Love, War, and a Lady's Innocence (Raivh and Adorable)

[Raivh]

Gunshots and shouts rang out into the night air. It was cold, the wind was blowing, and he was beginning to feel the after effects of yet another day of slaughter. His hands quaked as he stared at the blood that stained them. This time the victim had been a young child, a girl, but it hadn’t been he who had fired the bullet that ended the girl’s life. No, it had been his best friend, and then he had been felled as well, left to rot, a corpse among corpses. Ever tried finding a body once it was doused in gasoline and burned? It’s impossible. All that remains is ash. A few more hours and not even that would be left—blow away with this damned wind. Flinching when a cold drop of moisture hit him square in the eye, he glanced up at the dark sky. The moon was clouded over, explaining why it was particularly dark tonight, particularly gloomy.

Snow had started to fall, the first official sign of winter and a tougher war to be fought against disease, against fever. Already he felt like one was setting in. His body was hot, and despite the frigid temperatures he’d been enduring all night there was a glisten of sweat on his forehead and beaded at his temples. Wrenching the automatic from his back when he saw a flash of movement, he gave a shout and pulled the trigger. A bomb went off somewhere nearby and lit up the sky, one of many explosions that darkened the night while brightening it. He could hear the screams of innocent people not far off, knowing that they were going to die, to face the same fate he had brought to so many. How many had he killed? He’d lost count. Too many to number on his fingers.

Scanning the hillside still ten yards away, he knew what he was going to have to do when he reached that house. There was a woman inside, he’d been informed, a young girl—he’d imagined her to be about his sister’s age—caring for a group of orphans, at least twelve of them. When he reached that shack at the top of that hill—he wiped his mouth that had long since dried out from nerves, and took a deep breath—he would have to kill them all. This war was ludicrous, unnecessary. Why did children have to die? And why did he have to be the one to kill them? Clenching his jaw, he trudged on, over bodies and severed limbs, toward the hill.

It was sometime later that he reached it, the so-called sanctuary for abandoned children, little ones that were to be cared for by the church in the good name of God. If this was some act of the Kingdom, all of this death and destruction and chaos, he wondered how these people—his gaze passed over a couple beheaded nuns and he nearly lost his stomach. He wondered how these people could still have their faith, could still rely on something unseen and unheard.

Wheeling around at the small clatter of a rock or stone or stray bullet, he fixed his eyes on the only door still partially intact in the place. Lord have mercy on his soul! His duty was not his own but that of some madman, and if it wasn’t completed his own life would be at stake. Slamming the bottom of his foot against the door, it flew open. His eyes searched the darkness for something, a shadow or a body, but he saw nothing. Slowly, cautiously, he entered the room. The crucifix was front and center, no doubt some priest had prayed in front of it no more than an hour ago. The blood pooled on the floor was still fresh, though no body remained.

 

[OopsieDaisy]

The small hut was all that protected them from each gunfire, each cold forbidding wind and freezing drop of oncoming rain. Blood already soaking the sacred place they once used for prayer, for purity and faith. Torn, raped and defiled by moraless men with heavy guns and blank minds. Colette shook in the thin cloth of her garb, she couldn't imagine the sheer freezing her little class of hopefuls must be feeling through their tiny helpless bodies. The altar in the hut, where the crucifix hung, it curved into the back of the room, which provided a deep corner to hide in the shadows. To keep safe and out of sight for now. In truth, Colette had planned on slowly leading the gaggle of whimpering, shivering children beyond the hunt to somewhere, anywhere but this place soaked in blood and sin. So deep and stagnant you could smell the lust of each kill in the air, sadness of silence and now the gentle pitter patter of rain.

All of the children, not happening to be any older than twelve among all of them were dressed in a cloak looking gown, huddled in the cloth, wedged into the corner safely for now. She'd managed to sing them a light lullaby to hush them sweetly, curling her arms around as many of them humanly possible huddling for warmth. Gathering her own courage as well as all the little ones, to finally make that step out into open territory. Deep inside the young nun wept for these frightened, parentless children. For her fellow friends that she was sure now lay outside dead... Very same nuns and priest she'd grown up in this exact spot, a parentless welp. The closest thing she'd ever had to parents decapitated cruelly, in pools of their own blood. But not one tear had stained her pure pale cheek, she couldn't and wouldn't break down in front of these children. She was the last safe, authoritative figure they had. How would they feel if she acted just as cold, helpless and scared as all of them. Colette had to be strong.

The heavy, powerful stomp shook the young nun to the core, someone had entered. Holding her breath nervously she felt one little boy right beside her, Jeremy - No more than six or seven, shake like leaf in the wind of a horrible storm. He held back the very apparent need for a squeak or whimper, the rest of the children holding their breath, only letting the subtlest of whimpers and fearful pants out. Jeremy choked, then sobbed. His own noise had spooked him enough, causing the small boy to break from the huddle and run towards the point of the altar. Colette broke from the class of children as well, leaving them shaking and horrified in there very vulnerable hiding place, "Jeremy!" she let out in a hissing scream-whisper, small scampering of feet could be heard, as well as Colette's own, at the sight of the man she lunged forward, grabbing his small wrist and in one fail swoop swinging the small boy behind her.

Black hair asunder, messy and frantic, contributing to her expression of pure fear, anger and stubbornness, firmly standing her ground with the small boy behind her. A white gown adored her long slender frame, gathering just at her youthful bust, leaving much to the imagination as it loosely flared out just below her bust line. A high neckline matched with a shall that fit just as loosely upon her head, contrasting the dark raven hair that fell like silk, pale milky skin that almost blended in the the slightly tarnished, dirty white cloth, long tight sleeves adoring her slender arms, which held the boy behind her shaking. Pink lush lips curled into a frown, pure warm blue eyes usually cold and striking, outlined by naturally dark and captivating lashes. Her appearance was youthful, round soft jaw line and an effortless glow about her skin and eyes. Still warn from worry, pain, sorrow and now a swelling anger and fright. "Leave us alone. I only wish to rescue these children from this unholy battle zone unscathed and safe, you will not touch a single hair on any childs head so long as I live. I will fight you with every ounce of my being if you try to appose me." Her voice shook, but was commanding, sure and righteous in her act of protection. Like a mother bear in training, her words spit venom and hate. Even before this man raised his gun, "Please, I beg you. Let us be!"