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  "Priscilla, really, I am already disgusted that your brother is refusing to wear a tie with his shirt to the dinner at the Black's home tonight and then you come in here with a tear in the bottom of your dress? Change it immediately." Wrinkling her nose, Maile Mulciber tipped her head back further, the damp cloth on her forehead pressed firmly at the top of her nose. Staring down at her pale blue dress, Priscilla Maile Mulciber turned up the end of it with a tiny pink finger, her eyes squinted as she searched for the tear that her mother was talking about. Gently she trailed a finger along the edge of it, searching but essentially coming up with nothing. "Mother, I cannot see the tear..." Her voice was soft but it still seemed louder in the room than she had intended for it to sound. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, knowing that her mother was already cross, it would simply do no good to make her mood even worse, but it was hardly her intention. It was getting more and more difficult for Priscilla to find a time when her mother was in a somewhat decent mood, it was really more of a chore than anything else in recent times, but today seemed to be far worse than in weeks. There was surely something wrong, but what, she did not know. "Oh for the sake of Merlin..."     Lifting a dainty hand, the older woman lifted the damp cloth and tossed it to the floor, knowing that the house elf would be along to pick it up in a few moments and beckoned her daughter closer to her. Priscilla was twelve  years old, she ought to have known better than to pick a dress with a tear in it by now, Maile had specifically moved the one that she had chosen to wear to the back of the wardrobe so that she would not see it, but it was obvious that her daughter had found it anyway. Somehow. Running her hand along the edge of the dress, Maile could not find the tear that she was certain was there. "This is the new one, mother...the one that papa bought for me when he came back from Greece..." Her words hung in the air and Maile paused, turning the words over in her mind as she thought about what Priss had said. Was she wrong? Was this really a new dress? Swallowing, it was a thought that she did not want to consider. Maile had never truly been wrong about something like that before, it was simply unheard of. "Go and make sure Trudy does your hair right." She answered finally, sending her daughter away with a wave of her hand. There was nothing out of place about that dress...it was just perfect. Perfect. It was exactly how it should have been, she was wrong about it the whole time, she should never have even questioned Priss about it.     The Black house was a beautiful place, but it always seemed a little...cold. Perhaps it was the decor, or perhaps it was the house elf, but Priscilla still felt as though she was almost home whenever she stepped through those doors. Her father said that one day she would own the home too, her brother would get their own, naturally, it always went to the first-born, to the son, but that she would find her own home. Her father was always certain that she would marry one of the Black sons. It had always been the eldest one, her father said, Sirius, but, in recent years, things had changed. It was never going to be him, it had to be Regulus. That was what her father said, he was the one that would end up with everything, the eldest one was a disgrace to the line. If she stuck to what they told her to do, if he did nothing to ruin the name, one day he would find himself with a beautiful bride. Everything was already planned out, that was a certainty. Her mother spoke of Druella Black as though she was her bossom buddy, something that she could never understand. She had Regulus had known each other for years, she had admired him, believing her father's words about him. He told her that she would have a happy life ahead of her. She would be a Black, the prestigious name came with more promise than her own, although Mulciber was still a force to be reckoned with.     Watching him from across the ballroom, Priscilla studied her betrothed carefully, her blonde curls gently falling around her face. He had barely looked at her, not even once. If there was any doubt in her eyes that he wanted to marry her, it was this. She wanted him to remember her, wanted to see that she was there. That she had picked that dress because she knew that it would match his eyes perfectly. If he just glanced over at her, even once, Priscilla knew that he would be entranced by her, but he hadn't even bothered. She wanted to cry, to stamp her feet and demand that he look at her, but it was not something that she knew she ought to do. It was a childish thought, something that she had long since outgrown, but Priss was not used to people ignoring her. Everyone always noticed her. They would say that she was a perfect child, a golden haired angel with a face that would break a thousand hearts-except that one that she wanted. Was there something wrong with her, was that why he was not looking in her direction? Had she neglected to brush a few golden strands of hair out of her eyes? Had they twisted themselves together to become a tangle that she could not get rid of? It was something that she did not want to consider, and yet, it was there, on her mind. She could not stop thinking about it.     Her hand moved to her hair, unable to resist as she continued to watch Regulus from across the room. She could see the way that his eyes darted towards his parents, making small talk with a man who had new money written all over him. Priscilla was certain that he had only been invited because they wanted to know just how much money he had, he did not have a prestigious name. He wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, but his money was. What if he had a daughter that was far better than her? The thought intruded on her as though she had been hit in the face by a truck and the blonde shook her head gently to dislodge it. No, it simply was not possible. If he had a daughter, she would be fat and red haired, like his dumpy wife. She would not be the perfect blonde that Regulus needed, that he deserved. It had already been decided after all, they couldn't back out of it now. Her parents and his had made the decision all those years ago that the two families would join in one with their children, and Priscilla was looking forward to her life, in the future as Mrs. Regulus Black. She would make him wish that it had happened years before, she would make him realise that this had been the right thing to do. Certainly she believed that it was, he needed to feel the same way. Naturally.     She had been so distracted by her thoughts that Priscilla had barely noticed Regulus slip out of the crowd, making his way back through the kitchen as though he was trying to hide something. A lump formed in her throat-was he going to meet someone else? It was a thought that made her feel cold inside, something that she could scarcely imagine. There was no one else at the ball, no one that looked as good as her. Her heart began to beat faster in her chest, her eyes blinking faster, more furiously as she thought about it. Would be really dare to do that to her? Would he really meet someone else when he knew that she was there, that she loved him and couldn't wait until the moment the two of them were joined as one? No, it was a thought that she could not even consider. Would not consider. If he were to find someone else, Priscilla knew with certainty that she would not lay down without a fight, she would not let go of him without a second thought. She needed him to realise that she was not going anywhere, that she would always be there. Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps the fact that he was ignoring her was his way of testing her, to see if she was worthy of the name Black. Of course she was, without a doubt. Priscilla was going to make him see it.     Her feet seemed to glide effortlessly through the crowds as she made her way across the room, towards the door that she thought that he had disappeared through. She could not see anywhere else that he could possibly have gone. Her eyes darted around the room carefully, watching to make sure that her parents could not see her, nor her brother but they were suitably distracted somewhere else. She slipped from the room without being seen and her eyes immediately fell on the open door to the garden. It seemed like it had been trying to close silently, but it was still open. Her fingers brushed through her hair gently, her eyes widening slightly as she made her way out of it. "Regulus?" Her voice was a gentle whisper in the slight breeze outside, but she did not need to look far to find him. He was right there, his back to her, looking out at the night sky in bare feet, the sand below his feet making her nose crinkle somewhat as she stared at him. "I thought that you were avoiding me." The words hung in the air between them as Priscilla tried to decide between joining him in the sand, and standing at the edge, close enough but still far enough away from the sand that her dress would not be ruined. "Won't you come back inside? I will find you something to eat, or perhaps something to drink, if you'd like."     The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself and she wrinkled her nose gently as she tried to stop herself from hating on the way that she had said them. She was beginning to sound like her mother, and despite the fact that Priscilla had always thought that her mother was perfect, there was something about sounding like her that was not what she wanted. It did not seem right, at least not yet. It was too soon for her to be sounding like her mother, perhaps in a few years time, but not yet. "Reg..." She said his name almost uncertainly, as though she was not sure if she was even talking to him. "Do I displease you? Would you like me to look differently? Do you wish that I was someone else?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she inwardly began to curse herself. "I am Priscilla Mulciber, soon I will Priscilla Black. I will never be anyone else, you will never have anyone better than myself." Drawing herself up slightly, her head tipped up somewhat, her eyes shining in the moonlight and the blonde tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. "You had best get used to what you see, because you won't have anyone else...there is no one better than me, obviously." She sounded haughty, sounded like a snob. She was pureblood perfection after all, and there was not another soul out there that would be better than her. She knew it.

