Author: Calex

Rating: R for sexual nature and potty mouth. Turn back if you're not mature

Chapter 4: One to Watch

Nova broke away from the comfort of their circle and stared at him, horror shining clearly in her eyes. She looked at him, hoping against hope that what he had said was meant as a joke, that he was kidding, anything that would make more sense than that previous statement had allowed. Her voice, when she answered him, had been shaking slightly, and she shot him a smile, hoping that he would take it that she didn't see any harm in his joke.

"Funny, Tristan. Really, tell me what's going on."

His expression didn't change. It was a blank look that she had not accustomed to him, although she thought that perhaps she should have guessed he was capable of such a look. Tom was too passionate, and it was a look of norm on Anita. Tristan… Tristan had never had any other look other than amusement and, at curious circumstances, a strange sort of tenderness, and even deadly grave at one instance. But never had that complete ice-out graced his face, not when it came to her. The look was what alerted her that he was not joking. Tom's hold on her tightened, but she stepped away from him, from them, mounting horror in her face and also in her tone as she addressed them.

"You're mad, all of you. Insane. What's the meaning of this? Why are you joking? God, I knew you were all insane, but this…" she shot a frantic look at Tristan, at Tom, but Tristan had that look on his face and Tom… Tom looked desolate. She began backing away, shaking her head. "No, no this cannot be happening. What are you saying, why are you saying all of this? Tell me the truth, dammit, I deserve it." Her eyes suddenly flashed with anger. "Don't play with me, Tristan. Don't try to make my head turn with fairy talk. Tell me the goddamn truth or so help me I will…"

"You'll what?" he asked, softly. "Force us? We'd tell you the same thing. This isn't a joke, Nova."

"It has to be a joke," she insisted. "What else could it be? This madness isn't real, none of it. It can't be real."

"Why not?" Tom cried out, jumping to his feet. "After all you've seen and experienced, why the hell can't it? You were supposed to die, you said it yourself. Suicide tends to lead to death. But why the hell are you alive? How the hell did Anita and I know your name? How about the strange cave? Everything you've seen and experienced so far, Nova. Think about it and tell me how it can't possibly be real."

"I…" she faltered. Shook her head. "I don't know, dammit, but… I… oh lord, I don't know. But this is madness! This isn't sane. Guardian Angels don't fucking exist."

"I'd have to say otherwise," Tristan said, dryly. He pointed towards Tom and himself. Then jerked his head towards the door as though in afterthought. "We're standing here and I'd like to think that we're real enough."

"Fuck you, Tristan," Nova said, softly. "Fuck you."

"I'm not entirely opposed to the idea, sweets," he said, drolly. Then blinked when she strode over to him and slapped him, hard, across the face. She moved closer to him and brought her face to his, her eyes snapping with temper… but he saw the lurking panic in them.

"Go to hell."

"I can't, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "I'm immortal."

Nova shook her head, pushing him roughly away from him. "Get out. Get out, get out, get out!"

Tristan looked at her, long and hard, then turned on his heel and stalked off, slamming the door behind him. Tom stared at her, hurt in his face. He shook his head and his parting words hurt her more than she cared to admit.

"I'd expected better from you."

"You don't know me well enough to make such presumptions," she said, coldly. He looked at her again, a look of wonder in his face that wasn't necessarily at the discovery of something good. He shook his head again.

"I guess not. My bad, eh?" he said, softly, then walked out, the door closing behind him in a soft click, a contrast to the noise that Tristan had made. To have it from Tom… Nova dropped bonelessly to the ground, staring at the door. She didn't notice when the tears blinded her eyes, the final click of the door behind Tom echoing in her mind, in the silent room, like a gunshot.

