Silver Dragon's Kin: Yay! And back to another short story from me!

Castalle: ;; it's gonna be another sad one isn't it?

SDK: TT. Yes. But hey what can I say, it's Coral! I like writing things 'bout her!

Castalle: My creator is hopeless.

SDK: . I love you too. :D

Castalle: Rolls eyes What an idiot…

SDK: Ed was right, you are too tightly wound up. Here have a cookie.

Castalle: Cookie????

SDK: Ok so there is most likely going to be a second part in this short story because I didn't get to do what I wanted to do in this first part. But and this thing took me forever to finish and so now I want to get it done. But I want the theme in it! So there'll be a part 2. I don't know if there's gonna a part 3 we'll see.

Disclaimer: The song title is called Force of Gravity by BT featuring JC Chasez. I did not make it; otherwise it'd be in my fictionpress list of things that I wrote. I happen to love this song, it's very beautiful but it's sad as well… Anyways… on with teh story!

Ok so "Force of Gravity" (c) JC Chasez, BT, and Jive Records

With Thieving hands chapter 1 (c) Dream Catchers


Tell me something…

If there was someone…

To share your pain with…

Would you let them?


Do you cry your eyes asleep?

Is it peace you seek at night when your body's weak?

Did it leave you with the scars of a war-torn ravaged heart?

Do you cry your eyes asleep?


Something was bothering Coral.

She, at least, knew that that was the truth now. And it wasn't because of the recent family tragedy. No, that wasn't it. Something was definitely up. Her twin never was close to her mother, yet she still mourned for her, that much was obvious. Still, it seemed more like she had lost someone more than just their mother.

Monica sighed and ran her fingers through her brown locks. Lately she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Weird voices whispered to her while she dreamed. Whispers so real and dark it was as if someone was speaking in her ear. The dreams seemed more like memories, though. She was always present in her dream. Sometimes she'd wake and feel content when she awoke, other times the dreams would be so exotic she'd wake up flushed, hot, and sweating. Then sometimes she'd be pissed off or terrified and it'd reflect her attitude for the rest of the day. Everything was so real, too real, in a dreamland that couldn't possibly be a reality.

Pull yourself together, she scolded herself, it's a dream it's not real! And you're a seventeen years old for crying out loud; of course your going to have erotic dreams…

Nonetheless tonight had been a particularly frightening dream. She was hanging in the air, mindlessly scared, scared beyond all hope and imagination. She wanted to call out his name. Her savior.

And then she was falling. She wanted to scream, yell, wanted him to catch her, like he'd promised, whenever she was soaring through the sky. Shouting rang through her head, and the whisper of the wind silenced her ears and deafened the noise. Then she was the one flying, and he was the one falling.

And she wanted to catch him.

But she couldn't.

Once she was able to muster up the courage to look down, she saw jagged rocks and the ocean. No one would ever be able to survive a fall like that. She saw blue turn into a whirlpool of red.

Monica remembered gasping out a small 'no' when she had awoken a few hours ago, tears falling from her eyes. Even now, as she remembered the wildly vivid dream, her heart beat several times faster and harder in both excitement and terror.

"I need a drink," she mumbled, yawning and stretching from where she sat on the corner of the bed, at the corner of her room. The thought suddenly hit her to maybe check the clock to see what the time was, but she shrugged it off. Better not knowing how much sleep you lost tonight, she thought.

The house the Freyns lived in wasn't exactly a mansion, but it wasn't a small house either. There was enough for a married couple to have their own room, enough for four or five children to have their own rooms, a den, an office, two computer rooms, and a small room for exercising, then of course the kitchen, dining room, guest room, and everything in between.


Once again, Coral found herself alone in the dark at 3:00 in the morning; once again she found herself drinking milk and eating chocolate at the far end of the dining room table. But she was certain that she was the only one in the household awake, and that gave her a small bit of comfort.

She couldn't sleep, and she didn't want to think either, yet the only thing she ever did was think. Every night she would cry herself to sleep. Honestly, it was a wonder nobody ever said anything to her, to see if she was all right, that maybe, if she had someone persistent ask if she was OK, then she could let all the unshed tears fall.