*Jazzmin went out for a long walk.  She had no place in mind where she was going to walk to.  She eventually found herself on the shoreline walking in the sand.  She took her shoes off and walked a while longer.  She sat down in the sand looking out at the surf.  She felt the water calling her.  She looked around as she got back onto her feet.  She stripped down to nothing and walked into the water.*

PART  I"We are more than our bodies."Panicked breaths echoed loudly down a narrow and dark corridor. There were no lights and yet somehow this place always seemed to be illuminated well enough to reveal the horrors of such a twisted and unholy place. The walls, which appeared to be made up of living flesh, pulsed in unsteady rhythms that mirrored the palpitations of Sam's heart. Distant screams and cries of agony were always heard not far off into the distance, but the source of these sounds were never found. Sam could only guess that they belonged to souls of the condemned that occupied other parts of Hell, parts that were close by but not associated with the cage he had been confined to. Cage. He almost wanted to scoff at such a word, while the part of him that clung to sanity by a thread threatened to snap into a fit of psychotic laughter. The term 'cage,' at times, was rather comical to Sam, for this place resembled nothing of a cage at all. In fact, it was completely seamless. Like an illusion that had been depicted from the most deranged of minds. It morphed and it changed, adapting itself to mold into the perfect fear, carved from the very horrors of one's mind. This place was...alive. There was no way to know for certain of how much time had passed but, based off of how many times he had stumbled around this seemingly endless maze, it felt as if decades had already gone by. And unbeknownst to Sam, decades was more spot-on than he realized. Though he never aged in appearance, the weight of his torment and the state of his soul made him feel as if he was nothing more than a frail old man that would be seen knocking on Death's door at any moment. But Sam was already dead, and at this point it was just wishful thinking that Death would swoop in to grant him a more peaceful ending. Sam stumbled as he neared the end of the hall. The fleshy floors had begun to dip downward towards a darker path. He glanced over his shoulder quickly. The hall was empty behind him, for now. His attention returned towards the path ahead of him. There was no going backwards, only forward. He swallowed stiffly. His leg had just begun to move forward when the floor beneath him seemed to retaliate. His balance was thrown off as the ground began to roll like an ocean tide. Sam's arms flung out to either sides in a desperate attempt to maintain some form of balance, but it was futile. The Winchester's hands reluctantly reached out to rest against the squishy and soft tissue of the wall in front of him. All of his focus was put towards his feet. The floor seemed to rise further and parts of it had begun to grip around Sam's ankles and feet. He pulled up, but the floor pulled back. Sam grunted with discomfort as he strained to remove even a single foot from the floor's hold. He had been so concerned with freeing his feet that he had hardly noticed the warm sensation that had begun to ooze between his fingers. Brows furrowed as narrowed eyes lifted. The ability to breathe ceased altogether as his gaze met with the face of his past beloved. Jessica looked anguished. Blood oozed from various lacerations on her body and seeped through the cracks of Sam's fingers. Her face was charred and slightly disfigured, but he still recognized her. The flesh of her once beautiful skin was now charcoal black. Her vibrant blue eyes, which had once held such love and compassion, now reflected nothing but despair and misery. She appeared as if she had suffered eons of torture. Horrified, Sam immediately pulled his hands away, but it was pointless. His hands had been painted red, a simple reminder of who was held accountable for her unmerited death."Sam...Why did you do this to me?" Her soft tone bore a pain that was beyond Sam's comprehension. It pierced through his heart. A hundred or more times of this and Sam's guilt about her death had only ever increased. "Yeah, Sam! Why did you do this to us?!" A grizzly voice growled. Sam's eyes widened with fear as his head jerked downwards. The lively flesh of the floor that had gripped around his ankles had been replaced with two calloused and bloodied hands. A single face protruded from the depths of the floor. Blackened eyes glared scornfully up at Sam as his older brother bared his teeth in a deep scowl.This wasn't real. Dean was alive and Jessica...His eyes snapped shut as his jaw clenched. Sam could only hope that Jessica had found peace. That she had been allowed access to Heaven and not been forced to suffer an eternity in the fiery depths of Hell. But that's all Sam could do: hope. There would never be any sure way for him to know. For all he knew, this was what had become of the fate of her actual soul. "Look at me, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, disrupting Sam's poor attempts to blot it all out. The very sound of his brother's voice seemed to rattle the core of Sam. "It's because of you that I was forced to wade in through the sh*t that I did! You could never do anything on your own!" His scorching glare seared through flesh and bone. "I was the one that was always left to clean up after you. After all of your messes! I should've done the world a favor and killed you sooner!"Sam's heart plummeted. A stinging sensation warned the Winchester that his dams were close to breaking. The beginning of tears bubbled behind closed eyelids as Sam's thinned lips began to tremor. A deep line formed itself between narrowed brows and his vision of Dean became blurred behind the wells of his eyes as he forced himself to meet his gaze. There were many things that he wanted to say. More than anything he ached for forgiveness from his brother, but Sam knew that any words that proceeded from his mouth would fall on deaf ears. Words were meaningless here, especially when faced with countless hallucinations that materialized from the depths of one's own imagination."Sam...Why..?" Jessica's sorrowful voice continued to cry softly behind him. All the while Dean's shouts of disdain grew in volume as he cut Sam down in every way imaginable. Words of contemptment and hatred. Together their shouts and pleas echoed on until the sounds of their voices had become an unbearable white noise. In a desperate attempt to silence the racket, Sam clamped his bloodied fingers over his ears, but all to no avail. He would rather endure physical torture of unimaginable pain than to be forced to be faced with this. No instrument of any kind could dismantle him as brutally as the disappointment and abhorrence of those closest to him.It was then that a strong fist enclosed around the thick of Sam's neck. This single action seemed to catch the Winchester off guard. A look of shock flourished upon his features as alarmed eyes snapped upon his assailant. Malevolent eyes narrowed upon the tall Winchester as broken and jagged nails embedded themselves into the soft flesh of his throat. "Found you." The familiar sinister voice thrummed victoriously. The irises of Lucifer's eyes blazed like two suns that swam in a sea of crimson sclera, with a look of pure malice that never ceased to shake the Winchester.Sam's hand lifted in a feeble attempt to break free as sharp winces emerged from behind gritted teeth. The ability to breathe became a difficult task as air escaped in shortened breaths. This hadn't been the first time that he had ended up like this. In fact, it was nearly the millionth time. It never mattered how far into the abysmal depths he ran, with every turn and every glance over his shoulder Sam could always sense Lucifer's footsteps as they shadowed close behind. Perhaps a few minor details were sometimes altered, but the end result always concluded the same. Right here, always within Lucifer's profane grasp."You know that you can never escape, Sammy. So why do you always try?" The shock managed to subside now. The horror and pain of his prior illusions were tossed on the back burner as Sam snapped himself back to reality. A steel gaze hardened in his eyes