Nova refused to go out of her room, and none of them went in to see her. She lay on her bed, the memories made it impossible for her to sleep and she thought about all of them, each and every one of her nightmares she faced, full on. She didn't want to think about what Tristan and Tom said, but she couldn't help it, it kept coming back to her and replaying in her mind over and over again. It became her obsessive thought, she dissected the meeting every way she could. She tried to read every nuance of expression and tone in both of the men, but found… found that she couldn't, that they had meant every word. It left her with two conclusions: they were either telling the truth or completely stark raving mad. As inclined as she was to believe the latter, she had a feeling that the former might be the truth, after all. Still, even knowing that, she could not accept what they had told her, who could? What sane person would believe that these two men and woman were so called "Guardian Angels". What the hell did that mean, anyway? And the immortal comment, what was that? She felt a frown mar her face and tried to smooth it away, yet knew it was going to be pointless. Nova turned on her side, still thinking about it and about her reaction to it.

She had been terrible, she realised with a pang. And hurtful. Despite not wanting to remember, she still saw that look in Tom's eyes, the one that she had put in and couldn't help the guilty wince and the wave of remorse that hit her. Despite him saying that he would rather have been pessimistic and proven wrong than optimistic and hurt… he had obviously not been able to stop himself from getting optimistic. She didn't help, she thought, guiltily. She had told him that she would accept what they would reveal without censure and yet… and yet she had done just that, had not believed that. Still. She turned to her stomach, resting her chin on her linked hands. Who would have? Tristan said something about immortality and goddess knew that there was no such thing… was there? Hell, immortality was as likely as the presence of Guardian Angels, and yet they claimed that that was real. Hell, her head hurt. With a sigh, Nova flopped on her back, spread eagled and stared at the dark ceiling of her room. What was she going to accept as the truth? Knowing trying to sleep yet again would prove fruitless, Nova kicked off the sheets with a soft groan and got out of bed. She quickly pulled on some clothes and filled her pockets with some essential tools until finally, she was done, twisting her hair up in a knot and putting a platinum rod through it to keep it in place. Her bare feet pattered almost silently on the wooden floor and she turned the gold handle of her door and pushed the door open, holding her breath. The door didn't emit a noise that would betray her, so she looked around carefully, then moved stealthily down the corridor.

But damn, this place was massive. Nova stared around her in muted awe, the corridor being long and dimly lit with candles placed on holders along the wall. Portrait among portrait lined the walls and it seemed as though hundreds pairs of eyes looked down at her in disapproval. She swallowed and berated herself for being utterly silly, and moved towards the main source of light. She discovered a grand staircase and looked up to see that the light was from a giant crystal chandelier that hung on the ceiling. She admired the chandelier for awhile, then looked down at the staircase. It was a twisting staircase and seemed to go on for about four floors at least. The banister was smooth, polished wood with ornate carvings of what appeared to be runes. Nova traced the runes and frowned as her training kicked into gear. She fingered a particularly interesting rune, then another, and soon she gathered that what she was looking at was not a solid staircase, but a series of runes, creating the image of a staircase. Nova gaped, then closed her eyes, testing her theory. When she opened them again, she blinked and her eyes were a cobalt blue, pure cobalt, like the line of colour in her eyes had swallowed her irises and even her pupils. It was hard to explain how it changed her sight, for it wasn't blindness that made her like this, it was power. She looked around and she was open to the magick of this place, and this place had it's share of magick. It was covered in it, the walls a series of runes. It was all an illusion, all of it. Nova was reminded of the Matrix, when Neo became The One and only saw things in code. Except instead of green… well, she couldn't give the runes a colour, for it wasn't exactly colour that made them glow, it was power and power could not be described by mere words. Humans had not created powerful enough language that could describe power.

