The glass sat on the varnished wood. Small scratches and vain attempts to hide them marked the piece of furniture are a well used item. The glass was crystal clear, water resting calmly in the basin of fine german-ware. Light streamed in a large picture window the filter through the water, causing rainbows to play on the dull off-white carpet which had seen too many vauumings. By the slant of the light it must be afternoon, maybe closer to dusk. An arm carelessly reached across the worn surface of the table, and the glass tumbled to the carpeted floor, shattering before it met the soft ground. The shards flew, tiny pieces of capture light-in-crystal spreading across the off-white, now tinged red carpet. The water soaked through just as the sun began to set. With an eerie familar-horror-film feeling the light and glass relfected the sun's blood-red rays. The ground became blood stained, as you could almost smell the coppery liquid as it ran and gathered in pools, no longer on carpet but dirt as the dead lay, dry of blood. For they had given it all to the Earth, as all things did. A Finale of Silence.

Chapter 1- Welcome to My Hell.

You know how blood smells when its freshly spilled? A spicey coppery scent that sends shivers of pleasure and fear through the human psyche. The thrill of a kill as the victim dies, their eyes trained on you, as if knowing in their final moments it was you who caused them pain. The sound of the last breath that is rasped with hopeless longing and reluctance, as if the last moment to be drawn out. Death, the final and last most part of Life. Everything that lives, dies.

'you?' the final word was mouthed rather then spoken. By now their blood was gushing onto the floor, their brain slowing and their heart stopping. The steps in death. In five minutes or so their eyes would film over in the cloudless blind look of true death. My right hand trembles, not with fear, but exhilaration. Another kill was down. The red dried in the creases of my fingers and on my cheeks. Like sweat, only sweeter. I tower above you know, thought I stand only five foot four. The crimson that mars your chest and sides only marks my hands and right cheek. Did you feel the searing pain in your last moments? What is it like to die? To know the one you trusted ended your exsistence with three strokes. The murder tool, a simple kitchen knife, eight inches in length and coated in slick drying blood lay a few feet from the scene. My scene, your scene. Even in death, you are beautiful. But reflecting on your beauty would be regret. So I will not mourn your passing nor the beauty that fades before me. Goodbye. And say hello to God for me, because I'll never see Heaven, the place that I don't believe exsists, but people like you need to believe in to survive.

Two hands were plunged under cold water as they were rinsed throroughly, though it appeared as if nothing was on them. Soap was squirted and the flesh scrubbed until it turned red. Two green flecked with gold eyes framed by short lashes stared deeply into the dirty cracked mirror of the school bathroom. A small elfin face framed by short locks of pale white blonde hair and honey blonde streaks stared back. The heavy swinging door screeched a protest as it was forcefully opened wide.
The clack of heeled platforms and some sort of preppy shoe announced the arrival of a grou of Populars. With beautiful hair and clothes from American Eagle (shoes to match as well) they acted like they owned the school. It was only people like this short haired elfie-slightly wiccan/gothic/something child named Aeve that disturbed their rule. With wit and brains as well as the fight to match people like this girl were tough oppoenents in the School Ring.
"Aeve." The name was not spoken, but rather hung between the two opposing sides. The lead girl of the Populars put her hands on her hips, perfectly manicures nails on the perfect set of Bell-Bottom blue jeans with little glitter stars on them. Her streaked brown hair was held back by twin french braids that ended in little almost heartshaped buns.
"Maerie," Aeve replied, a smile gracing her delicate features. Without a second thought the small blonde girl pushed through the Populars, her black boots accidentaly landing on some of those sandled feet. With her black jeans and deep red shirt carelessly buttoned she was the opposite of the Populars. She was one of the Rebels.
"this isn't over!" one of the brainwashed ditzy blonde look-a-likes of the Populars called, her petite pink and yellow platforms broken under the heel of a certain black almost biker-like boot.
"You're right for once. This is only the beginning," Aeve flashed a grin at them, pointed at the clock and waved a handful of hall passes she'd snagged from them before vanishing down the hallway.
Chapter Two- Defining Sides