as his nose crinkled with defiance. "Because...every second away from you," Sam managed through strained breaths, "...is well worth the trouble." "Still singing that same old tune?" Lucifer mocked with a humored grin. "Come on. Two monsters like us should be working together, not apart." He cooed in that eerily calm tone of his. Monster. That single word seemed to cut through Sam deeper than any double edged sword could. All of his life Sam had felt unusual. There had always been something that separated him from the average person and he had never been able to put a finger on it. It hadn't been until the last two years of Sam's life on Earth that his worst fear had been confirmed. Between Ruby and the angels, Sam knew with perfect clarity exactly what he was - and all that he ever would be."I'm not like you..." Sam growled softly, but the lack of faith in his own words was painted clearly across his face. Lucifer's head tilted as a single brow perked. It surprised him that the boy still managed to fight after all this time. He had proven be a lot stronger in spirit than Lucifer had given him credit for. A simple shrug was offered as Sam's words were disregarded. A free hand lifted to point a condescending finger in Sam's face. "The fate of your soul is like the fate of your destiny." His finger wagged gently as a wry smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "You can try and run away, but you'll only ever prolong the inevitable, Sam. Because, like this cage, there is no escaping from the blood in your veins."Sam cringed at the truth of those words. His entire being had been damned since the beginning. It had never mattered how many lives he saved, how much he sacrificed, or even how much suffering and pain he had endured for the sake of others - Sam's good deeds were in vain. He was a child of darkness, he had never truly belonged as a Winchester. His only soul purpose had been to act as a catalyst for the root of all evil. Sam Winchester had been nothing more than a pawn, built specifically for Satan himself. As if he hadn't struggled enough to accept the truth of his own damnation, every single person or thing he came into contact with also made sure to remind him. He had been faced with, not only his own scorn and self-hatred, but everyone else's. Not even his own brother had been an exception, which proved to be the worst feeling that Sam had ever known. His habit of self sabotage only seemed to deepen with every amend he attempted to make. It never mattered how many good intentions he had, because everything he touched turned black. There would be no stopping the infectious disease that coursed through his body. It would spread like a viral plague and desecrate everything in its path, until Sam was deprived of any shredded and stitched hope that he had left. And he knew how this would end, it never changed. It would be ignorant of him to continue and deny the truth, especially when he knew that chunks of him became lost by the end of every session. Resistance only made him drift further from any semblance of the Sam Winchester he once knew. His soul had been splintered into pieces like a broken mirror that he feared could never be repaired. Even in knowing this, Sam still wouldn't admit to anything. It didn't matter that in his heart he believed he deserved to be punished, or that he viewed his existence as a disgraceful sin just as much as everybody else. He would never give anyone, especially Lucifer, the satisfaction in knowing. He would not sway into the hands of evil, even though he knew that his perseverance would cost fragments of his soul. "...Say whatever...you want." Sam uttered through his clenched jaw. Beams of sweat rolled along his cheeks. "But it's gonna take more than just...words...to break me... " He boldly declared as hazel hues narrowed sharply. Even if he felt beaten beyond words Sam refused to simply lay down his arms and succumb to Lucifer's will. His fortress of reverence would not crumble so easily.A look of boredom surfaced upon Lucifer's bloodied features. "Sam..." His fingers tightened around his throat and Sam's face contorted in pain. Only a sliver of air was able to get through to his lungs now. Both of the Winchester's hands gripped around the devil's wrist as more pressure was gradually applied against his windpipe. "It's been thirty years, now..." Sam's eyes began to roll in the back of his head as a wave of heat flooded over his face. A darkness began to cloud his vision as he struggled to maintain consciousness. "And do you want to know what I enjoy most about our time together?" His other hand lifted and every bone in his fingers cracked as they flexed in preparation. "It's watching you destroy every sordid and pathetic bit of your soul, all on your own." Bloodstained teeth became exposed behind chapped lips as Lucifer's thumb continued to crush around Sam's neck. "Honestly, I don't think it's possible for anyone to do a better job at tearing down your own existence than you."Lucifer drew his hand up as a look of indifference glossed upon his features. "Oh well. Call me optimistic, but I think that we'll be seeing eye-to-eye very soon." A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The muscles in his hand tensed and flattened straight as all five of his jagged and sharp nails pointed towards the center of Sam's core. A white hot pain flooded every sense. The pain shot along every nerve in Sam's body as Lucifer's hand plowed through muscle and tissue to embed itself deep within his open chest cavity. A shrill scream erupted from Sam. With every agonizing twist and turn of Lucifer's hand, Sam felt his insides implode, and the vocal chords in his throat felt like they might tear apart. A red hot glow coursed through every atom of his body. This feeling was familiar - and it only ever got worse with every encounter. Everything that he was, and all that he ever would have been, was beginning to be drawn from him. It was a rush of blistering heat that burned from the inside-out. The impurity within Sam, the tainted blood of Azazel, was invoked by the black energy that had rooted itself in the center of his being; the place where the human soul resided, or in Sam's case, a slimmer of one. For Sam's soul had been ripped and torn beyond recognition and scattered throughout the cage. Bit by bit, for thirty years, Lucifer had robbed Sam of his character, determined to remove every last ounce until nothing of Sam Winchester remained.At this point everything started to go fuzzy. The searing pain had begun to grow numb as all signs of consciousness began to slip away. And Sam wondered, once the darkness came, how different things would be once he awoke. Would he remember who he was? Or the life he had once lived? Would all of his memories be forgotten? Jessica. His father. His brother. Bobby. Ellen. Jo. Chuck. All of the people he saved, or whose lives he had touched. Would any of it mean anything to him anymore? As he drifted further into black, as it seeped its way into his mind, Sam thought he heard an unusual sound. There came the soft hum of a high pitched frequency that steadily rose in volume, until the very sound threatened to make one's ears bleed. Blood and innards gushed as the hand was ripped from his body. The muffled sounds of Lucifer's agitated voice rumbled incoherently in the background. Heavy eyelids stirred as Sam made attempts to open his eyes, but it was futile. He was slipping fast and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Against the folds of his eyes he could sense a light. A bright light that offered something that had become completely foreign to Sam. And even though it was something that should have been easily recognized, he simply made no sense of it. He was impervious. The concept or even the idea of peace already felt like a distant memory. He felt nothing at all when the divine light shined upon him. He barely even registered that his body had been thrown as he was catapulted from the devil's grasp. But he never hit the floor...Sam had grown so accustomed to the cruelty of this place that any act of benevolence seemed unapt. He vaguely recalled the feeling of caring hands as he was gathered up into strong arms and all of the burdens of his former life, and years spent in torment, dissolved. The dense black began to fade and in its place a gray storm