She traced her hand on the banister again and found that her hand didn't permeate through it. She searched the runes again and found what she was looking for and her mouth was formed in a frown when she read it. Solidity, they had made a solidifying rune for the banister. She walked towards a wall and found a similar one. It was woven tightly into one big spell, several complex runes tying in, knotting to each other to create this complexity of a house. Whispering a few words, she reached for the rune, traced it and it seemed to glow brighter and brighter until it was almost blinding in it's brightness. Then it died down. Nova picked up the rune like it was a live thing and studied it. When she was sure she understood each and every thread that would make it work, she nodded and popped it into her pocket. Then she plunged her hand through where the rune had been and gasped. Her hand went through and she was assailed by the magick that flowed over her to close the gaps her hand had created, to work over the imperfection. Nova quickly pulled her hand away before the magick fixed itself over her and thus imprisoning her. Her hand, when she studied it, was glowing from the power. She frowned at the wall, then shook her head. In time, she would find out more. She closed her eyes and let the breath out of her body so that she was utterly still. She concentrated, then she started whispering. Her eyes opened and she took out the beaten platinum rod that held her hair in place and lightning quick, traced the threads that would make a replica of the solidifying rune she had stopped. It formed before her very eyes and when it was fully formed, she quickly went to the spot on the wall and chanted, using the platinum rod to tie the runes together, imitating the holds of it's original form. She had to work quickly, or else it would cover itself over, not fully fixed. Beads of sweat covered her brow and her face was determined as she worked as quickly as she could. Finally, the spell was complete and she stood back, nodding. The rune blended in with the rest.

She walked back towards the stairs and frowned at it. She knew the runes would hold, but… she looked around her again and wondered who on earth would want a house built entirely on magickal runes… and why. As she went down, she twisted her hair up again and secured it with the platinum rod. It was a family heirloom, from her Nan. Pure platinum, it was beaten into a rod and several precious and semi-precious stones lined the surface. She had yet to discover what all of them meant… but she knew that the rose quartz was for healing, the tiger's eye for protection of the holder, the gold-onyx to ward of negative energy. There were others, all to help and aid in spellcasting, and for protection of the holder. A witch should never be anywhere without her wand. Her hand involuntarily went to the rod and fingered the runes carved into it. Like the house, the runes had given the wand form, so perhaps that was why it could help her in the magick of the runes without as much trouble. She knew what she had done was complex and wondered with some dread how she had managed to do it.

Reaching the first landing, she looked around. Like upstairs, it was all runes and she tightened her hold on the banister, even though she knew it wasn't real. This floor was open and there were only five doors altogether, although all five were huge double doors going up to the ceiling. She started towards the first door when her stomach rumbled and reminded her that she hadn't been eating the food that someone had left outside her door for her. With a rueful smile, Nova changed her plans to a visit to the kitchen first of all. Knowing she'd never find it in this maze of a house, she took out a ball of string from the back pocket and laid it in the flat of her palm. Murmuring under her breath, the string glowed, then rose in the air. The end of the string lifted itself from the coil and it seemed to hesitate, then it pointed downwards and began moving. Nova had to quicken her pace to keep up with it and followed the string all the way downstairs and through a series of doors. Finally, it stopped by a small, regular height door, although it was double the width of a normal door. She murmured the spell to deactivate the string and pocketed it. Then she pushed open the door.

The kitchen was easily the size of her living room and kitchen put together, and she had quite a spacious house. It was all modern and clean and nice, the countertops were dark grey marble and the cupboards and drawers were unpainted wood. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, smelt of beeswax, lavender and dried roses. She shivered, the scent somewhat forbidding to her. Still, she moved towards the huge modern metal fridge and opened it. Her mouth watered. Food lined it, completely. Food of all kinds. There was some leftover chicken and she took that out, along with some mayonnaise and mustard and butter. She also took out a bottle of Smirnoff ice and rummaged through the kitchen to find a knives, bread and a plate. She was looking through yet another cupboard, almost giving up hope, when she heard a drawer being drawn open and the chink of metal hitting against each other, then lifted up. She froze, even as she heard the whispered hiss of the drawer sliding close, standing on her tiptoes, her hair falling into her face and her t-shirt riding up to show her tummy and her feet bare. Slowly, she turned to find a pair of bright green eyes locked on hers and she gulped. He looked grave as he stood there, a butter knife and bead knife in hand, along with a carving knife. She gulped again as she stared at the pointed utensils warily. Following the direction of her gaze, he looked up again and then said, completely seriously

"Boo."

