To be what they are

If I felt even for a minute like he was important to me it would be the end of everything I knew. Gritting my teeth I tugged Illya to move faster on our trip to the Grande Auralie. "Will you hurry it up?!"

Euphorics.
Mother had once told me while looking out the window down onto the streets of the city where thousands had gathered to see the first Euphoric that had come to Faetil...
"She is beautiful, isn't she?"
I had nodded because it was the truth. The Euphoric that was being ushered towards the Grande Auralie was a woman so lovely it hurt to look at her. With grand, flowing red wings and hair almost as bright as the rubies sold on the market.
Mother had said almost wistfully...
"To be what she is must be terrible."
I remember asking why.
She'd had such a sad smile on her face then while she said...
"Because, Sara. She is different from us. You see it every time you look at her. There are people who will want to do terrible things to be what she is and they will likely hurt her in their attempts."
I had wondered aloud if they would kill this lovely thing that had fallen to our world.
Mother had looked at me with an expression I would never again see. She'd asked a strange question then...
"Will you be one of the people to hurt beautiful things like her?"
I had shaken my head then, violently protesting. I had told her that I would defend them! They were so pretty, I'd thought. I wanted to make mother happy and protect them from all of the harm that would come their way. It had crossed my mind then in my young, naive age that something as beautiful as a Euphoric couldn't possibly deserve bad treatment.

...And then the Horrors fell through the crest with them...


And suddenly my childhood promise to mother became a lie.

The brush of his words were deadly no matter how he spoke them. I was wary of the man that called himself Vostal Black. Since my memories could sustain he had been present, a shadow eclipsing the tragedy of my life. I didn't know a lot about him. But one thing I knew with unrelenting certainty;
Vostal could not be trusted.
so I kept my eyes from him. I turned my face from his view when I could afford to in order to keep my thoughts concealed. When it was possible, I ran from him to escape his prying eyes. They were a searing yellow that blazed with inhuman intelligence and inhumane cruelty just below the surface. Whatever this man could have to want, it was not to better the world.
"Illya wanted to see the crest again," I found myself explaining coolly. "It's not my fault if he runs off like an idiot when we have more important things to do. Since when were my plans your business?"

Vostal.
He stopped behind Sara and locked his eyes on the other man. He didn't know him. At least not beyond a few random encounters and some grueling fights. Ill didn't remember much of anything. But his body screamed whenever Vostal was in sight. The man was a limber ball of colorful expressions and witty remarks. It was a challenge just trying to figure out what his true objectives were. He looked to Sara who seemed to be sharing his thoughts to the T. Of course he supposed that it was the way everyone felt about the curious man. He was smoking again.
Ill crinkled his nose at the dirty habit and listened to Sara try to pry them out of having to endure the man's company all the way to the Auralie.

Vostal shifted Grimm's weight around across the backs of his shoulder and flipped the blade's curve towards his head so he wouldn't have to worry about minding the tip around the crowds that cycled around them much the way a flux of water did stones. "No need to be a malicious bitch about it," he sighed. "Just a question."
He moved his eyes across the walls back towards the hotel and ignored the chaos up ahead. He was well aware of the prisoners being ushered back to Sagmal. "I've been checking through the area," Vostal told her with a more sobered atmosphere. "The Euphoric Felimay is around here with that tight lipped Eurial of hers."
Grinning he twirled Grimm a bit, bringing the tip of the scythe so dangerously close to his scalp in rocking brushes that he scratched an itch there that had been the source of bother to him for a few prolonged moments. "What are we going to do about it?"