cloud swept in. The darkness no longer consumed, but lingered overhead as streams of light struggled to break through. The approaching storm is the last thing that Sam remembered before everything went blank.PART II"As my soul's laid to rest, what is left of my body - or am I just a shell?"Several weeks had gone by since Castiel had rescued the Winchester from eternal damnation and with each day that passed, the more aware Sam became of the changes inside of him. How could he not? He had noticed right away, though the hunter in him tried to convince himself that it was the possible after effects of being ripped from one plane and to another and that after a few days or weeks he would be back to his normal self. Nearly a month gone by and Sam had noticed no such change. Despite all the research and cases he had managed to get ahold of to occupy himself, Sam found that his mind still had too much time to wander. He was left in a constant state of questioning. He had lived twenty seven years on Earth before his death. He had had fears, worries, burdens...but more than anything he had had compassion. He knew with exact detail who he had been. Even with all of his flaws combined Sam had always had a devout heart. A troubled man with good intentions. He was a fighter; someone who strongly believed in justice and protecting the innocent, but all sense of that guy was gone now and past memories only felt like an elaborate dream."Something's different about me." "Why do you say that?" Castiel asked. He tried to seem surprised by such a statement, but in reality a sense of dread had washed over him. He knew that it would have only been a matter of time before Sam started to ask questions. "It just...it doesn't seem like I'm all here. Like something's missing..." Sam gazed inquisitively at the angel from his spot on the corner of his hotel bed.Castiel stood motionless. His expression had not faltered one bit. What other choice did he have other than to be honest with Sam? There would be no point in lying because Castiel was intelligent enough to know what it might be like for a human to exist without a soul. That kind of emptiness was too profound to cover up with a simple white lie.The silence went on for too long and before Castiel could construct a proper reply, Sam took a more direct approach. "I know that you know, Cas." Hazel hues trained firmly upon the angel. His words weren't a wild stab in the dark that expressed his hope of being correct. No. Sam knew with absolute certainty that the celestial being had kept something vital from him. Sam's forthright disposition left little room for Castiel to put off any response that he had. Sharp crystalline hues narrowed as a soft line formed itself between furrowed brows. The guilt that he felt in regards to Sam Winchester had a tight hold on him. So much so that he found it nearly impossible to muster up the courage to answer truthfully and admit to his fault. Because the words that he wanted to speak would bear more than the answer Sam desired to hear, they also bore Castiel's responsibility. When it became clear that Castiel wasn't going to provide him with an answer, Sam decided to drive the point home further. "Cas. I watched an innocent woman get killed." His tone, uncharacteristically calm, grew firm.At last the angel found his voice. "It wasn't your faul--"A swift hand rose to cut him off. "That's not the point." His forehead wrinkled as he emphasized his next stream of words. "It doesn't matter that I wasn't responsible for it or even if I had been. Because, either way, do you want to know what I would've felt? What I did feel?"Castiel's eyes softened and the heart within his vessel sank. There would be no reason for the young Winchester to say, Castiel knew. It would only make his remorse for Sam intensify if he heard the answer spoken out loud."Nothing. Not a damn thing." Sam's deadpan expression only verified the truth of these words and Castiel looked disheartened. "In fact, I haven't felt anything since I've been back. Not about the things that I hunt, the people I save, and least of all, the people who are supposed to mean something to me. Not you, not Bobby, not even Dean." The brunette scoffed behind an ill-humored smile as his arms held out to either sides. "And I don't even care." His arms fell back in his lap as a more serious expression nestled upon his face. "And I know that I should. I should care, because that's who I was, but I don't. Not even a little."Defeat wove behind blue eyes. Guilt overcame the angel as he held Sam's blank gaze. "Your soul..." His voice trailed off as he lowered his chin. Total detachment presented itself in his eyes as Sam plainly repeated, "My soul?""...I was unable to obtain it when I infiltrated the cage. I am truly sorry." His eyes begged for some kind of forgiveness as he searched the Winchester's face.Sam merely blinked. He showed no signs of panic or shock, or even anger. His soul was gone. It made sense. That one response put an end to all of the wondering and theorizing that Sam had slaved over for weeks. Not because he had cared or felt the need to cure his unwholesome state, but rather because the logical part of him had simply needed to know. Now he knew. A brief silence passed as the Winchester took time to process this information before a breath of air was inhaled and a light, "it's fine," dismissed the angel's apology. Bearing no further concern, whatsoever, over the topic, Sam rose to his feet and moved to collect his duffel bag. Castiel stood still. A frown formed upon his lips as sad eyes lingered upon the boy while he began to pack his things. For two years he had watched over the Winchester brothers. He had grown accustomed to the way both of them were, as brothers and as individuals. Sam had been the most burdened, and yet somehow had always managed to put his own needs behind to give help and provide sympathy to others. His altruistic nature had always been one of Castiel's favorite qualities about Sam, his second one being Sam's inexhaustible compassion.Now as the ebony haired angel watched Sam all he saw was a shell. He was dressed up and alive on the surface, but inside Sam was hollow and empty, just like a stage puppet left without its puppeteer. His actions would be meaningless without the strings of his soul to bring them to life. The saddest thing was knowing that Sam held absolutely zero interest in finding out more or even asking if there would be a way to fix it. Feeling the angel's eyes glued upon him, Sam paused from folding a pair of jeans and met his gaze. "What?"Concern replaced his apparent guilt as Castiel tilted his head. He knew that he should not have expected a typical Sam response, but even without a soul Castiel had thought that more questions would have been asked. The extent of Sam's lack of caring disturbed him. The despondent gaze vanished from his face as he quickly replied, "Nothing.." Castiel forced his usual stoic expression as his posture straightened. "I should return to my brothers. There's a lot of work to be done...but I swear to you, Sam, that I will find a way to fix this."Sam searched the angel's face for a stint. He felt that Castiel's concern was unnecessary, but knew from past memories how his usual self would have felt. A simple, "alright," was issued in response before the gentle flutter of wings was heard and Sam was left alone. 