She didn't believe that she had fooled everyone, not for one second. But either they didn't care, or didn't want to care. The councilors at school weren't helping, and, now that she thought about it, neither was the therapy that the Freyn children were required to take after Serenity died.

One thing Coral knew was that she was afraid. Coral knew was that love hurt when she was apart from the one she loved. She knew that love hurt more when that one died. It hurt the most knowing that the eyes that, at first, stared at her, and then later, glared, were once eyes she considered friendly and trustworthy. She sighed; there was nothing she could do about that, nothing at all. But it wasn't all the pain she was suffering from that scared her. It was the minor detail of Cairo, once again, explaining the way of the Angels to her.

Once an Angel loves, their bound eternally, even after one, somehow, dies. The last thing the Angels' feel—be it fear, love, or contentment—that's what they'll be feeling until the end of time unless they're very strong willed.

What if she had to feel the hurt every second of every day until she died? She didn't want that to happen. Not at all, but her feelings aren't for her to decide upon. So what if she—

"Coral, what are you doing up?"

The young woman jumped and gasped in surprise, eyes widening. She turned her head around to see behind her. Monica stood there, in her white pajama bottoms and light blue top that concealed the first half of her torso. Coral blinked at the elder twin before coming past her initial shock and shrugging in response.

"I could ask the same of you," she replied sarcastically, her typical self toward her sister, "except that common sense tells me that you can't sleep." She had her head bowed, so she couldn't see Monica rolling her light brown eyes in annoyance, but she could hear her sigh and move with light, precise footsteps across the tiled kitchen floor.

"Smart allelic," Monica said, now sitting beside her, "It was just a question."

"Duh," Coral said rolling her eyes and looking up at her sister.

Monica snorted, obviously grumpy, obviously impatient. She shook her head once and rubbed the bridge of her nose; as if, maybe she could gather a bit of patience so that she could talk with Coral.

"What's your problem," Monica asked. "Why is it you think you're better than everyone else?"

Coral glared. "I don't think I'm better than everyone, just you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Monica snapped and glared hard and taking the younger twin aback. "And don't tell me nothing. That stupid look in your eyes tell me otherwise."

Coral blinked stupidly for a moment, before shaking her head and saying in a soft voice, "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." Monica leaned back against her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Coral scoffed at the older twin, rolling her eyes this time. "Right, so you can send me straight to the loony bin? I think not."

"Well something's up and I'm not leaving 'til you tell me."

"Well something's up and I'm not leaving 'til you tell me." Coral mocked, contorting her face in an ugly scowl, and scoffed again. "I'd rather keep them to myself. You know, I'd like to know what your doing up so late at night as well."

Something's not right, Monica thought, she knew I was having trouble sleeping. She took a deep breath, waited for a moment, and then let it out. Anger boiled over at her sister's persistence of blocking herself away from her. They'd never been close. Actually, Coral was never close to anyone. It was like she kept her distance from everyone, pushing them away, and though she was doing a good job pushing Monica away, she couldn't deny a small feeling of unease to ripple through her body.

"Fine, I'll tell you why I'm up," the older twin said, "I had a nightmare tonight, and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"Oh…"

Monica raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Wasn't expecting me to answer the question right away, were you?"

"Whatever."

"You're 'whatevers' can go straight to hell."

Coral harrumphed before standing, taking and putting away her empty glass and candy wrapper. "I'm goin' to bed," she declared and stormed off.


What was that? She asked herself a moment later after Coral had left, stunned. What the hell just happen here? Monica sighed, rolled her eyes and glared at the wooden table and its natural pattern of waves and twirls.

Pigheaded, isn't she?

"Damn straight," she answered before thinking and then blinked. The hell? Monica sat motionless, her eyes, the only thing darting, scanning around for the voice she was sure she'd heard.

Nothing. Her heart accelerated. Nobody was in the kitchen, and a fair amount of light from the dining room and kitchen cast off into the living area, so there wasn't anyone there. The brunette brought a hand up to her forehead, rubbing for a moment before dragging it down to the side of her face.

Okay, now something really isn't right here…

Chuckling.

