The Looking Glass Chronicles Book the Fifth
Ignis Aurum Probat Vienna Faux
~! Ignis Aurum Probat Text copyright © 2012 Vienna Faux Illustrations copyright © 2012 by various artists All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Art & Writing Awards 2012, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., publishers since 1920 SCHOLASTIC ART & WRITING AWARDS LOGO, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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Contents Chapter One: DĂŠnouement Chapter Two: One Over the Moon ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
The Last Letter ! Dear Reader,
It has been quite some time since I have written to you. I can confidently infer that you have enjoyed the previous installments of The Looking Glass Chronicles, or else you wouldn’t be holding this book in your hands and reading this letter. Unfortunately, it is high time for me, as well as the characters of this series, to bid adieu to you. It was an honor to be read by you, Reader, a true honor. I have carved away at my soul and distributed its fragments in each book you have read. Because you have conquered the last four volumes of The Looking Glass Chronicles, you’ve pieced the majority of my soul back together, but there is one last section that is currently absent from the puzzle, and that is the very last and most significant of all the pieces. I hope that you have grown intellectually, emotionally, and physically just as Marcus has throughout his journey. In case you are wondering what “Ignis Aurum Probat” is, I will translate it, but do nothing more, for if you successfully finish this installment and comprehend its value toward the theme of the entire series, you will have placed the last shard of the puzzle of my soul and therefore completed it. “Ignis Aurum Probat” translates into “Fire Tests Gold.”
Much respect and gratitude,
Vienna Faux
One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. - James Joyce
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Ignis Aurum Probat !
Denouement Marcus O’Connor snared life
from thin air, abruptly awaking to the languid
clamor emerging from his mother’s bedroom. Moans escaped the wrath of the shut door and wall between his room and his parents’. He sat up, trembling, and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair; he yawned and glanced at the clock placed on the nightstand. 5:54 A.M.
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Sighing in aggravation, he squeezed his eyes shut and dove headfirst into his rolling bed sheets, tumbling and thrashing about, groaning, plowing pillows into his ears to hinder the carnal racket. “Shut up!” he hissed groggily. “I don’t need this on a Friday morning.” And then it ceased. Not a sound. Just like that. He propped himself up at the edge of his bed, his boxers crumpled and barely kissing his knees. Marcus had a ruffled crop of chocolate-brown hair with swept-to-the-side quicksilver bangs that concealed slim eyebrows and fell shy of his flaming emerald green eyes, which hauled darkened bags. The shaded luggage beneath his iridescent orbs indicated, resolutely, intense exhaustion and unspeakable pain. His nose, snub and slight, was suspended centimeters above a set of fine-lined lips shaped into a frown that accompanied his scowling expression. He slipped on a T-shirt and jeans and knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. “Busy!” Mrs. O’Connor barked. Marcus rolled his eyes in response and after brushing his teeth, dragged his feet down to the kitchen, where he began cooking an omelet. His mother strolled into the kitchen, drenched in a dressing gown and slippers. Her arms embraced the neck of a man Marcus had never seen before. He was much taller than his own father and a much younger. He watched in silence, fuming, as the man groped Mrs. O’Connor and consumed her neck. She chortled and upon acknowledging her son’s presence, she pulled away from the fellow and cleared her throat in humiliation.