6 MONTHS LATER"You'll let me go, won't you? You understand!" The cries of hysteria were barely coherent as a curly redhead fell to her knees. A look of sympathy bore deep behind hazel hues as Sam gazed down at the woman. Blood and tears smeared against the skin of his wrist as she clung to him tightly. A calloused hand slid over her red stained one as Sam slowly lowered himself to her level, ignoring all of the blood that had pooled around them. His forehead wrinkled with compassion as he softly spoke. "I understand...believe me." Sobs racked through her entire body before her other hand clutched desperately around his. Wet and bloodshot eyes lifted to stare into his face of divine empathy. "I n-never meant t-to hurt anyone!" She pleaded. "Please...please, please!" More cries of hysteric erupted as she keeled over. Her head rested against the back of his hand as the tears continued to flow. Sam's other arm moved to weave around her in a comforting embrace. "It's okay. I know you never meant for any of this to happen. But I need to know where he's at now..." His voice was calm. "Where is he, Lauren?"The woman took a few moments to settle herself down. When the tears came less, she sniffled and sat up. Crimson fluid smudged against her pale skin as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her vibrant blue eyes steered upward to meet Sam's gaze as she weakly responded, "The old tunnels beneath the shop..." Shame and guilt mingled upon her features. "Please....I'm so sorry."The Winchester offered a sad smile as his hand slid from around her to rest against her shoulder. "Is he the only one that you helped?" Lauren's eyes welled with more tears as she reluctantly nodded. It was then that all signs of empathy and compassion wiped clean from Sam's face. His fingers clamped tightly over her shoulder as a cold and empty gaze penetrated through her. Not a single word was spoken as a sharpened blade plowed deep into her stomach. The vast hollowness of his eyes frightened the redhead as she peered in shock and wonder at him. With a quick twist and a jerk the blade was ripped from her insides. Blood splattered as she fell upon the puddle that already coated the floor. Her face contorted in pain for a few moments before the blood loss brought an end to her life. Sam glanced down at the tainted knife in his hand and wiped it off on the sleeve of his jacket. The woman hadn't been a demon, or something supernatural of any kind, she had been just a mere human - but with the blood on her hands she was considered no better than the monster Sam was after. Steel hazel eyes shifted towards the door. Thanks to Lauren, Sam knew exactly where to go to put an end to the ghoul that had claimed so many lives in this neighborhood. His hunt would have gone on for much longer if it had not been for his practiced skill. Over the past few months he had learned quickly how much easier life was without the burden of human emotions. Things were less complicated and decisions came quick. He had become the most efficient hunter, and the fact that he had mastered the art of faking emotions only made him that much more adept.With one last glance towards the deceased redhead, Sam tucked his knife away and headed towards the door. Tonight this case would finally close.---Bloodied instruments were tossed into the trunk of his car as Sam reached up to wipe sweat and blood from his forehead. The ghoul had put up one hell of a fight, but it had never truly stood a chance against Sam. A deep breath was inhaled as the trunk was slammed closed. The air in his lungs expelled with a sense of satisfaction as he spun his car keys around his finger. Long strides led him to the driver's side of his black 1968 Cadillac. The door was opened and he seated himself inside. The key was placed inside the ignition before the engine cranked to life. Sam threw it in drive and peeled off into the road. The Cadillac roared down the interstate as it weaved its way in and out of traffic. It didn't purr quite like the engine of an Impala, but it had provided a sense of familiarity for Sam. His hands gripped firmly around the steering wheel. This car would never compare to Baby in the way that it handled, but it had already proven its worth over the course of five months. In that short amount of time the wheels of his car had traveled across more than half of the country. It had seen lots of sights, been on countless hunts, and even provided a place of rest for its owner on more than one occasion. This car, the majority of the time, had been Sam's only company. He hadn't bothered to see Dean once since his return from the pit and he had no intentions of ever doing so. The only person from his previous life he had made contact with had been Bobby, and that was only so Sam could find out about any of his old belongings. It had turned out to be a good idea, because Dean, unable to stomach the belongings of his deceased brother, had pawned all of it off onto Bobby. That aside, with all of the anarchy in Heaven, Castiel had had his hands full and rarely found time to check up on Sam, which he was actually grateful for. The angel had begun to smother the brunette and the more time that passed the more adamant Castiel became about getting his soul back. At first Sam had thought nothing of it. If the angel had felt it was necessary, then Sam would simply go along with it. However, after months of being like this, he had come to realize how burdensome emotions were. They were more trouble than they were worth. Soulless Sam was completely logical, it's how he functioned and how he thought. Behind every action there would be logical thinking attached to it. The idea of regaining his human soul displeased him. The old Sam had carried enough baggage around when he had emotions that it was a miracle he hadn't offed himself sooner. This Sam wasn't entirely keen to experience that degree of misery and self sabotage all over again, and he had all of the old Sam's memories to serve as a strong reminder of why it was better to leave his soul in that bottomless pit. A muffled ring soon penetrated through the silence of the car. The ringing came from a phone and it wasn't the one stashed away inside of Sam's coat pocket. The Winchester's brows furrowed with curiosity as his eyes trailed towards the closed glove compartment. He leaned over and swiftly opened it to look at the small collection of his old phones that he had managed to collect off of Bobby. The vibrations of the ringing phone rattled against the compartment before it was plucked from its spot. Hazel hues glanced at the unknown number before his thumb wedged between the fold of the phone to flip it open. His eyes returned to the road as he answered. "Hello?" "Yes, this is Ms. Cathia calling from Sacred Heart Hospital for a Sam Winchester?""This is him. What's the problem?" The fact that a hospital was calling for him only piqued his curiosity."You were listed as an emergency contact for a Miss. Jessica Moore. She checked into the hospital with various bruises and injuries. Sh--""Wait, what?" Sam interjected, in his usual monotone voice, which the woman probably mistook for insensitivity. "Jessica Moore?" The name was spoken as if he expected the woman to correct some sort of mistake she had made. "Yes." Her tone made it apparent that she found his response to be very odd. "..Is there a problem?" Now her voice seemed wary. Perhaps there was some history between these two folks that wasn't entirely good. The last thing this nurse wanted was to bring in somebody that might cause more stress for the woman.The nurse's inquiry was heard, but Sam remained quiet as his mind drifted. Jessica Moore, alive? His former love, the only woman in his life that had been his entire world. She was dead, he watched her die. This only caused the hunter in him to begin questioning what was actually going on. Who or what had taken Jessica's identity? Realizing that his silence had gone on longer than what would be acceptable, Sam quickly responded. "No. There's no problem." If he was going to get to the bottom of this, he had to bring the old Sam back. Hazel eyes hardened with focus as he allowed himself to slip into character. "I just...It's been awhile since I've seen her." His voice altered completely. Shock and concern laced in his words. "Is she okay? Is everything alright?" "Everything's fine, Mr. Winchester." The lady assured him, and seemed to be relieved at his change of tone. "If you could just swing by and collect Miss. Moore to take her home, that would probably be in her best interest. I think some much needed rest is what she needs.""Right. Of course." Sam dug around the inside pocket of his jacket. "Uh, real quick, could you tell me the address for your hospital?" A notepad was retrieved, along with a pen, as his phone was held against his face with his shoulder. He jotted down the information before he spoke a quick thanks and hung up the phone. His cold, empty eyes narrowed as possible suspects and other various theories scrolled through his head. There was no way that it was Jessica, so logically, some demon or creature had taken her form. With his last case having just closed, Sam simply viewed this as another hunting gig. This new case would require some investigation, and that would start with interrogation of this thing.