Nova raised her eyes to his and found that while his expression was still grave, his eyes were mildly amused and found her lips twitching into a reluctant smile, which he returned. He laid down the knives on the counter top next to the food, and reached over her to open a cupboard. She misjudged his actions and stepped aside abruptly, her back pressed against the counter. Her eyes locked on his, lime green and bright with some kind of unnamed, feverish light, but he just took out a loaf of bread, from which he took out a slice. Then he turned to the fridge and took out a bottle of chilled beer. He turned to her, and she nodded, slightly, so he took out an extra bottle. He was just about to hand it to her when the thought hit him.

"Are you legal?"

"To drink?" her mouth curved. "I am in England. And in Italy." He looked at her steadily, his expression unreadable, then handed her the bottle. He reached inside his night robe, and took out an intricate silver bottle opener. With a smooth movement, he opened her bottle for her, then did so with his. The two stood side by side, leaning against the counter and sipping cold beer, the awkward silence mounting between them. Finally, Tristan spoke.

"Why won't you believe?"

"Would you?" haunted eyes were lifted to meet his. "If you were in my position… would you?"

"No," he exhaled explosively. "But dammit, Nova, I'm not you. I thought… I thought maybe you would, you could. I… it hurt that you proved me wrong."

"It hurt you?" she sounded incredulous. "It hurt you that I didn't believe your silly little theory about your being a fucking Guardian Angel? Fuck, Tristan. It's a little difficult to believe, you have to agree. I'm 18, Tristan. My birthday's in a month, and I just committed suicide a few days ago. What the hell does that tell you about me?"

He looked away.

"I don't know."

"Hell," she sighed. "I do. It makes me weak. It makes the possibility of my understanding and believing you very low. Despite…despite the fact that I work with magick doesn't make it easy for me to believe strange things, Tristan. It's easy for us to overlook something we can't see, we haven't seen."

"But we're giving you a chance to see!" he retorted, angrily. "You say you want to see, so why don't you? Why don't you just fucking see that there's more to life, more to this world than you're led to believe?"

"Because I'm human!" she screamed, finally. She slammed her bottle on the counter, not even realising when the bottle broke both with the impact and her released energy. She was just so furious, so upset that she couldn't see how her emotions triggered her powers to react. "Because I'm human and I don't want to see."

"You're not."

So quiet, so quietly he uttered it, the words that made the very breath and energy drain out of her rant. She stared with big eyes at him, her face just going this side of pale and scared.

"Wh..what do you mean?"

"Just that you're not," he said, calmly, but his eyes snapped, dared to see her reaction. "Human, that is. You're a Guardian Angel."

"Back to this fucking bullshit."

"It's not bloody bullshit!" he slammed his bottle down as well, and this time the reason it broke was out of sheer force of anger. "Why won't you see, why don't you want to see? Dammit, Nova, you're driving us all insane with your inability to accept the fucking truth, with your blind denial. We're so fucking sick and tired, Nova. There's only so long we can wait, and it's not just us that we're dealing with, here. This is all bigger than you and me, Nova. It always is. And by your procrastinating, you're not only hurting Tom, Anita and I, but countless other people as well!"

"Why the hell do you expect so much from me?" she yelled back. "I'm only one person, what the fuck can I do?"

The fight seemed to get out of him. He lifted his eyes, his oh-so-tired eyes and pinned her with the weariness within them.

"So much. So fucking much." He walked the scant few inches that separated them, raised a warm hand to cup her cheek. His thumb traced circles on her cheekbone, and her eyes locked on his again, large and vulnerable. He laughed softly, sadly. "You're so strong, and you don't even see it. You've got this strength that people can see, just by looking at you, yet you remain so utterly unaware to it. I don't understand you, Nova."

"And I don't understand you," she said, softly. His lips curled into a small smile.

"Just as well, I suppose," he said, voice low. She thought it was her imagination, but his face was getting closer. Then she realised it wasn't, that he was moving closer, that what she breathed in wasn't only air, but his breath intermingled with hers. Her eyes fluttered close, just as his lips brushed, feather soft, against hers. He kept it light, teasing, and she made a protesting sound low in her throat. He let out a little laugh. "Open your eyes, kitten. I want to see those gorgeous eyes of yours." Reluctantly, her lids flickered and she looked up at his face, met the amused lime green. He grinned at her. "Better," he murmured, before his mouth lowered once more to hers.