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“Well, Eric, I think it’s time for you to leave,” Mrs. O’Connor told the stranger awkwardly, slightly grinning. “I had a great night.” “I’ll call you.” He beamed and left the house. Marcus did not meet his mother’s gaze as he flipped his omelet. “That was Eric,” she informed him. Marcus nodded, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, I heard,” he replied in displeasure. “What happened to Liam and Daniel?” His mother did not respond, simply opened the fridge door, combing through its contents. “Why are you up this early? It’s not even six-thirty,” she said while pouring orange juice into a glass. Silence. The familiar squeak of the mail slot cover on the front door splintered the mute nature of the conversation. Marcus’s mother left the kitchen to fetch the post and returned clasping a single envelope. “It’s a letter from your school,” she murmured and cleaved it open. Upon reading the letter’s contents, her eyebrows narrowed. “You’re failing U.S. History…” she said crossly. Marcus gulped and widened his eyes in surprise. He turned to his mother. “It was just one test,” he retorted hastily. “If it were just one test, then why is your school mailing a letter home?” She retained her anger, yet clearly was struggling to do so. “I don’t know…” “You don’t know?” his mother repeated in a dangerously soft voice. “It’s just history…”
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Mrs. O’Connor pursed her lips and ran her hands over her face in exasperation, shaking her head in disappointment. “You don’t understand, do you?” she hissed. Marcus’s heart pounded. !And he wished, oh he wished, that she could scrape the surface of his scabs and his scars and bear the burden of the boiling blood beneath the indigo bruises; that she could burrow below the pores of his dismantled spirit to extract the tender wounds buried within, but...there was nothing. So he stumbled over his words, swallowing his hopes and his dreams with every breath and every jerk of his imprisoned tongue. “Do you?!” she bellowed. “You have to keep your grades up! I don’t want to depend on your wretched father for your college fund! He’s not going to help you! The only person who’s on your side right now is me! Until the divorce papers are settled, your father and I share the fund! We have to start being independent, Marcus! We are no longer a two-paycheck family!” Marcus was unresponsive. “My God,” she muttered. “I should’ve killed myself when I had the chance…” “…What?” Marcus demanded. “Mom, don’t say things like that…” “You’ve already ruined my life!” she exploded. “Stop ruining yours!” And with that, she hurled the glass of orange juice across the kitchen, narrowly missing Marcus’s head. The glass shattered upon impact on the wall. The shards showered the floor. “CRAP!” Marcus exclaimed in shock, staring at his mother in pure disbelief. “You’re growing up to look just like him!” she cried ferociously, grabbing plates off the table and flinging them all at the floor. He dodged soaring fragments and retreated from Mrs. O’Connor, who was seething in anger and glaring at him lividly, teeth clenched and chest throbbing. “Get out of my house,” she hissed.
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“Mom…” he whispered, hands raised in surrendering defeat. The omelet began blackening in the frying pan. “GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT!” His mother clutched a knife from the countertop and stormed toward him. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” He retreated, seizing his backpack and swinging open the front door, which slammed violently behind him, as he stood paralyzed in front of the house, his back facing the entryway. He caught his breath, bearing witness to the rights and wrongs of the fleeting world before him and gently closed his eyes, hanging his head, and opened them to face his Vans canvas sneakers plastered to a scuffed welcome mat, torn and tattered by the barrage of soles. And just like that, he bolted out, out into the world. He did not dare to look back; his cheeks were fused to his bone.
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“Are you alright?” Jeceaca appeared at Marcus’s side as he stomped furiously through the vacant hallway to his first period class. A few students drifted through the corridors, conversing with their friends. Marcus was distant and bitter, and his sour disposition compelled him to snap, “I’m fine.” She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “No you’re not,” she replied, obstructing his path. He stopped dead in his tracks, tossing her a glowering expression, and attempted to elude her, but she was persistent. “Please, just move,” he said furiously. She refused. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” !
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“I have to get to class.” “First period doesn’t start until another ten minutes,” she replied. Marcus did not meet her eyes. Her golden hair concealed one of her brilliant ocean blue eyes and she withdrew it behind her ears. A small cluster of freckles consumed her nose; her lips were guised into a concerned frown “Um…this morning – ” “Hey, guys!” Jonghyun’s elated greeting hindered Marcus’s response. Jeceaca and Marcus donned Cheshire grins at Mr. Choi and awkwardly stood in silence. Jong’s perplexed stare oscillated between his two friends. “What were you guys talking about?” Jeceaca bit her lower lip uneasily and glanced at Marcus, who seemed highly uncomfortable. “So are you ready for the Calculus test tomorrow?” she asked Jong. Jong snorted. “No,” he chuckled. “I suck at Calc. You’re a rock star at it. You’re acing that thing.” Mr. Choi grew aware that Marcus was still fairly troubled for some odd reason and turned to him. “Did you see the new girl yet?” “New girl? What new girl?” Marcus replied. “I heard she moved here from another country and she’s supposed to be really hot. I think her name is Katie or something.” “Actually, I think it’s Kaya,” Jeceaca corrected him. “Yeah, whatever,” Jong replied briskly, “Anyway, she’s supposed to be really smart and really hot.” Marcus’s grinned. “You already mentioned that she was hot,” he chuckled. “Emphasis, man,” Jong replied, beaming. “Emphasis.” The bell sung, signifying the dawn of first period. Jeceaca and Jong dispersed and left for their classes.