These are to ensure we get along well and have a fluid writing relationship. Make sure you read them as there is a small test at the end for when you sign.1. I of course am NOT Clark Joseph Kent/Kal-El of Krypton/Superman he is a license owned by DC Comics/Warner Brother's Entertainment. This isn't so much a rule as it is a statement.2. I play the New 52 version of the character. This is important as it allows you as a writer to know which version of Superman you will be dealing with. If you play a character he knows I will interact with you as though you are the character from that verse. Unless of course you have a way for your character, from one of the various other universes, to exist on the same plane as him. (If that doesn't make sense ask me and I will clarify. I may have to edit this for my own peace of mind later.)3. I understand some people are here for sexual encounters. It isn't exactly my thing but I am not against it if a story leads to it. But if you push for it right away? I will delete you. He isn't into guys he was raised on a farm in Kansas, neither am I. So attempting that will be grounds for deletion unless your character is a flirt in that way. Flirting is one thing. Pushing it on me is another. To each their own just don't try to push it on me. Ok? Moving on.4. Relationships....not really pushing for one, but if one develops he's in it till it's over. He is a one woman Kryptonian. Nuff said.5. Now this one those of you who play villains will want to pay attention to. New 52 Superman is not as indestructible as his counterpart before the rebirth. In fact he has been known to bruise, get cut, bleed out the ears, have been knocked out etc by things the old Superman would have took on the chin with a yawn. So he can be hurt you can slow him down AND you can even stop him with the right equipment/weaponry. He also still holds his weakness to kryptonite and a slight weakness to magic.6. RL>RP This means I will reply to you as soon as I can. Mostly within a week, week and a half if not sooner. If it has passed two weeks? Please get a hold of me. Ask me what is up. Do not demand an answer or your reply. That is yet another ticket to deletion city.7. Last but not least? No OOC drama in my message box it will be grounds for the "d" button. This means no telling me, "how you think so and so is a slut". Stealing will also be grounds for deletion. Have fun, let's write AND when you sign these rules? I listed off FIVE, count them, FIVE rules violations I will delete you from my list for. List off the numbers of the rules they are all in down below so I know you read these.

  Amar had once told me '"There are four types of environments; the one that can help destroy you, the one that can help improve you, the one that can destroy the improved you and the one that can improve the destroyed you. Watch out and be vigilant!' Eric always reminded me of this. Not in the verbal sense. It was more so Amar's warning ringing in my mind whenever Eric was around.Turning my head I glance towards Eric. We used to be close once. When we were both initiates. That was until I knocked one of his teeth out in our initiation. I'm not stupid. He's never forgotten it or forgiven me for it."See for yourself!" dryly I inform him, ignoring his sly dig towards me and take a step to the side.  As I reach for the set of three knifes laid out boldly upon the table beside me, I can feel his eyes fall somewhere north of me, like he is standing above me. I hate it and quickly straighten up. I know how smart he is. And that if I'm not careful he'll notice my weakness's. Instead I turn towards the target, a knife in my right hand.I had requested that the knife throwing be taken from the curriculum this year, because it serves on other purpose then fueling the Dauntless bravado. None of the Initiates will ever use it, except to impress someone, the way I was about to impress them now. Eric had said that dazzling people or making them fearful could be useful and denied my request.Amar had taught me to tie my movements to my breaths. Balancing one of the blades by its hilt within my right hand, I inhale and stare at the targets center. Stepping forward with my right foot, I bring the blades grip to my right shoulder and exhale. Tossing the blade through the air, I hear a few of the initiates draw a breath as the knife embeds itself in the center of the target.There is a calmness in its rhythm. A stillness that lets me focus and for a moment, forget everything else. Almost like I can feel Amar still standing there, watching. Inhale, grip the next knife in my right hand. Exhale turning the hilt between my fingers. Inhale focus on the target. Exhale and throw! The other Factions call us brutish, as if we don't use our minds. But that is all I ever do here! It is what I need to do. Turning to face Eric once again, I nod, "The floors all yours" knowing full well he'll try to use fear to get at least one of the initiates to break. 

01. Whitney will start the day by celebrating with her newborn daughter, Ariel.02. She will then stop by the office to attend the yearly Independence Party.03. After returning home, Whitney will set to work preparing for her house party.04. Step one is to bake the cake pops, which everyone adores.05. Whitney will then change into her dress for the evening, a beautiful blue mini dress.06. As always, the beautiful blonde will indulge in some ribs (it is a special occasion, after all).07. She will then attempt to chase her puppy, Cocoa, down and get her dressed.08. Whitney, Cocoa, and Ariel will enjoy a parade on TV, since Whitney cannot stand the noise of real fireworks.09. Finally, around midnight, Whitney will gather her luggage, her daughter, and her dog, and depart for the airport for her yearly trip to Paris.

There were many types of kisses.  There were kisses one received on the playground when they were little, and gulped their chocolate milk just to get rid of the cooties from it.  There were kisses on the forehead or cheek from a parent or guardian.  There were kisses between friends, and kisses just because.  Then there were kisses that actually meant something.  Unfortunately, not all memorable kisses were good.  For Whitney Collins, the most memorable kiss of her life was actually her biggest mistake. Her most significant kiss occurred in a place she had no business being: a wedding chapel. It had started like any other day. Whitney was on vacation to enjoy herself and take her mind off of her parents' death and everything else that had happened to her recently. She was finally old enough to drink-- legally, anyway-- and had celebrated by slipping into one of the hottest clubs in Vegas. Throughout that night, she hadn't bought a single drink for herself. Man after man had bought her a drink, and her head was swimming long before her first hour had even ended. Then, when she was about to head elsewhere, a hand on her arm had stopped her. "Room for one more?" purred a voice in her ear. Whitney had whirled around, coming face to face with one of the most handsome men she had ever met. He had caught her as she stumbled into him, and she had surprised herself by not vomiting at the stench of booze. Maybe that was her, though. Whitney tried to shake her head to say no, but then she realized: what could one more drink hurt? She wasn't too drunk to walk; one drink would be fine. So she allowed this stranger to buy her a drink. He led her to a table in the back and they talked for what seemed like hours. They came from similar families, enjoyed the same activities, and didn't seem to be that different at all. Whitney didn't even mind when she found her dress in a heap on the floor an hour later, because it was one kiss, one night, and one drink. What was the worst that could happen? The following morning, after a delicious breakfast of sausage, eggs, and turkey bacon, Whitney's bed buddy surprised her by offering to show her around Vegas, and take her to all of the best clubs. She remembered wanting so badly to enjoy herself, and since none of her friends had been able to come, she eagerly accepted. Somehow, during a theater performance, she found herself accepting a marriage proposal, her head fuzzy from the lust (or alcohol, as she later discovered). They had gotten married that same day, hastily signing the marriage certificate and eagerly consummating the relationship in the very same hotel room. Two weeks after meeting someone, Whitney was married. She quickly came to her senses, and requested an annulment. When he refused, Whitney paid him two million dollars to leave her alone, obtained his signature, and returned home to New York. Little did she know that that one kiss that night in the bar would lead to her near rape and murder just six months later, when her accidental husband returned to her side, claiming that he never signed anything, and that he didn't remember her paying him. Whitney hated herself for it. If she hadn't shared that one kiss, they would have never slept together, nor would they have ever gotten married, and she wouldn't have a death threat looming over her head. For Whitney Collins, her most significant kiss was also her greatest mistake.