It was deeper, he took it deeper. His mouth fitted hers, was all that she could say. His mouth felt like it was some kind of jigsaw puzzle piece that matched only with hers. It was corny, but that was what she felt like. Like coming home. He traced her lips with his tongue, then gently urged her to open her mouth and she did so, eagerly. She was all too eager. It was like listening to a fantastic piece of music that gripped her and tightened her chest, and made her heart almost stop. Except instead of hearing it, she was experiencing it. She felt like she was the music, and he the instrument. Or maybe he was the maestro and she the instrument he played so well. Whatever it was, it was a seduction of lips, teeth and tongue that drove her mindless. She'd never been kissed like that, before, like her soul was being sucked out by the kiss. It gave a literal meaning to soul stealing.

Her hand was gripping the silk robe he was wearing, at the shoulder. It made her realise how little he had on underneath that robe. How very little indeed. Her other hand was rested on his chest, her palm smoothed over his heart to feel it pounding as hers pounded. It was like some bodice ripper, the scene she was in, but she couldn't seem to care. Then all thought flew from her mind as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. She just moaned.

"Tristan," she managed to gasp as that hand on his shoulder bunched up the silk even more, nails digging into his skin even through the material. He picked up the hand that was on his chest and placed it on his shoulder, his mouth still fused with hers. He slid his palms down her back slowly, sinuously, stopping to knead at her bottom, pulling her tighter to him. Her fingers found relief in gripping his hair, holding on to him as the very breath in her lungs felt like it was being stolen. He was the one to pull away, and then only because air was becoming quite the necessity.

He held her there in his arms, his hands still on her ass, still holding her tightly against his growing arousal. He laid his heated cheek against her, panting. He turned, so that his lips just brushed at the shell of her ear and his hot breath teased the hair there.

"Feel what you do to me?" he whispered, almost harshly. "Do you know what I wanted to do when I saw you with Tom, like you were? I wanted to rip his lungs out through his mouth with my bare hands. I wanted to castrate him. I wanted to rip his balls off for touching you." The words made her shudder in a mix of fear and arousal and as though he sensed that, he nipped at her lobe just hard enough for it to sting, slightly. "You like that? Well I don't. What are you doing to me?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice rough and her eyes dark. "What are you going to do?" He smirked at her, almost savagely, as he pushed her so that her back was against the counter once more. He leaned into her, his hand going to her bared stomach and inching it's way downwards.

"You, hopefully."

With those words, he proceeded to show her just how determined he was to meet through his promises, and Nova threw back her head, eyes blind as he did wicked things to her body and wondered helplessly if she would be able to live through the encounter.

"Well," she croaked. She swallowed, licked her dry lips. "That was certainly…something." He didn't answer her. He was staring at the ceiling, a frown marring his face. She turned on her side, lifting herself on her elbow and looking down at him, confused, her dark hair falling into her face. She pushed the hair aside impatiently. She raised that hand to trace his face, but he pulled away from her and she looked at him timidly. "Tristan?"

"I just…" he shrugged. He knew he was being unreasonable, but… he couldn't shake off the guilt that lay like a bitter taste in his mouth. He sighed. "Hell, I don't know. I just… look, it doesn't matter. It was a mistake, anyway." When he said that, he immediately wished to take back what he said, especially when he saw her pale. He wanted to swear, wanted to apologise, to take her in his arms and make her forget what he said. But he also wanted to see what she would do and that part of him was stronger. So he was quiet. He started when she sat up abruptly and swung her legs off of the side of the table. She put on her clothes, quickly and he sat up as well. "What are you doing?"

"Finishing what I was coming down here for in the first place," she said, almost woodenly as she walked towards the kitchen counter and began to carve off of few pieces of chicken. He swore and pulled on his robes and went after her.

