cyanfelix

"Sir?" Phillip Terrance asked, struggling to keep pace with the long-legged elven man in front of him. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they strode down the long and strangely empty hallway. "Yes, Mr. Terrence?" Randus Duthane answered without looking at Phillip. "We…We were in an anti-magical field, correct?" The elf nodded. "Indeed you were, Mr. Terrence," He stopped walking and looked at Phillip. They were now standing in front of a large, wooden door. "Why do you ask?" "Well, it's just that…" Phillip took a deep breath, he was still slightly rattled. "It's just that when we were in there, Adeline's tattoos... They glo

"You…" I sneered in disgust, trying to put as much venom into my voice as possible. I had never hated anyone that badly before. "Stop it, Adeline," my father said with an air of unwavering authority. I suddenly felt my rage subsiding, being replaced with a sadness I couldn't describe. "Now, Mr. Terrence, if you'll come with me," dad turned around to walk out, "I do believe we're done for the day." I glared as the man who was cowering before me a moment ago suddenly regain his air of superiority as he walked out of the room in my father's shadow.  I even heard him say how I "have a mental problem," and how I was "out of control,"…

"I didn't do it," the girl said for the millionth time, keeping her eyes pointing at her lap. To Mr. Phillip Terrence's annoyance, she was still fiddling with the same piece of paper she'd picked up when she was first locked in this cell, hours ago. It was starting to get on his nerves. "Look, Adeline," Phillip rose from his seat across from hers in annoyance and anger, "no more games." He began pacing around the small room, never taking his sharp, scrutinizing eyes off the dark-haired girl still sitting at the small metal table that was covered with pictures and legal documents. This girl was beginning to get on his nerves. They'd been sit

"Mother, who are they?" I asked, my eyes still glued on the large group of people we just passed. I'd seen them before in the guild, dressed in their overcoats, strange goggles that made me dizzy, and always smelling of brimstone and gunpowder. Today they seemed to be lobbing what seemed to be large balls of explosives across the Guild's immaculate lawn and blowing large chunks of dirt up into the air. "Those are the Guild's Alchemists," she said, that hint of disapproval in her voice I knew well. "Always throwing those dangerous bombs around and setting things on fire. Lunatics, if you ask me," she turned to face me and shrugged small half-

I have no excuse for complaining about my life, I guess. I mean, I was born into a well-respected family, I was the (former) top apprentice at the Artificer's Guild that my father was Guild Master of, and I am the youngest Alchemist ever to be at the top of my branch (the Alchemist's branch, in this case). So why would I complain? I'm rich, young, and I have what others would kill for—a perfect life. Well, I suppose I do have some dark smudges on my otherwise pristine past, like everyone else. For example: 1. I'm an Alchemist, which means I'm often looked down upon by my fellow guild members. 2. I've been framed for a crime against my