again, the brunette rose to her feet, before crumbling back down and taking a second to regain her senses, before rising again, this time with her sense of balance restored. Hands wrapped around the dusted book that had previously been sitting on her lap, glancing at the title before putting it back onto the sadly desolated bookshelf, the only one they owned who contained something other than supplies, weapon parts and more supplies. The Fox and The Wolf. Well, it explained her odd dream, at least. She had never seen bunnies in the wild, so it was odd her dream featured an animal she had only seen drawn depictions of. Shrugging it off, Diane yawned and pivoted, aiming to grab a piece of bread before heading out.

Seconds later, she was munching on a hardened slice of the loaf who had been in their lovely home since… last month, perhaps ? It still tasted delicious, though she had not the slightest idea of how their sector’s baker, Alister, had managed to produce such beauty with the faint amount of supplies they possessed. Leaned against the counter — dirtied from the mud brought back by their housemates, she would have to clean it before her mother comes home —, Diane was once more lost within the swirling mess of her thoughts, that kept circling back to this odd poem, and this moronic “moral of the story”. Why would anyone settle for an uncomfortable present over a blissful future ? Wasn’t it human nature to keep hoping for better ? Insatiable, sure, but hope kept humanity on its feet, even after its practical extinction. And that Wolf. An idiot. If he had even one ounce of intelligence, he would have remained with The Fox, instead of walking back to his pack and risking the loss of his haven. What might have possibly justified leaving such a paradise ? Still pestering about how she would have done better — then realising she had been debating herself for the last hour over a child book —, the brunette slipped into her worn out boots, a comforted smile curving her lips at the familiar sensation around her feet. One hand grabbing the cross of her bow, the other slipping random items into an olive green backpack, she stole another slice of bread, keeping it firmly tucked between her teeth before storming out.

Branches crunched under her boots, the delightful sensation sending jolts of pure bliss into her brain, she ducked under a stray branch, its bare surface starting to bloom tiny emerald buds again. The forest, previously stripped of its usual myriad of colours by the ravenous frost of winter, was starting to regain the life it had lost, slowly defrosting from the cold of the past few months. Flowers had yet to bloom, and leaves were shyly starting to reveal their hues of green, but already spring was settling its delight over the earth, continuing the endless cycle which has been existing since the dawn of time. Moss, dirt and petrichor swirled about in the air, lovely scents mixed to the ambient crisp air, swirls of smoke rising to the clouded skies above. Sadly their effect was smoothened by the mask clasped around her nose and mouth, filtering the air to eliminate the impurities and, most importantly, the radiation remaining in the atmosphere, allowing her to breathe and move above the surface. Under her feet, the distinct sound of flowing water was becoming stronger and stronger, until she came to a halt at a turn. Half-blinded by the sun, the brunette raised a hand to protect her eyes from the searing light, squinting. A waterfall, droplets of water dripping down to the river serpentine below, each catching the sunlight and reflecting it on its surroundings.

Stunned before this scene, of which beauty held no comparison in any of the escapades she had previously encountered, she remained rooted to the ground, mouth wide open. Whether it was seconds, minutes or hours, she didn’t know how long she spent simply standing there, observing. Observing the wind gently agitating the branches of nearby trees, detaching a few leaves and transporting them to a new world, on the other side of the river. Observing the sun playing with water, casting strange motifs onto the cliff she was standing on. Observing. What a pity it was, that a world containing such beauty was poisonous to those who wished to admire it. Clutching both hands around the handle of her bag, she sighed, grasping her bow before pivoting on her feet. Security filtering the entrances and exits of The Ark had only given her enough oxygen for a patrol, meaning she had about an hour before reason would direct her back to the underground city, fearing she would lack air to breathe, which was unfortunately essential to her life. Gliding through bushes and trees, she kept on exploring, alert yet not wary, as it was a mere patrol through the already cleared areas around The Ark. As she was contemplating heading back, a sudden fleck of red in her peripheral vision made her freeze into place, senses heightened. Red was an unnatural colour, often used by animals to indicate they were not to be messed with, signaling danger. And as reason would dictate, obviously Diane headed straight into the direction of this potential danger.