"Nova…"

"There's nothing left to say, Tristan," she said, coolly. "I believe you've made your feelings about what happened quite clear. As per what you want, I'm going to forget it ever happen and I suspect you're going to do likewise."

"Nova," he spun her around to face him, but then found himself at the tip of a sharp knife. She held it sure and steady, the blade pressed flat against the side of his throat and she tipped the tip of the knife slightly, so that the sharp part of the blade dug in slightly into his skin. He made to move, and she pressed the tilted part slightly more, feeling the sharp knife pierce a few layers of skin. She knew that when she took away the pressure of the knife, blood would trickle up. She felt no pang of remorse, but kept looking at him with dead eyes. He backed off and she let the hand with the knife drop to her side. Then she turned to butter two pieces of bread together, put in the chicken, the mayonnaise and the mustard. He watched her stiff back for awhile, then walked away. At the doors, he paused. "I'm sorry." If he expected her to melt, he was disappointed. If anything, her back stiffened further and she ignored him and his apology completely. He closed the door behind him quietly and when he did, she dropped the knife. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and laid her head against the cool glass that covered the cupboards.

She went down the next day, her hair twisted up and held with the platinum rod of her wand, again. She had just pulled on a pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt and stepped out of the room barefoot like… last night. It had been another sleepless night like the others and she was suffering for it, emotionally and physically. Dark shadows lay under her eyes and she was pale, tired. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and she seemed listless. A headache was present all the time, right between the eyes and all she wanted was to curl up in her bed. If she thought that would enable her to sleep, she would have, but she knew that this case of insomnia wouldn't go away just like that. So she went down the stairs, towards the kitchens again. When she reached the doors, she heard quiet voices and recognised Tom's and Anita's. Sighing, she paused briefly to pinch the bridge of her nose as the headache hit her doubly hard. She was tempted to just go back upstairs and moved to do just that when the door opened and Anita looked at her, woodenly. She stepped aside to let Nova pass, but didn't move away. A part of Nova wanted to flee, to run, but the other part, the stubborn, idiotic, headstrong part made her hold up her head and sweep through the door. Tom immediately stopped conversing when she came in and she spotted Tristan looking at her with careful eyes. She ignored them and walked towards the fridge, pulled it open and looked for something a little bit stronger than Smirnoff Ice. She needed the alcohol, at that moment. She closed the door to the fridge, and, although hating it, turned to Tristan and raised an eyebrow. He raised an eyebrow back at her, but had noticed her eyes had gone to the drinks section of the fridge, so nodded his head towards a cupboard at the side of him, a few feet away. She stood rooted at the spot, then a mutinous look came into her face. She opened the fridge and he thought that she would ignore it, but then she took a lime, lime juice, and grenadine. She slammed the fridge closed, took a small knife (his hand went up to trace the light line that the knife had left at his throat) and walked towards where he had shown with the things she had taken.

She set the things on the counter in front of the cupboard and opened it to find it lined with alcohol. She raised an eyebrow, but took her time to survey what he had. In the end, she took four shot glasses, took out a bottle of Amaretto and Southern Comfort. She looked at the shot glasses, hazarded a guess of how much was supposed to be in it, and then began to fill out the amount coolly. After slightly half of the shot glasses had been filled with the alcohol, she took the pitcher of lime juice and filled the shot glasses to the top. The other three watched her movements as she did this, and Tristan's eyebrow had risen again, but she ignored him. She took up a shot glass, raised it up to them and uttered "Slainte." Then she downed it. The alcohol burnt its way down her throat and she closed her eyes, savouring the sensation. Then she took the next shot glass and proceeded to the same with it, and it's neighbour and finally the last glass she offered to Anita. The woman took it hesitantly, then turned to Tom and Tristan. Tom shrugged and Anita raised it to her lips, as though to take a sip, then threw back her head and downed it. She gasped as she slammed the shot glass down, her eyes watering. Nova had turned towards the alcohol cupboard again, replacing the SC and Amaretto. Then she turned to the two men.