'rebellious angel' the card read. The delicate silver writing gracefully making it's way across the small black card. In the corner a red rose in bloom was steched. An Invitation To The Rebels. Aeve held the card delicately between her index finger and thumb, humming an out of tune song she heard on the radio today. With purpose she headed towards Rachel Syler's locker. Usually Rachel wasn't the type to join, but Aeve had read Rachel's writings, and seen her art. The Rebels needed a girl like Rachel, and so, she would be invited. Pulling a set of jangling keys from her pocket Aeve slipped one into the locker-lock and turned, exposing the bare rusty interior of Sylver's locker. Placing the card in the locker as well as an unmarked fingerless glove she slammed it shut and walked off. As she walked Aeve pulled her own fingerless glove from her pocket. This black leather was marked with the outline of a circle in deep red against the black. An inverted cross with demon wings for the horizontal part and a black/red rose outline at the intersection marked her as a Rebel as well as a Standing Officer. Only SO's could Invited people, and you could tell who was who by the markings on the gloves. Cayto Yue was another SO, he was a sophmore and had an ice blue stitching on his gloves, as well as a sylized shadow-wolf-figure.
"Her?" Cayto seemed to materialize out of the shadows between classroom C102 and C104. Aeve smiled knowingly.
"Have you seen her art? Or read her works? I think Sylver has it," Cayto raised a skeptical dark eyebrow. His Asian parenthood was easily seen in the dark brown (almost black) hair and the tilted eyes. His eyes were an odd amber color, like those of a wolf.
"If you say so, Aeve," he replied blankly. She rolled her eyes and raced down the hall, accidentaly pushing some people, on her way to class. Cayto watched her for a second more, before turning to head on his way to class. He almost rammed right into a tall meaty looking football player. And how could he tell? The letter jacket and too perfect look gave it all away. With blonde hair and pretty baby blue eyes as well as enough hair gel to make a hedgehog's quills lay flat it screamed 'football player'.
"watch it!" The Football Player glared. Cayto shook his head, long unruly bangs falling into his eyes. The football player growled. Obviously he didn't like how the kid, only a sophmore was treating his "almighty Junior Letter-jacketed" person. Cayto held out his left hand, the ice-blue wolf clear on the dark leather and smiled, a bit insanely with a hint of bloodlust. The Junior, who was now identified as 'Ryan Smith' took a step back. The Rebels were well known for picking people who knew how to fight, and would, no matter the suspension cost. The wolf on the gloves were a sign that the sophmore was Cayto Yue, a tough fighter.
"sorry man," Ryan muttered and left. Cayto grinned and continued on his way. Today was a good day.

Rachel Sylver spun the com to her locker and dropped her ten pound backpack on the floor. Her eyes widened at the small black card laying on the top shelf. From what she'd heard, htis was either really good, or really bad. She fingered the card. And then slipped the glove on, it fit perfectly. That was a kind of eerie feeling. That the people who wrote the card and sent the glove knew her exact size and lenght of finger. As well as knew how to either get her com or had the keys. Both were equally disturbing. She smiled at that and dumped her Geometry and Biology book into her locker, fondly pocketing the card.
"Rachel!" Someone called. Syler turned, her irish green eyes meeting Maerie Sue's eyes. Self-conciously her left hand brushed straight deep red hair back away from her face.
"Yeah?" she replied carelessly, trying to fit the 'cool-popular' look. Maerie smiled.
"Wow, you sound like you've been in this school for a while!"
"Thanks, I'd love to chat, but I've got math next and the teacher's a killer." Rachel smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Stuffing a couple more things in her bag and shoving some binders in her locker the girl turned and marched down the hallway. Her loose, but not baggy, jeans rubbing together and her loose 'Angel' shirt floating a bit in her wake. Maerie watched, her eyes glued to the unmarked black glove. So, Rachel had been invited. A single glove meant she was invited to a Rebel meeting. The gloves with designs meant that the person was a member of the Rebels, and two gloves with designs meant they were a Standing Officer. Two gloves, one designed and one not, meant you wre a senior member, at least a year 'in service'.
"so, Aeve has set her sights on you. But we won't let go of our Territory quite so easily,"