Climbing onto a large oak, she made herself as stealth as possible, stilling her breath and every movement as to merge as silently as possible into the very trunk of this centenary tree. There, following the movements she had learned during her training — and praying she wouldn’t miserably crumble back to the ground, like she totally had not during said training —, she passed from branch to branch, following the disappearing crimson reflection deeper and deeper through the forest. Reaching a meadow, she stopped, frustrated. Perhaps it was a mirage, a hallucination caused by the blinding sun and the lack of protein she had eaten in the morning.

And then she saw her.

CHAPTER FOUR.

March 3rd, 2089. Surface.
A long time ago, when she had approximately the same height as a newborn foal, Diane had accidentally stumbled onto a heavy tome, bound with black leather, filled with depictions of religious figures and impactful events. She had spent hours sat in the dirt, turning each page with delicate care, fingers leaving sinful traces along the pristine robes of saints or the bright colours of the garden of eden. Then, upon turning another, coutnless page, her motion had frozen into place, as tiny hazel eyes had blinked, lips parting. There, stood an angel. Not a seraphim — drawing which had caused severe nightmares for a few nights, countless eyes staring through your souls, veins depicted so clearly you feared it might come alive and float right through the paper, wings at odd angles, distorted vision of something meant to be holy and pure, and yet looking every bit like an abomination —, but an angel. Halo, searing through the flat page, respite written on his every traits, luscious locks cascading down to the ground. Beauty, such a blinding splendour heaven no longer felt like a foreign concept but something attainable, reachable, as though one might extend their hand and pray, hope to be allowed to brush their sullied hands along that porcelain skin, beg to worship these goldy eyes, plead to be able to devote oneself to such perfection. A redness crept on her cheeks, reminder of her humanity, of the dirt accumulated beneath her nails, of the pearls of sweat drippling down her temples, of the greasy hair stuck to the back of her throat — and she shut down the book, a hollow ache within her chest at the knowledge she would never see such divinity walking among the mere mortals they were, rats scattered accross the surface of the earth, trying to survive an extermination a god had judged right, good to send them.

Until she saw her.

Auburn hair, locks set ablaze as though a fire had broken through the surface of the earth, holy light poured onto a pious head, liquid gold and a sunset enflaming the horizon, a raw, violent colour, one that bent sunlight as though it followed its might, grapefruit split in half, its liquid drippling down melted honey and marigolds blooming at the dawn of the universe. Eyes, translucid eyes, virescent watercolour raining down a worn out paintbrush, strokes of purity and lucidity accross a blank canva, clear water running down a river, willow branches lazily brushing its surface, the haven of springtime finally blooming upon earth. Rose lips, buttons of flowers having yet to blossom, petals of delicate flowers ripped by the breeze and carried at the edge of the universe. Freckles splashed onto porcelain skin, ivory cheeks reddened by the same celestial body that had kissed every inch of her face, worshipped every trait of her visage. An angel.

Claws seemed to have seized her chest, preventing her to breathe, as though the air had decided to escape her lungs to join the sinful, the holy creature below. It ached, heart ripped from her own ribcage, and Diane exhaled rapidly, clutching the skin above the derailing organ. A whine rose from her bowels, one she muffled, tears veiling at the corners of her eyes as she blinked, trying to remember how to exist, how to breathe, how to live. Her thoughts, normally a mess of unrelated ideas, had started spinning in a slow, deadly circle, something seizing her from within, inhibiting her senses, her reason. She would not, she could not look away. Bewitched body and soul by this divine emissary, and then perhaps her time had come. Long, she had feared the outcome of her final judgment. If hell was the demanded price for even a second spent beside this angel, then she would travel through every one of the nine rings until her flesh melt and rot on her very bones.

She remained there in silence, both of their breaths in perfect synchrony, puffs of steam rising into the crisp air, asce—

Diane straightened herself on the frail branch she was leaning on, heart pumping blood faster, thundering into her ears. Hazel eyes narrowed, running over the apparition, one hand reaffirming her grip on the mask providing her oxygen as the other dug into the trunk of the tree that had been hidding her from the world for the past… she didn’t know how long it had been. Sunburnt skin, from the long hours spent wandering outside ; smudges of brown dirt smeared on a freckled cheek ; uneaven breath interrupted by deep inhales ; a scar having yet to heal. This was no angel. And given how she was breathing poisoned air as though the nuclear war had never occurred, this was no human either.