"Tequila shots?" she asked, calmly.

"Why are you trying to get us all drunk?" Tom asked, finally. She heard the traces of hurt in his tone, and it made her turn whirl back to the cupboard, take out the tequila bottle and fill a shot glass. She reached for the salt shaker, put a bit on her hand, and licked the salt, downed the tequila and bit into the lime. She shook her head.

"Haven't done this is ages," she murmured. Then she turned to him, her eyes sombre. "Because maybe if I pass out, I'll be able to sleep again." Tom looked startled at that and then he noticed how she looked, took in the pallor of her skin, the shadows under her eyes, saw the tightness of her mouth meant something else than he thought it did, and noticed the bloodshot eyes. He got up, held out a hand, but she shook her head. "You don't have to get drunk if you don't want, I can make a sobriety potion before I start. Or you don't have to join me if you so wish."

"I… Nova…"

"This house is a series of runes," she blurted out. "Nothing's real. Nothing. Is the food real, the drinks? Is what I'm feeling due to the spell or is it what I'm really feeling?" she closed her eyes, started shaking. "I tested the runes last night, I saw. Why? Where are we? Why is it like this? Why did you pick me?" The last question was not meant to be asked, she held a hand to her mouth when it slipped out, but she didn't take it back, her eyes were defiant.

Anita sighed and drew herself straighter. Her eyes turned faraway and the blueness of it seemed to darken with memories, with thoughts. "There was a prophecy, the first prophecy…"

"And in this prophecy?"

"The wars within the heavens began

Light and dark begin what is to be a timeless dance

Angels taking sides before time is end

A heated, mindless battle at first glance.

The Angels divided for the first time

Light and Dark spill blood on golden ground

Lives lost, and life is found

Finally the Dark loses to the Light.

And by Heaven's decree to be sent to the pits of eternal hell

And Hell's dark leader, dreadfully promised

The fall of the race Heaven's leader defended

Chaos and confusion to turn them to his dark side.

A group of Angels sent down to help

The innocent, unknowing race

For centuries will stay half on earth, half in heaven

With powerful council of their own

Denied of their birthright for century upon century

As their fight seem to be a losing battle

Disheartened by the human race, one

Hard hearted, wary of what he would have to do.

Unbeknownst to them the leader of Heaven sent

The life found during the war to keep on earth

For her life would be the turning point of the war

Both Dark and Light search for her presence to be unearthed.

The time of the final battle draws near

When Sadness discovers a New state

And when Ice and Passion draws with Sadness to put their differences aside

For the presence of the brightness of the New.

Darkness will snatch at this bright star

Drawing her in to his own courts

Seduce her with clever words and promises

And turn her against those she had trusted and loved.

Cheated Death, the New will rise again,

Given the fateful second chance

Where Sadness, Ice and Passion will meet

And trust built again, and love to be found.

When the New and the Sadness gets past their differences

To fight in the war they all are in

To understand, to share to feel the promised Love,

The war will be won by the Light.

The Angels will return home and

the Dark imprisoned in the hell

But beware the Dark will try

To take what is no longer theirs.

For New and Sadness were destined from time

For in his hands she heals her lifely wounds

And in hers he finds release

For in each other they find peace."

Nova raised an eyebrow, outwardly cool but her head was spinning by the words of the so-called "prophecy". The New… could that be her? Nova did mean New. Cheated Death, wouldn't that be her? She had supposed to commit suicide, and yet here she was, unharmed. And alive. And that verse…

Darkness will snatch at this bright star

Drawing her in to his own courts

Seduce her with clever words and promises

And turn her against those she had trusted and loved.

She shivered again. That sounded, to her, like Toby. Her hand went up to her necklace, alternating between gripping it, and running her thumb over the carved wings… wings? Four Angels… she saw three, who was the fourth? Two to bear her soul away. Anita would be the one to watch, Tom to pray. And Tristan? Would he bear her soul?

"Four Angels round my heart," she murmured. "One to watch and one to pray, and two to bear my soul away…"

End Part 4