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The drunken hours of the first few periods of school drove Marcus into abandoning his focus. He had cleaved textbook pages, but the words and numbers were untidily heaped in his distorted perception; he plunged his pen into paper, but only to discover that he was incapable of expression. He was paralyzed. He could not think, could not perceive. Everything was bland, and his writhing heart throbbed, encumbered with the haunting fragments of horrors from that morning. When the bell for lunch chirped, he dragged his feet to the school library, where Jeceaca and Jong reserved a seat for him at a table in the middle of the floor. “Hey, we’re studying for Calc,” Jeceaca informed him when he dropped his bag on the mesa. He plunked himself into the chair across from her. “Great,” Marcus replied monotonously. He tediously heaved a notebook out of his bag. His friends observed him in concern and exchanged glances. “You seem like a mess, man, are you alright?” Jong inquired curiously. “Yeah,” he replied. “Are you sure?” “I said I’m fine!” Marcus snapped, glaring at him. Jeceaca reached out her hand and smacked his arm from across the table. Marcus withdrew his arm in surprise. “What was that for?!” “You can tell us what’s bothering you, you know. That’s what friends are for. We’re not a punching bag for your emotions!” she scolded. He faced her and opened his mouth to begin explaining, but his eyes swayed to someone who disappeared within the bookcases lined behind her – a girl. Though he merely saw the side !
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of the girl’s face, she struck fleeting memories and the familiar pang of churning stomach acid consumed his abdomen. His bones clamored in his flesh as he began to slightly grin. “…Marcus, you’re acting really weird…” Jeceaca candidly informed him. She turned to see what he was devouring his attention, but such a section of the library was vacant. “I’ll be right back…” Marcus said and pursued the young woman. Jeceaca and Jong swapped bewildered expressions. Jong shrugged. Marcus approached the bookcase, expecting to see her, but found nothing. A figure darted behind another bookcase. He swung around and pursued her relentlessly, resolutely, but it was as if he were attempting to snare smoke. She was elusive, and she disassembled his sanity as he dove deeper, frequently colliding with browsers and hastily apologizing, and plummeted into increasingly secluded annexes of the library. Reason was a rare commodity at such a time, for Marcus was too unwise for that moment in particular to afford its burden; it was as if he was enlightened by her presence, and was enslaved to desire. And so he had finally arrived at the point of no return – the restricted section beyond a thin timber door. Crestfallen, he turned to return to Jong and Jeceaca, and came face to face with the objective of his pursuit. She exuded unmatched beauty, with her unswerving dark hair slipping down to her chest and side bangs barely obscuring her sizable and gently twinkling sepia eyes. Her nose, moderately sharp, but palatably shaped, was placed above a pair of lavish lips stretched into a nubile smile. She was a few inches short of Marcus’s height. She clasped an pricey-looking ebony hobo bag, which was slug over one shoulder, with loose folds and gleaming metallic buckles; a colorless boys’ V-neck and dark-washed skinny jeans hugged and flattered her figure and at her shoulders was a purple and black plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled
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up to her elbows to reveal glimmering bracelets embracing each wrist – at her feet, a pair of Converses. Suspended around her neck was a golden necklace in the shape of a key. She looked like…Antigone! Well, not precisely the Antigone Marcus knew years before, but an aged form. He was instantly beguiled and blinded by her appeal. Was she truly Antigone? Yes! She had to be! Perhaps? “Hi…” he greeted, his voice cracking at the sight of her. Butterflies soared into his stomach. “Hi,” she replied, her silvery voice trickling into his ears like candied nectar. How melodic it was! “Hi…” he repeated. Wow, I’m an idiot, he thought to himself. “Hi,” she chortled. “Um…I’m new here and I was looking for a book and now I guess I’m lost…” He grinned and glanced at the floor nervously, not quite meeting her eyes. “Oh, what book was it?” “Uh…” she peered into her bag, squeezing her hand into its mouth, hunting for something within. While she was busily searching, Marcus hurriedly mended his hair. She finally pulled out a small notebook and flipped to one of its pages. “It’s called Dubliners. It’s by James Joyce,” she told him. “That’s a classic, right?” Marcus asked. “It should be around the front of the library. That’s where most of the classics are. Do you want me to take you there?” She nodded, placing the notebook back into the depths of her bag. “Thanks.”