Loki's RamblingsThe coming of SleipnirLoki~God of Mischief�-ζ◊ค -I would tell you a little story! It is a story I have been meaning to tell, maybe a hundred different times. Yet when I start to write...Well maybe something's are just to hard to explain! So let me start by saying this. Every villain is a hero, within his own mind!Many things Midgardian's take for truth, like the worth or alignment, good or bad of those they would call Gods. It doesn't matter if they have not witnessed the event, or seen first hand the creation of such marvelous tales or hero's. Much, is words passed down though centuries. Generations have listened to in awe relaying the tales from mouth to mouth, mind to mind; and so they have become gospel! Each God assuming their given role in any tale, their own station within the mythology of Midgard. Am I saying this is contrite? ..No...Its just what it is... Something each of us, might face on any given day with the decisions we might make.One son who doesn't want the throne, another who wanted it too much. Is that really Odin's legacy?  Perhaps what I shall tell you, will make you question what you thought to believe truth-----------------------------For many Ages war had raged between the Jotuniheim Frost Giants and Asgard. To explain the origins of this war, I would have to tell events that pre-dated back to when Odin and his brothers Vili and Ve, killed Ymir; the first ever Frostgiant. An account of History I do not believe you have time to read this day, or for me to have the time to tell.Now one day, not long after Odin had built Valhalla , word reached Asgard of an impending attack  that was being planned upon the realm Eternal.  The FrostGiant's were massing an army  of immense size and if successfully, it would seal Asgard's doom! Bringing forth Ragnarok ages earlier then had ever been imagines or realized.  Resource were short in Asgard, with the God's and Odin's, attention having been focused upon the creation of Valhalla.So is it not safe to surmise that a meeting was held. A meeting all within Asgard, attended! Upon commencement of this meeting, there came a visitor. A giant amongst men! A stone Mason by trade.He claimed he had the answer to Asgard's problem. A way to stop the Frost Giants from ever being a threat again. Through three seasons, he would build a wall; that would tower high into the sky surrounding Asgard safely within!  Asgard rejoiced in the news!  The solution it seemed was perfect, that was until the Stonemason stated his price.He would ask for the Goddess Freyja's hand in marriage, the sun and the moon!  Asgard in deed, did despair!It is true, then I did step forward. It was I whom proposed to Odin, that we barter in this deal. Instead of threes season, that it be done in one! That we allow the Stone mansion the use of his horse.Was it not a fair assumption that he, the stone mason would never complete the task? Yet leave the foundations for his wall, for the God's themselves to then build upon?At the time it felt the only plausible option, a way to get what Asgard needed. One that would not see the 'perturbed Freya' wedded against her will and would still ensure Asgard was well upon its way to securing its borders also.I alone can not make a decision. I can only offer suggestions. Especially when it comes to the fate of so many. It was not my hand that forced the other God's to agree. That decision should have fallen upon their own shoulders as like the old Midardian saying go's - You can lead a Horse to water, but you can not make it drink- In the days that followed it soon became obvious that the Stone mason had fooled us all. Indeed he was in fact a FrostGiant, and his Horse; A Stallion named Svaoilfari was no normal horse. Yet still Odin and the other Gods relished in amazement at how quickly the Wall that would protect them all, was forming around Asgard. Each night the Stone Mason and Svaoilfari would enter the Forests. Each night, Svaoilfari would be seen hauling massive boulder after boulder, back for the Stone Mason to place with precision upon the ever growing wall. While we, all of us! Sat back and did nothing! As Winter began to draw to a close, it became obvious that the Stone Mason would keep his end of the bargain. It was then I found myself dragged before Odin! Accused of trickery, of deceit! Trickery and deceit of what!... I now ask you... Did they not have eyes, to see for themselves? Did i in any way force their hands? Was Odin not capable of doing anything, while he whiled away the long winter days with his son Thor at side, Drinking mead and relishing in the power they believed was righteously bestowed upon them?  I ask you now... Is it not easier to lay the blame elsewhere? To save ones pride, by pointing a finger at another? To cast away your guilt so easy and fool yourself into thinking, it was never your fault?And so it was. As I had been the one to suggest, that Stone Mason build the wall in one Season; rather then three. A suggestion that was greedily relished by all at the time. I was deemed to be the one to fix Asgard's problem! To stop the Stonemason from completing his task. So he would then forfeit his bargain. What of the mighty Odin - of Thor you may well ask? It would be safe presume that they stayed hidden, safely behind Asgard's new walls!The evening was crisp and the sky was clear. The first signs of spring adorned the Forests edge and I stood pondering deeply on how to stop the Mason as I watched him, prepare Svaoilfari for the last night of their task. I had vowed, that I would save Freyja, the sun and the moon. That I would save Asgard!Each day I had watched Svaoilfari haul the boulders for the Stonemason.  Marveled at the strength of the Horse and how quickly the Mason was able to piece together the wall due to the unyielding strength of the Stallion. It was obvious, to any whom had cared to watch. Without Svaoilfari, the Mason would have never succeeded! Oh... I have heard the many jokes made at my expense for my actions that night. The taunts, the laughter, but i will ask you this!...Did hiding behind Asgard's Walls save Asgard, Freyja; the sun and the moon that night?Or did I... In the form of a mare, galloping through forests over hills and vales, while Svaoilfari and the Mason chased close behind. As the first rays of drawn broke casting away the night sky still I ran,ensuring the mason forfeited the bargain.  Until with exhaustion, I could run no more...The Mason, realizing he had been tricked, made his way back to Asgard's Gates and voiced his anger.Only then did Odin call him to be a FrostGiant! And thus, sent forth Thor, to strike the already exhausted Mason over the head with Mjolnir. As the Mason's head shattered, Asgard celebrated Thor as its Protector and Saviour.In the months that past.. No one came looking for me. No one mentioned my name, unless of course it was in passing blame.You may ask why I returned?... Why I gave Odin, Sleipnir? Perhaps it was to remind Odin every day of his own cowardliness... Of whom really saved Asgard! Perhaps it was to show him how wrong his legacy really was. That I never really wanted the Throne...I only ever wanted to be equally deserving, of Odin's love.. As he had deemed Thor to be...            