Monica jumped. And this time it wasn't her eyes that moved to scan the area. She stood up, to get ready to follow Coral and just go to sleep. Maybe she was hallucinating. Honest to God, she hoped she was hallucinating. Coral wouldn't be the one to be turned in to the loony bin. Maybe she was just tired. After all, she didn't exactly get the best sleep in the world the last two weeks.

Milk and then bed, she ordered herself, already moving towards the refrigerator to get the half-empty gallon of milk and chug some down. Honestly, who cared if she drank out of the bin, it was spit, not Ebola. No one was going to die.

"Ahh." She was more relaxed now, probably able to go to sleep, which, she thought lazily, was really the best idea she had all day. She barely got two steps out of turning around before she gasped, eyes widening in surprise.

"You!…"

You're not Coral.


"She wouldn't have understood," Coral told herself for the thousandth time in the past five minutes. "No one would've understood."

Coral paced back and forth in her room, thankful that hers was on the second floor on top of the gym room so if she paced, it could be as loud as it pleased her.

Her voice of reason stood quiet in her mind, waiting. Maybe it was because everyone was irritable. Monica had just woken up from a bad dream and couldn't find enough energy to get herself back into a peaceful slumber.

"That's been happening a lot lately," she thought.

"Lots of things have been happening a lot lately," her mind retorted.

"Nothing to do but to sit and wait and—"

"Sleep and—"

"Talk and—"

"Go on with a normal life and pretend it never happened."

Coral sighed. Another souvenir to prove to her that what she had gone through before with Cairo had been real.

"How do you live a normal life," she asked herself. "When all you can do is look at how abnormal life has been for so long?"

It was all mindless blubbering, really. A therapeutic way to release all the energy she was holding, as walking couldn't possibly help her now. Not while it was still so dark. No, she'd have to wait for another six hours before even thinking she could go off on her own.

"My sky is always black and brown—"

"The moon tells me that I should drown—"

"The Earth, it shatters beneath our feet—"

"But I'd never, ever admit defeat—"

"Heaven shines its holy star—"

"I never knew it could seem so far—"

"I stand before the ocean waves—"

"As they keep telling me be brave…"

"Shut up," Coral hissed, head between her hands, palms pressing tightly over her ears as if to block out the insane voices from her mind. As if she could block the troublesome voices away, like she could with normal people. "No more rhymes. No more riddles."

Coral didn't know when it had happened really. When, all of a sudden, she had gotten voices in her head that spoke to her, like three people having conversation and she was the third, more reasonable party. And it often seemed like she was talking to herself too. She called them Mischief and Mayhem because of all the trouble it caused her. It wasn't like they rhymed all the time; sometimes they'd grow solemn enough for them to make sense, even if it was only for a moment.

"You should rest…" She thought that was Mischief…she honestly didn't know. Whichever spoke to her first, that's who would be called Mischief, and the one following after: Mayhem.

Normally the two would be more of a nuisance, like a fly humming in her ears. Normally she was OK; normally Coral was like the rest of the teenagers out there: with one mind.

Mayhem finished its counterpart's sentence.

"'Cause if you don't, you'll not be at your best."

Coral prominently ignored them. Rolling her eyes, but still keeping her hands over her ears. She sunk down—squatted really— and tried to hum to herself. It was something that had no meaning other than to calm her steadily rising nerves. Still, the impish demons in her head wouldn't alter their course of action.

"The little girl did not have wings—"

"Yet she believed that she could fly—"

"And she spoke of many, many things—"

"Yet she would not die.—"

"Stop it," Coral hardly heard the feeble whimper escape from her lips. She shook a little, and bowed her head between her knees. "Please…"

"Please…"

"Her heart fought a savage war—"

"That left her broken heart to fall—"

"Her wounds, it healed to savage scars—"

"And now her heart's a mound of walls—"

"Her emotions ride so far, so deep—"

"Now, baby, cry your eyes asleep."

Coral didn't realize until later that her legs had walked, of their own accord, back to her bed where the cushions of the mattress cleansed all thoughts of her demons and she was asleep before she hit the pillow.


Remember the words we used to speak?

The promises made have turn to all apologies

The weight of a storm of memories

Still you fly to fight the force of gravity


The voice was almost angry. Monica shivered, making sure that she didn't let the other see the tremors the shiver caused throughout her body, but didn't move. It was him. He had russet eyes, and black hair and wings. His skin was pale, but tanned, and his body lean. A small, gray light radiated off of him.