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They began strolling between bookcases in silence. Marcus experienced an overwhelming realization of the situation’s fragile nature, as if the silence was as brittle as meaningless chatter. However, it was meaningless chatter that would allow him to ultimately unearth the truth. “So where are you from?” he asked. “Everywhere,” she replied. “I live with my dad. His job requires a lot of travel. We don’t stay in one place for more than we have to.” “That’s cool.” “I guess. I just hate making friends and then leaving them months later,” she said dismally. “I never asked for your name. I’m Kaya.” “Marcus,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you too.” And his heart ignited into a golden fire and melted at her words. They strolled past bookcases, speechless; the awkward silence was almost too unbearable for Marcus. His palms perspired, for he became painfully nervous. Before he could say a word, they had arrived at their destination. Jong and Jeceaca observed the two emerge from the depths of the bookcases and converse. In fact, all of the students rotated their heads to stare fixedly at the new girl and Mr. O’Connor. “Well, here’s the classics section…” he gestured at a jumble of novels organized across each shelf. “Thank you so much,” she beamed. “What’s your name again? Marcus, right?” “Yeah,” he nodded bashfully, “and you’re Kaya.”
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“Yup. I don’t really know anyone yet, and everyone seems to be in his or her own worlds when I talk to them. They all look at me weirdly.” Marcus chuckled. “Oh, yeah, well if you need anything, I guess you know me now.” “Yeah, definitely. Thanks again for the help.” “No problem,” he replied in elation and returned to the company of his friends. “Who’s that?” Jong demanded, gawking at Kaya, who was browsing from one bookcase to another. “Well, whoever she was, Marcus obviously likes her,” Jeceaca chimed in, scribbling across her study notes. “The new girl…” Marcus replied absentmindedly. “I told you she was hot,” Jong playfully jabbed his friend’s arm. “You were right, man. She’s got these eyes that just…explode…” He and Jong continued to ogle at her longingly from a distance. “I think what exploded was in your pants, Marcus,” Jeceaca said jokingly, but her friends were much too distracted to hear her. “I’m going to ask her out,” Jong said abruptly and boldly advanced towards her. “Wait, what?” Marcus responded, startled. Jeceaca sighed in exasperation. “Why do I know you people…?” she mumbled. Mr. Choi approached the young girl timidly. Marcus and Jeceaca witnessed Jong speak to her for a few moments and inattentively stroll towards them, simply chatting. They stopped just feet away from the table. Jong’s throat quivered in tension, wrists clamoring, body throbbing.
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“Can I eat you out?” Upon realized what he had just spoken, he scrambled to correct himself, “I mean…take you out…to eat…with me?” Cords of sweat drizzled upon his palms as he heavily respired. “Uh…I’m sorry, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now…” she responded, chuckling uncomfortably. “I’m really sorry,” she added. “Oh, no, it’s cool,” Jong replied, delivering to her a weak grin. “Hey, have you met my friends?” He motioned at Marcus and Jeceaca, who grinned warmly. “This is Kaya,” he announced to them. “Yeah, I met Marcus,” she gazed at him. He coyly grinned in return. “I’m Jeceaca,” Jeceaca introduced herself. “Yeah, she’s the reincarnated Albert Einstein,” Marcus interjected. Kaya chortled. “Ah, there’s always a smart one, isn’t there? It’s nice to meet you.” Jeceaca smiled sheepishly. “Likewise. Well I’m not Einstein intelligent, I just do whatever, really…” “Don’t be so modest,” Marcus chuckled at her. He turned to Kaya. “By the fifth grade, she memorized all the digits of pi.” The lunch period finally ended. The students thrust their books into their bags and poured out of the library. “What do you have right now?” Jeceaca asked Kaya. “Um…” she glanced at her schedule, “English. You?” “Marcus and I have AP Calc, so will we see you tomorrow?” “Definitely,” she nodded and left the library. Marcus and Jeceaca strolled out of the egress of the library just as she did. !