A healer.

Nails scratched barks off the surface of the tree, breathing hazardous for different reasons now. The physical, hellish reactions her body had had moments ago had now an explanation, and her eyebrows furrowed, hand leaving the mask to wrap around the tender wood of her bow. None of it made sense, though. She had been taught, repeatedly, that healers had become distorted by nuclear radiations, had grown additional limbs and merged with beasts around, becoming this lesser vessel of the humanity that had ounce inhabited them. That, that was no bestial abomination. What her eyes were currently seeing was every ounce of saintlike one could get, was the closest to holy she had ever witnessed. Her mind kept circling back to seraphims, and how their hiddeous, uncanny appearance were proof of the power they held within, of the good, holy and pure they represented. What was to conclude from one with such divine appearance ? That it covered the cracks that ran beneath ? The unknown creature kept on walking, passing right under the oak that had sheltered Diane for the length of this encounter. She shifted her weight on the branch currently supporting her weight, leaning closer to this angel — and soon she was a child again, brushing fingers along pages as though her ruination ached to reach for such depiction of perfection.

The branch snapped in half. She crumbled to the ground, hound dropping onto its prey, against its will, against its might. Grunts rose into the air, she felt her elbow hit a branch as she shot her hands upward, trying to slow down the inevitable. The air flew right out of her lungs as she landed on a hard surface, pushing the ground away and staring down.

And, when watercolour eyes met hazel ones, when she dove through endless pools of saccharine emerald, she saw God.

CHAPTER FIVE.

March 3rd, 2089. The Ark.
“Where were you ?”

Diane froze, hand lingering on the door handle, fingers wrapped around the cool metal offering a steady point in this fluctuating world. The question, hoovering in the air between the two of them, wasn’t one. The tone was flat, without the characteristic rising inflection at the end, and there was absolutely no inquiry within the gunmetal eyes staring right through her soul.

“Out,” she blurred out after a second, the word flying out of her vocal chords in a gruffed sound, as though she had just cleared her throat. “Thom said a large group was spotted scouring the surface, I encountered one but didn’t manage to track its den.” Half truths, half lies - what was the harm in those ? The specific details of her encounters had no one to concern but herself. Her mother’s eyes narrowed, following her movements as Diane tiptoed into the room, carefully setting down her muddied boots and devastatingly empty bag. A few berries nested within one of the pockets, but right now wasn’t a wise moment to proudly display the grand loot she had managed to gather, seconds before her patrol ended.

A glass filled with foggy water aggressively landed on the table, causing the brunette to shrink even further, hazel eyes fixated on a broken tile. Sucking in a breath, she finally met her mother’s eyes, and the worry she found in the shimmering tears accumulated around her cornea hit her harder than any furious glare might have. “I’m sorry, mom,” she finally sighed, pulling away from the counter with a contrite expression to approach her carefully - as one would of a wild animal. “I know I've made you worry, and I promise I will warn you next time.” Puppy eyes, one might call the look she was currently casting towards her mother. And their effect was yet again immediate - her mother’s eyes softened, shoulders relaxed and her entire body leaned away from the conversation, as though she had found what she had been searching for. Repentance.

A few hours later, Diane layed eyes open on the thick rug that posed as her bed. Blinking twice, the chestnut haired girl was staring at the cracks running across the ceiling, shivers running down her spine. Snuggling further into the heavy plaid she had thrown over herself, she made a new attempt at shutting her eyes and drifting off to the foreign land of dreams.

In vain.

Exasperated, she tossed and turned for a while before sitting back up, head between hands. Why in the heaven and skies above’s name couldn’t she get two storm-tossed emeralds and locks of flaming hair out of her mind ? No matter what she did, her thoughts kept circling back to how warm this creature’s body had felt under her own, how delicate her skin had looked under the sun’s rays, the emotions that had been stirring deep within her gaze. This healer had cursed her, she knew that. Knew the fire running through her veins had nothing natural, knew the way her breath hitched after even daring to think of their encounter was caused by the devious tricks of this half-human, half-muted beast devil. Upon crumbling into the watercolour eyed demon, a second had floated between them, one that had lasted an eternity before Diane was shoved away. During this fleeting instant, she had seen promises of hell and heaven interlinked, a pit of flame caressing her skin and honey burning through her very soul, pact of forbidden sins and yet oh so very delectable. And when she returned to her senses, she was alone with her wrecked thoughts. She knew her way, the way of The Ark, knew her mission and what she had to accomplish to achieve it. And yet this hellish angel stood in her way, and all of her defense had crumbled to dust.