His eyes glowered at her and he spoke again. "Who are you?"

Getting over her initial shock of the winged man she knew from her dreams, she reacted like she did all the other times he had gotten on her nerves. She glowered back for a moment to let him know that she wasn't to be played around with, especially now. Hadn't she just seen him die just a few hours ago? Why was he here? And how in the hell does he know Coral?

Ignore the question and leave, something in the back of her mind ordered her, made her start walking without realizing she was moving toward her room. What did make her realize though was the silver glint that shone from the light in the kitchen. She turned around, as if in a trance, and blinked to clear her thoughts.

It was a beaded necklace with two things sitting in the middle of it. One was a silver Gaelic cross with an emerald centered at the base. At the center of the emerald was a blue colored topaz the shape of a crescent moon. That was Coral's. That girl never took it off. Not since Mom had given it to her when she was eleven.

The other thing centered on the necklace was the small silver fairy bead. Monica stared at it, looking at the necklace confusedly. What the hell was going on here? That was Coral's necklace. And it had become more than priceless over the years.

Funny how the Fairy glows all of a sudden…

The winged man looked at her for a moment then looked down to where the other was looking, setting the necklace inside his shirt and glared at her once again. His arms crossed over his chest, as if to protect what was rightly his.

Monica sensed that what he wanted was for her to present a challenge, to try and take it away from her. But that's exactly what she wouldn't do. Cautiously, Monica crossed her arms over her chest and asked cautiously, softly, "Coral gave that to you, didn't she, Cairo?"

He didn't look surprised, like she had originally planned. Instead his face hardened and his eyes turned to stone, unyielding.

"How do you know about Coral? How do you know my name? Aren't you her reincarnation?"

Reincarnation? What the— are you kidding me! I'm older than she is for crying out loud!

"No," she replied cautiously, making sure to keep her incredulity to herself until she got what she wanted out. "I'm her sister. Her older twin sister."

Good, no name. Reincarna—

This time he did look surprised, as if he had forgotten that little detail of her life. His hardened features softened, remembering now what her name was.

"Ah, Monica, correct?"

Monica said nothing, didn't let her own surprise show, not even in her eyes. Her arms were still crossed, but she shifted the leverage from one foot to the other, shifting her hips as well.

"You died."

"Almost died. Coral has to come back, she's got unfinished business to do."

Anger burned in her eyes. What the hell? Was Coral just a tool to use for the taking? That didn't sound right.

"Coral doesn't need to do damned thing. No wonder you're a black angel; your heartless." Her voice seethed with anger. How dare he? Was that why she was depressed so much, lately?

Monica gasped as the dark angel was suddenly in front of her, a large hand at the base of her throat, threatening her, glaring at her. Her hands instantly went to his wrist. Her heart jumped to her throat. Cairo looked into her hazel eyes wanting her to show what she was supposed to feel: fear. But if she was, then the dark angel couldn't see it; wouldn't be allowed to see it.

Resistance.

Monica would stand her ground.


"How did you know it was me that was coming," a younger, teenaged, version of Coral asked Cairo. They were sitting upon a roof. It was unusually warm for a winter night. But it was almost spring; the girl could almost smell the aura of fresh grass and mildew. Coral thought it would be a perfect night to join the angel and just talk with him. He was always sitting up or lying back as he watched the night sky fade into dusk.

She had her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped securely around them, and she lay her serene sketched face upon them. Cairo had one knee up, his arm stretched upon it. The other leg was flat out before him, and his other hand at his side to keep himself up.

Cairo was silent for a while, too long, and she thought he wouldn't answer her, but he turned to look at her. The wind blew gently and the female's brown hair blew around her in an elegant dance. For a moment she didn't think he would answer her question. They had known each other for a while now, almost a year, and occasionally they would find themselves talking to each other. It was hard to think that time flew by so quickly. What would her parents think if they saw her now? Would they recognize her with all of her changes? Were they still looking for her? Did they ever?