Prologue Part II: Saying adieu always hurts After Master Jemrin`s death and Ma`Khinas outburst in which she had killed two Siths and three imperial soldiers, the Twi`lek left the planet. Master Jemrin`s ship, a defender-class light corvette, was not stationed far away from the battle but the padawan still needed hours to reach it. Her left leg was badly injured from the cut the Sith-apprentice had caused her. It was not bleeding. Gladly lightsabers cauterized the wound directly after causing it. But there was still the pain and the feeling as something big was missing on her thigh now which was the reason why she could only hobble to the ship. Her two lightsabers dangled on her belt. They felt heavier as normally. But well.. in this moment, everything felt heavier, like carrying an extra burden. As she reached Master Jemrin`s ship a small astromech rolled down the ramp, greeting Ma`Khina with some happy whistles. But the happiness soon disappeared as the droid recognized that Master Jemrin was not with her. Slowly the Twi`lek hobbled up the ramp passing her friend who was looking out for the older Jedi. ``Come in, T7.. he won`t come.`` Her voice was as weak as her body felt. Some appalled peeps from the astromech as he slowly rolled back into the ship. Ignoring the pain in her leg Ma`Khina went down on one knee, gently laying a hand on T7's head. ``My friend.. Master Jemrin left us and.. and he won`t come back.`` Tears welled up in her eyes. Holding her breath she tried to fight them back but they were stronger. While the astromech gave some low long sounds, similar with human sighs, the Twi`lek cried in front of him. <br><br> A short time later, the light corvette lifted up and left the planet. Ma`Khina sat in the medic bay, pressing a Kolto-pack onto her thigh. The blue healing liquid was already working on her wound. Looking at all those bruises, cuts and other injuries covering her body she would rather need a bath in a Kolto-tank but for now this should be just enough. T7 was in the cockpit, controlling the navigation system and for the moment, the Twi`lek had some time for herself. Laying back on the sickbed she finally found some rest. Each muscle in her slim body ached and for the first time she felt the exhaustion of the battle. But she could not sleep. Her thoughts spin around the fights and the death of her Jedi Master. He had been everything to her. He had always been there since the day she could hold a lightsaber in her small hands. Normally, when a Jedi died, he became one with the force and his body vanished. But Master Jemrin`s corpse still laid on the ground of this planet, when Ma`Khina had left him.   That gnawed at her conscience even more. Ma`Khina and T7 spend the next days in silence. It was soon clear, that the Padawan did not want to go back to Tython or Coruscant. So, the astromech programmed a course to Voss, a neutral world in the war between empire and republic and a perfect place to hide for some time. Three days have passed since Master Jemrin`s death. The wound on Ma`Khina`s leg healed perfectly and, thanks to the Kolto-pack, there was not even a scar left.  She just sat with T7 in the cockpit to check their route as she suddenly felt it. A soft tingle in the back of her mind. The force tried to speak to her. Something warm gently brushed over her naked shoulder and she looked confused at it - but there was nothing. `Just my imagination.. nothing more or less` she thought sadly. But something in the back of her mind told her, that it wasn`t just her imagination. There was more behind it. The touch on her shoulder has felt familiar. ``T7.. I`m in my room. Please call me if anything is wrong, okay?`` said this the young Twi`lek raised up and left the cockpit. After all those days filled with sadness and tears it was now time for her to say goodbye and make a cut. In her room she lightened up a few candles and turned off the lights. Although her thigh hurt sometimes she still knelt down on the floor, ignoring the pain. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes. Over the last days the pictures of the battle have haunted her like a curse. Now she wanted to lock those images away, those memories. Clean her heart and her mind. Taking a deep breath she concentrated and slowly she wandered back to the day of the battle. Repeating the fights in her mind. Each spoken word clearly in her ears again. Each move she had made. The shock when she saw Master Jemrin laying dead on the ground. She went through it all again. But this time she was stronger. She had her feelings under control and with this she was able to put all those memories into a small chest. Lock it. And hide it far far away in the back of her mind. As soon as she had finished the procedure she sighed a deep breath of relief. Slowly she opened her eyes again, tears running down her cheeks. <br><br> Swallowing down the lump in her throat she removed her two lightsabers off her belt. ``With this.. I do not just only lock away those memories.. I also lock away my past.. a part of myself`` she muttered with a weak voice while staring down on the hilts in her hands. Did she really want to give it all up? ``Yes.. I have never been ready for this fight or for the force. I was not strong enough to save my Master. All in all I am a shame as a Jedi!`` said this Ma`Khina placed the hilts in a small box, gently stroking over the metallic frame. Then she put a holo-photography of Master Jemrin in the box. ``Master, you have always been there for me. You were an inspiration, a mentor and a teacher for me. But most of all.. you were my best friend. A family. It..`` her voice shook. Sighing deeply she collected some new strength for this what she wanted to say. ``.. nothing last forever. . .  It was my fault that you had to die. If I had been stronger. . . you would still be alive.`` With shaking hands Ma`Khina closed the little box and locked it. Then she shoved it under her bed and hid it behind a metal frame. ``I will keep in mind, what you taught me, Master. I will respect your lessons and the code but. . . I will never trust or use the force again.`` With this, she wiped away those tears which were running down her cheeks. The Twi'lek ignored the gently touch on her shoulder. For her, it all ended here. This was a cut in her life. She would leave her past behind. This was a new beginning

I'm here to rp have fun no drama don't talk to me ooc unless we are already friends I made friends in rp I'm good I don't need anymore not being mean .but some people are nasty and rude and if I want that I can get it in rl anytime any day if I'm being a bitch delete me now let's rp and have fun

'Sometimes we have to do things to preserve our own sanity'  it wasn't really something he relished thinking.  The truth was it hurt. Hurt a lot.' Ironic, he should be used to it by now, how did you ever get used to it!' The wind whipped upon his hair sending the tails of his coat into a frenzy around his legs. Snow and ice clung in a bid to freeze his hair stiff and his skin blue. ' Ironic!' Everything around him seemed ironic. That was the bitter truth of it all. Before him Jotunheim stretched out. Stark, bare and ruined it had been called many things when compared to Asgard. Never matching up. Never quite fitting in amongst the beauty of the other Kingdoms that surrounded it. It was just like him. like him, like the Frost Giants, it stood a relic of the past a reminder of what once was.The ravaged land, shattering pillars of rock and ice made fragile within the torrential wind. The bleak landscape of ice and snow stretching as far as the eyes could see. Desolate. Silent except for the wind to remind him of his thoughts. He could never explain his thoughts and feelings. What he felt for this land. The sadness and destruction that lay hidden beneath the snow and within the shelter of the white capped mountain peaks.In his mind it was bitter sweet. A fragile beauty. It was his solace. The one true place he could take off the masks he wore. The deep snow and ice hide all the hurts all the scars of the ravaged land. Here he could face the bitter cold and let his heart cry out. Face the hurts that burdened his soul and take refuge. It was him. His own special sanctuary that reflect his own mind within its landscape. It harboured his many hurts, like secrets he had wielded, each and everyone, while they hide out of sight behind his many masks until he could bring them home to Jotunheim and let the wind take them, bury them beneath the snow,  where it would. In Jotunheim, he felt at home-               

Pool Party (For the Crazy Drunks)

1.  Not Nancy Lee Grahn Or Alexis Davis! Roleplayer only2. Not a cheater once I'm with someone I'm faithful to them that mean I hope they respect me by not do cheating on her.3. I rp off my phone that mean I may be slow at my reply but will get to them soon, have to be patient with me.4. My Love scene's are graphic, or how ever the  person I'm with is comfortable with.5. She taken she has A Love interest already, so don't hit on her thinking She cheats 6. Pro was made by a friend still nothing, Pictures where made by the same Friend, Don't steal Or I will make sure your known as a kocker of people stuff. Just ask me first.7. no DRAMA  OOCRules are subject to Change at anytime soo abide by them and we'll get along Alexis Davis

Fellowship of the Simarili is a Kin on LOTRO-  It is a kin of friends, coming together from many different RP Groups  to interact and play together in LOTRO.  Here are some Photo's and memories that the kin has taken and decided share of their times in LOTRO together. -Random photos below- Thor, Leg's and Lady Tarilhir in Bree Someone trying to use her horse to hid from Gim's in this one - who could it be- laughs Snuggle time for Dylann and Loki Cold much ??  Tarilhir and  ElvenKing Thranduil   In Lorien with - can ya guess? Mirkwood- and Thranduil, Thor and Tarili are at it again- Lone lands with Nemeriel and Loki- Altariel and her soon to be very dead Orc friend Have a hard day, did we , Elroy, Tarili, Paul and Dylann??? - grins One of Loki's many thrones- looks like Nemeriel is trying to kneel - ok maybe not- laughs Brothers in Bree- Thor and Loki Mine's of Moria - anyone??Just for laughs- Tarli, Leg's and Nem- More photos will be added to the comments by different members of the kin