Guerrillas In The Mist

When Things Get Complicated

The bow groaned and creaked as she drew the string back. Swirls of dust rose and a fell in the slow draught. The fletchings quivered slightly as Nebellea slowly breathed.

“Back Straight, girl,”

“So I guess you could say everything has gotten a bit complicated,” her breathing was slow and rhythmic now as she sighted down the arrow’s shaft.

“The bow bends, Not you!”

“Of course as soon as I find the person we have been looking for all that being the strong leader and remaking myself just goes out the window and I get a school girl crush on a pasty guy with an eye patch, half again my age.” She paused from speaking slightly “He does have a really nice smile though, sort of warm and encouraging you know,”


“Right,” she loosed the arrow glass splintered the green glass whizzing through the air. “And when I talked to him it actually seemed like he cared about more than just himself.” Unconciously she found another arrow fitted to the string.

“I wonder if the two of you ever felt like that?” No answer “Did you ever get swept off your feet by it all?”

More glass exploded the arrow arcing making a faint low whistling. She could feel the sweat on her skin and the cool polished wood strain as she fitted another arrow.

“I doubt it somehow, I want someone to look at me the same way Fallow looks at Owandise, or someone who was nice and kind and at least pretended to care.”

The bottles seemed close enough to touch, the spinning dust marking the small eddies of the air as another pair broke as arrows flickered in the gloomy old ball room.

“Of course Quinn was a jerk about the whole thing,” Nebellea lowered the bow andperched on one of the tables. “I don’t get him one minute he’s buying me gifts like he’s trying to ourt me and saying how much he owes me the next he’s treating me like a stupid little girl because I actually have feelings.” She sighed and hugged her legs. “Ugh listen to me moan on.” She surveyed the broken glass littering the floor. “I will work this out, I always manage to” she looked down at the small painting next to her on the table

“Good talk mum”


Vecna CullenLewis

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