I need to see her again.

CHAPTER SIX.

March 8th, 2089. Surface.
Branches crunched under her boots, feet slamming the ground, pulverizing everything that stood in her way. Bugs, leaves, branches — all crumbled under her weight, implacable flood devastating what she had once taken an eternity to admire, to contemplate. Now, speed roaring to her ears as though the wind has taken human voice, little mattered but the reason for her frenetic run. Breath running short, Diane ignored the telltale signs of her body fatiguing, blinking twice to vanish the dizziness and looking away from the black spot plaguing her vision. Shivers travelled up her legs, who felt so light she thought for an instant they had vanished into thin air, her cells struggling to produce the energy her muscles were demanding. Beads of sweat pearled down her neck, coagulant sticking strands of hair onto her skin, and a distinct redness had bloomed from her chin up to her cheeks. Heart was pumping as fast as he could to match her cadence, distributing oxygen and energy throughout her entire beaten body, thundering in her ears as to express its irate regarding how very miserably she was treating the organs keeping her alive.

She didn’t care.

For the past ninety six hours, for the past four long days and nights she had not been able to think, breathe or exist without circling back to auburn locks and translucid eyes. From the artificial lamp projecting its light onto a ruby leather bounded book, to the ginger cat lazily sprawled on their porch, or even the way the water undulated in her drink — everything was pretext to analyse the ever so short encounter that had occurred ages ago, everything seemed to drag her thoughts back to her. To that. To whatever she was. She had tried to deny it, to pretend the ache, the hollow pit within her chest was purely disgust felt towards what she had been taught to consider a lesser man, but hatred couldn’t justify the yearn she endured, the craving, how hungrily desperate she was to witness the sun play with her porcelain skin again. Curiosity, and something more primal devoured her, until all she could breathe was her her her. Bewitched body and soul, until her limbs were not her own anymore, until all she existed for was to see her again. That witch did something to me. Loathing, a bitter sensation, venom drooling from her chin — she had to make her pay. Revenge, revenge for how helpless Diane felt, unable to get a grip on her own organs, unable to prevent her ow thoughts from spiralling, all because some devilchild healer had set her saccharine hands on her, and messed with her bowels. She will pay for what she did to me.

And so running she was, lungs running short of breath but little did she care — hatred was the only fuel she needed. The landscape that had once rooted her into place had lost its impact on her soul, and even the first blooms of spring couldn’t rip her mind away from the goal she had set herself. Kill her. No, no. Using a tree as leverage, she halted her frenzied course, hands on both knees as she gulped for air. What was happening to her ? That bestial hunger to rip flesh apart, to mark her way into her body until every droplet of blood had her name written upon it— Diane shook her head, sinking to her knees, pressing hard on her eyes as though to knock some sense back into her stubborn mind. She had never taken a human life, and suddenly her every instinct screamed butchery, the urge to kill kill kill kill. What had that healer done to her, to make her lose control over herself in such a way ? Sucking in a ragged breath, she straightened up, feeling uneasy from the kilometers she had just devoured.

Suddenly her vision sharpened, as she noticed a footprint, half covered by leaves and mud, rooted within the tender soil. Kneeling, a finger tracing the outline, she scrutinized the scene, until she spotted a single strand of brazen hair ripped from its cranium by a stray branch. And Diane become silent itself, slipping into shadows, tracking down her prey as though she breathed and thought the very same, hazel gaze not missing a single clue. Soon the track became fresh enough to allow her to slow down, lowering herself to the ground, merging with her environnement until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. And then she spotted her.

Like before, her breath caught in her throat, nails digging into the trunk of the tree she had halted behind— no. Whatever spell this forest nymph had casted on her ended today, and on her own terms. Hand clutching around the lightweight bow she knew and loved, she silently cocked it, fingers delicately seizing one of the long, sharpened arrows carefully stored in her quiver, and aimed. Kneeled down to get a better shot, aimed, stilled her breath and— crack.