"When I was younger," Cairo started, taking her out of her reverie, "before the White Wings decided that I and those like me were banished and taken to Exile, I still learned a lot of things the normal angels did." He paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath, as if the memory was hard to come by or if it was as if he was having a hard time telling her this particular secret. "One of those things was Prophesy Making and I was one of the few that could do something so complicated."

Coral nodded, telling him silently that she understood what he meant. "So you made one—"

"—About you, yes," Cairo finished. "When I was in trouble."

"Before you were trapped in the prison, right?"

The Dark Angel nodded, russet colored eyes seemed to glow as the night wore on.

The world seemed to glow brighter. Silence encompassed them for an unknown amount of time. The fresh grass swayed at her feet. Her position was a little different now as she was sitting on her legs, it what looked to be an uncomfortable position, but Coral didn't seem to mind. The wind blew gently, and her hair swayed as if the air was giving her a gentle caress.

"Tell me about your home," he whispered to her, taking in the brown locks and setting them behind her ear. Coral shifted, turning her head to look at the dark angel thoughtfully. The hair behind her ears fell forward and back to their original spot in the wind. Still, she didn't seem to care that her hair was floating all around her face.

"Well," she started, not knowing what she'd be able to say and not say. "I have two sisters and a brother."

"You don't have to be so guarded," he sighed, "you can tell me about them."

Coral mimicked the resigned sound and continued, "Okay. Jerenmy is my older brother. He's twenty four, so about seven years older than me. Donna is my little sister; she's ten years younger. Monica…well she's a couple minutes older than me."

"How so?"

"She's my twin sister. Though we don't look at all the same I think. Her hair is short and highlighted at the bangs. But she's really pretty…and shy."

"Sounds like the total opposite of you." Coral whipped her eyes up at him and glared hard. She saw him smirking.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Dark Angel shrugged, his handsome features saying nothing to expose to her anything he was feeling at the moment. Waves of salty water shimmered in her hazel eyes, and she turned her eyes away. She was being stupid; he didn't need this kind of crap from her. After all, she had unfinished business, right? Each was still awaiting their arrival.

Cairo looked down, her cheek rested like an uncomfortable pillow on her now upturned knees. Cairo sighed, used to the emotional response coming from the young woman lately. But he wasn't going to get impatient with her. No, she missed her family and that was something to be expected. And though he had wanted to ease her troubled thoughts, Cairo brought the tears over the edge.

He hugged her to him wordlessly, spreading his wings quietly and folded them around her immediately around her frail form, protecting her.

"Hey, It's gonna be OK." The words slipped out of his mouth like a river, a natural, yet rapid, and ever moving. "You'll see, they've looked at you then and saw your childish behavior. And then they'll see you now and find the woman you've grown into. You'll be home soon. I promise."

Coral sniffled, her head rose from her knees to sit comfortably on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, melting in the warmth, his warmth around her.

"Do you really promise," Coral asked and felt the other, more sure of the two, nodding. He patted her hair gently, soothingly, until he felt her breath fall even.

Empty promises. They were all one and the same.

Fallen hearts. They always break when they hit the rocky bottom.

Shattered dreams. It always happens once you realize you can't get it back.

Her heart, it fought a savage war

That left her broken heart to fall

Her wounds, it healed to savage scars

And now her heart's a mound of walls

Her emotions ride so far, so deep

Now, baby, cry your eyes asleep


I remember the days we still could breathe

Now I'm sinking beneath

The waves are crashing over me

The empty space that lay between

Is all that's left of where our love was meant to be


"Where did you get that?" The eyes that stared at him, glared at him, seeing through him seemed to ask. He glared right back at her, his grasp on her neck subsided and his hand fell to his sides noisily. She voiced the question angrily, this time, after she was done with her coughing fit and her struggle for air. Her hands were at her neck, rubbing tenderly. "Where did you get that?" There wasn't any room for compromise. He had to answer.

"Your sister gave it to me."

Silence.

"Who are you? Are you really Cairo," Monica asked. It was only fair, he was the one demanding who the hell she was first, and she had answered every question.

