"She was always moving inside the house, like a little mouse.
Thick, black, curly hair escaping from underneath the checkered cap, a cloak with matching pattern on her back and a magnifying glass swinging in the air as she would spot the final clue for the game she was playing. Alexandra loved to play Sherlock when she was a little child, dragging her younger brother everywhere. In her mind, he was Watson to her own detective Holmes.”
Sword reaching for neck,
Aiming to slice.
She yells, “No, don’t!”
A million particles she has dispersed into and yet they became one and ‘her’ once again. Did Thanatos take her life and brought her to the Underworld as he was supposed to? Was she fated for unfortunate torture for having the heart inside? She waited as the consciousness found her once again. She waited for the slice of the sword, for her ribcage to be torn apart so that he could reach in and pull out the heart.
Souls reached the Underworld by millions a day, sailing over Styx but never allowed to swim in it for the Gods knew once a soul entered the river, they would become invincible. The rhetorical walls of the Underworld trembled with /his/ angry holler.
"Where is it?" The man with a giant’s figure wrapped up in black leather roared. His skin had taken the color of a bronze statue, eyes were wide and dark, piercing everything he had set his eyes on to. The man held gigantic form but despite his anger, his movements were of a certain elegance.
Obtaining the heart was surprisingly easy for the fledgeling. His arms extended only after his notoriety. Vampire elites knew that the fledgeling became mad after his maker was put to meet true death on the hands of a fucking traitor. He was breathing fire; breaking necks, emptying veins, ripping arms and legs all over town to find what he was seeking. There was no corner that could hide anyone if he wanted to find that poor soul.
The heart came in a medical ice box, shipped from Australia. André’s own heart, the heart that did not contain life at all felt as if it was going to shrink and then swell to the point of blowing up inside his chest. His fingers trembled over the lock but he had to see it for himself. He had to see if it was the magic heart that would bestow life to the one he lost.
If the scientists thought it would be physically possible for them to recreate a person –a vampire nonetheless- from their gooey remnants solely by present science, Sophie would still be doing her time in Tartaros under Hades’ cruel command.
For the second coming, magic’s involvement was a must. The mysterious and yet slightly unbalanced benefactor was keen on the vampire queen, perhaps that’s why he had summoned the most powerful witches from New Orleans who wished to remain mostly unseen–there were lots and lots of faux impostors-, a guru who had convicted himself to the Sahara Desert for a crime of his mind and a shaman that lived alone in the Northern Africa, in its wild forests.