Rats.

In a split second the redhead had fled the scene, exactly the way she did in their previous encounter. Hastily passing her arc and quiver around her head, she let them collapse on her shoulders while she trailed down her runaway prey, muttering various insults under her breath. She could see her, fleeting glimpse of firery hair between sun-lit branches, getting further and further away from Diane’s grasp. The hunter ran, and ran again, branches scratching her face, ankle twisting out of its shape — she did not care. All that mattered was currently escaping her, and that wouldn’t do. Breath shortened, she slowed down upon arriving at a clearing in the tree canopy, clearing nested deep within the forest. Vision blurring, Diane took sharp turns on herself, trying to spot something, anything that might give her a clue. Upon a countless pivoting, a flash of orange suddenly invaded her vision, and she felt herself being thrown onto the cold, hard dirt.

An oof escaped her as the air was squeezed out of her lungs, her weapon and bags digging into the flesh of her back, uncomfortable position heightened by the literal blade held under her chin, another one dragging pearls of blood on her right shoulder. The arm she used to aim. You have been watching me, too, she scoffed inerly, not able to repress the arrogant curve from deforming her lips. Hazel eyes flickered back to her assaillant, and Diane forgot how to breathe. A frown creased the flawless, freckled skin of her forehead, one the brunette wanted too caress until it went away. The same clear, striking eyes dove right through her soul, framed by crimson hair cascading down her shoulders. Cuts and scratches scattered in every centimeter of her porcelain skin, sunburns visible on her cheeks and nose. Lips, button rose lips, slightly parted from the pursuit, inched upward in a mimick of a prideful smile. And yet her eyes were stonecold, unmoving, shark eyes.

God she was beautiful.

The knife resting on her shoulders dug deeper, and Diane’s breath grew herratic, erasing the smile from her face. If she loses her arm, then her family will starve. That single detail dug her out of the blissful haze she had been lost into, and her gaze hardened, looking at the healer messing with her emotions, again. I shall carve your heart out and stare at it until the sight of you has no longer such a devastating effect on my own. Hatred, seething again at the surface of her mind. On, off. The spectrum of her emotions had been reduced to two extremes, none of which she enjoyed, and none of which she preferred. Mouth opening, she was on the verge of delivering her spiteful tirade when a bell-like, morning-of-may-in-a-blooming-meadow, made-of-sunlight voice interrupted her trail of thoughts.

“Who are you ?”

CHAPTER SEVEN.

March 8th 2089. Surface.
Opening and closing her mouth, Diane stared at her, voice dying before it reached her mouth each time she made an attempt to speak. Everything she had ever been taught about healers circled within her mind, sentences contradicting each other in a chaotic cacophony, breath growing erratic as she questioned all she had ever been taught. Healers are muted, distorted, grown out limbs sticking at odd places, too many teeth for their jaw to function, monstrosities parasitizing the surface of the earth. And yet before her stood an otherworldly being whose beauty held no comparison aside from the stars flickering above. Healers are damaged, unable to speak or reason the way we can, only driven by survival. And yet she had spoken, with such a delicate voice angels would have wept and prayed to even possess a modicum of the musicality it withheld. Healers are dangerous, they will lure you into feeling sympathy, instillate false feelings into your heart and stab it the second you look away. And yet the hunter would gladly tear it from her chest and gift it of her owl free will.

“Who are you, and what do you want ?”

A hiss, this time, face inching closer — heart skipping a beat —, the dagger held under her neck digging further into her flesh, tilting her chin upward. Fingers scratching the frozen soil, the pain distracting her brain from the sheer discharge of energy her closeness provoked.

“Diane,” she breathed, locking eyes with emerald pools. “I am. Diane. You ?” A flicker of hesitation shadowed the redhead's expression, and for a split second, she leaned back, confusion etched on every of her traits. It only lasted a second, before both of her blades dug into her skin again, tearing a pained grunt from the hunter’s throat.

“Unimportant. What do you want ? What are you doing here ?” Translucid eyes flickered to the bow peaking from the brunette’s back, and narrowed, gripping her blades more firmly.