"My name is Cairo." He confirmedit andonce againsilence, as if looking him up, soaking in the looks and the attitude Cairo stared back at her, rusty eyes staring though her, or straight ahead, as if he honestly couldn't see her. But eventually her eyes hardened once again and her voice was of cold steel, instead of the warmth that radiated from before, as if she honestly didn't care anymore. There was an earthy aura about her, but there was a cautious old one that seemed to take over her common sense. Or, better yet, was her common sense.

"Get out." Her eyes were dark.

"No." The dark angel growled.

"Get out of my house…Get out!"

Cairo didn't move at first and then laughter sounded, mocking, gleeful laughter that seemed to know him so well. Alarmed, the dark angel turned his head this way and that looking for the source it was coming from. Chills ran up his arms, his hair stood on the back his neck, a shiver crawled up his spine. He knew instantly that this wasn't good.

"Damn you,"

"Behold it is the winged man—"

"That left her broken heart to stand—"

"It's time, my brother, for you to go—"

"No longer can you have her flow—"

"She's not for you to push and pull—"

"The Ladies are too beautiful—"

"Go back; go back, into the moon—"

"Stop turning her into a loon."

Again the laughter, gleeful laughter that was both childish and evil. It was fading and with them, he faded too. Cairo looked up; he was kneeling in center of a silver circle with a crescent moon underneath him. To the right of the moon were three stars. White light shot up from the pattern and suddenly Cairo could see.

The twin sister had her eyes shut; short jaw length hair fell over her eyes. She was wearing light blue and white. Her hands were up blocking him and the light that shined so brightly it hurt her eyes. Behind her, unnoticed by her were a little boy and a girl. They stared at him with sullen eyes. They both had one wing on their backs. The girl had one on her left side where she currently stood next to Monica. The wing was black with a single white feather. The girl was blond haired with green eyes and she was wearing a nightgown. To the right was the exact opposite. The little boy had black hair, brown eyes and a white wing on the right side of his back with a single silver feather.

"No longer are you 'lowed to see—"

"The woman, Wind can truly be—"

"And as for Earth, you'll go away—"

"You'll live to greet her 'nother day—"

"Come before the time is right—"

"Or else we'll have another fight."

Cairo screamed, pain, both physical and emotional filled his senses. He grabbed hold of the left side of his hip. As he started to fade, the memories, the screams became louder and louder until he found himself locked in the past.

It was raining. Hard. The sea raged war against the rocky edges of the shoreline and from a distance the clashing of swords echoed through the rocky plains.

Everything was a blur for Cairo. Most angels can't see very well in the material plane, as it was dimmer, grayer, darker than the heavenly plane the celestial beings were used to. The only thing Cairo had going for him at the moment was the fact that he wasn't as blind as the rest of them.

Exile helped him with that as he wanted to survive.

He could practically feel Coral crying against the pounding of the raindrops. Water wouldn't mask the salty drops from the dark angel. Fear radiated off the girl-turned-woman like some kind of terrible aura.

Cairo flew forwards; his sword stretched horizontally, the blade barely touching his arm, before him.

"NO!"

"Gotcha!"

The next thing Cairo knew was that he could feel the pain. Could imagine the glimmer of wet silver stretched out to sink itself into the dark angel's flesh. The silver lining inserting itself over from one side of the right wing and into the other and then deep into Cairo's upper hip.

Diramid, the white angel, had them suspended in the air, upright for a moment, holding onto the hilt of his sword with one hand, the other gripping Cairo's forehead from behind like a mother with a feverish child. The look of utter pain found its way to the Fallen's celestial face. The look on his face was of perverted pleasure. Diramid set his beat-up face resting on the other's shoulder, his breath hot in Cairo's ear. He shivered.

"The Fallen will always fall," he whispered

The next they both knew was the pounding water on their flesh, and the wind blowing heavily in their ears.

They hit the water and the earth and rock beneath that water.

Hello Cairo thought he had said the words out, but he didn't remember moving his lips. Is anyone out there…?

He was drowning.


Do you cry your eyes asleep?

Is it peace you seek at night when your body's weak?

Did it leave you with the scars of a war-torn ravaged heart?

Do you cry your eyes asleep?

Do you cry your eyes asleep?

Is it peace you seek at night when your body's weak?

Did it leave you with the scars of a war-torn ravaged heart?

Do you cry your eyes asleep?