“Hunting,” she answered — half truths, half lies. “I… We don’t have enough food on our table, and I can handle a bow so I thought…” Truthful, in a twisted way. If she did not hunt, if she did not earn her sustenance the way she currently was then the rations she was granted would find another destination than her tired mother.

“Do I look like a deer to you ?” The redhead spat, as fiery as the locks cascading down her doll-like face. She had now leaned back, still pinning Diane to the ground under her weight, but one of the blades had left her shoulder, leaving a bloodied trace on the rusty leather jacket. No, she did not. Cunning eyes and a bushy tail, a fox was staring right through her. “No,” she admitted, biting her tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out. “and hunting was last time’s reason. I just-”, she hesitated, swallowing hard. Wanted to see you again. Needed to see you again. Needed to breathe the same air as you, needed to see how your eyes look when you bleed, needed to hear your laugh at least once. “I was curious.”

A completely diminished version of reality, she was very aware, and yet as true as one could be. If she spoke of the sleepless nights she had been enduring ever since their gaze had met, her chest would end up stabbed before she could finish her first sentence. Strangely, the rather odd declaration seemed to appease her assaillant, and suddenly her neck was devoid of any threats regarding her life. They remained at a reasonable distance though, the tip of the blade tender against her collarbones — and the sunset-haired girl conserved a ferocious expression, not satisfied by the poor explanation Diane had blurted out. Yet a desire to know, to ask, a curiosity matching her own was etched on her every traits, and she nodded towards the heavy mask clasped around the Hunter's head.

“What’s that ?”

“A mask.” A side glance cast towards her, carrying unspoken words — ‘Oh, really ?’ — dripping with sarcasm. “To breathe,” she clarified, suddenly reminded she currently had a limited amount of air at her disposal, as long as the batteries it disposed could hold. Their scientists had worked hard to expand their lifespan, and had succeeded to grant them a few more hours yet still, without a decent reserve adapted to the length of time spent outside, anything above a demi-day was defying the raven-clothed ripper, annunciator of death. “Filters the air, clears it from the toxins remaining in the atmosphere.”

A strange expression shadowed watercoloured eyes, something Diane could not pinpoint. She asked no further questions, simply leaned back, looking around with a frown creasing her porcelain forehead. In a split second the dagger was back under her chin, as their two faces were inches apart, the redhead once again hissing at her face.

“You’re not alone.”

A frown, confused eyes flickering around her face, head shaking left to right. “No, no no no I swear I came alone, I don’t know who—” The rest of her sentence was muffled by a hand slammed on her mask, the force of impact effectively causing her to interrupt herself, a loud ‘shh’ cutting straight through her words. Reduced to silence, she focused on her audition, trying to perceive what the other had. A bird chirped, perched on a branch a few trees from the clearing they had stumbled upon ; the sound of running water flew beneath the ground, rushing droplets from a nearby sourc— a loud gunshot made her jump to the stars, a yelp catching in her throat. Guns. Hunters. Her pack was nearby, hungry wolves searching for preys, and they could not find this clearing, find them. Judging by the noise they were making, this had to be one of the younger members, idiotic boys focusing on the thrill of the chase rather than the mission they had been assigned. They were impressionable, though, and despite her having no valid permit of walking this earth at the current moment, she should be able to confused their moronic mind into believing she had. That was, if they found her alone, and an irascible girl was currently pinning her to the ground.

“Go,” she breathed, a half plea coming from a deeper place of her core. Something, something she could not name and even less explain linked the two of them, a spark of common knowledge that had no purpose of igniting between the two of them. She had no reason to trust this stranger, no reason for her heart to drown in care for something she had been taught to fear, disregard and hate. Yet here she was. And to her surprise, the redhead listened. Soon the weight — one that had gradually become agreeable, warmth of a body pressed onto her now vanished — was lifted from her body, and Diane shot to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that came with the speed. “Wait !” She yelled to the disappearing flame, desperation written on every inflection of her voice. “Can I see you again ?” Please, was what she didn’t add, the question was miserable enough on its own.

The redhead halted, looking back with an unreadable expression. “We’ll see about that,” she shot back, a second floating before she added with something resembling a- a smirk ? “....jumpy.”

Lord, she has dimples.