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“Jec, I need to tell you something…” he said to her and pulled her to one side of the hallway in the ocean of students. “What? That you like her? It’s kind of obvious…” “No, I just…” he released a heavy sigh, “I think she’s Antigone.” Jeceaca burst out laughing, but when she caught Marcus’s displeased facial expression, her smile faded. “Oh, you’re being serious…” “Yes, I’m being serious!” he responded emphatically. “Marcus, the last time you saw Antigone, you told me that she wasn’t able to go through the portal,” she hammered reason into him, “that there was some invisible barrier that prevented her from entering.” “I know what I said!” he snapped. “But I have a hunch it’s her.” “That’s impossible. It’s not her. You probably subconsciously miss her and you’re just seeing her everywhere.” “Jeceaca, it’s not in my head! I’m not crazy! She looks exactly the way she should!” “The way she should?” she repeated skeptically. “Alright, hypothetically, if Antigone were to have arrived here, then why would she come here in the first place? How would she have come here?” Marcus did not reply, clearly stumped by his friend’s question; his eyes swiveled to the floor as he attempted to derive a possible answer. Jeceaca raised her eyebrows quizzically, expecting a rational reply. “I don’t know…” Marcus confessed finally, facing her with an unwavering expression, “but I’m sure as hell gonna find out.”
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One Over the Moon Sober droplets oozed into Marcus’s veins when he returned home that evening. He had spent his afternoon with homework in the school library, hardly daring to return to his abode. When he discovered that his mother was absent, the repugnant sensation of anxiety in his writhing chest dwindled and eventually vanished into the abyss of oblivion. With his mind at ease, he bolted upstairs to his bedroom, flung his bag onto the bed, and opened the drawer of his nightstand. Scouring the mouth of the drawer, he pulled out a half-crumpled fragment of paper. Flattening it, he discerned letters and symbols adorned across the parchment. However, it was illegible – all of it. It was simply a mass of letters from different languages sewn together to form words and sentences. Bewildered, Marcus advanced toward the window, immersing the note in
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sunlight, and attempted to detect any characters of the English alphabet. His search was to no avail. What the hell, Marcus thought to himself out of vexation. However, at the foot of the parchment he captured the name he had so desperately yearned to see – Antigone. Detached from all that was real, he sunk himself into the mattress of memory only to find himself frustrated and thwarted by the remorse. What he did not take into account, was the lapse of time by which he had been standing – it was nearing ten o’clock. He had spent three hours gazing at an indecipherable note, searching for meaning in fabled days. He sighed in defeat. Tomorrow, he would investigate “Kaya” further, but the present was no time to be restive. And so he unfastened himself from the outlets of the tangible, and retired into the delight of some much-needed slumber. What a glorious prison of yearning he was confined within.
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Officer Jonathan Grey was a respectable member of the Connecticut State Police Department, thank you very much. He had successfully acquired a promotion at his job, attended to a fire, a burglary, and two carbon monoxide situations in the past month. And so, his skin was unstirred and unfretted. His wife, Melissa, lay sound asleep beside him and his fourteen-year-old daughter, Stephanie, was tucked under her covers in the next room. His bones had settled in his flesh. Stillness had consumed the house – that was…until an odd thumping originated from above. !
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Melissa awoke to the sound almost instantly as the thumping became increasingly consistent. She narrowed her eyebrows, her eyes flashing on concern, and shook her husband. “Jonathan…Jonathan…” she hissed. His eyelids slowly parted. “What is it?” he replied groggily, too exhausted to lift himself. “That’s it, I just don’t know what it is,” she explained, whispering, her voice cracking in unease. “Something is on the roof…” “Honey, it was probably just a squirrel or – ” he began, but a knock interjected from the bedroom door. “Mom, Dad?” Stephanie’s voice erupted from beyond the door. “Yeah, baby, come in…” Melissa replied, running her hands through her hair, flipping it backwards. Stephanie opened the door and let out a yawn as she advanced toward her parents’ bed. “What’s up, Steph?” Jonathan sat up in bed, still assembling himself from his languorous state. “There’s somebody outside of my window…” she informed them groggily. “I heard somebody walking on the roof, but then they stopped and the backyard sensor lights went off, so I got up to see who it was and somebody was walking near my window. I saw their shadow through the blinds.” “I told you, Jonathan…I told you…” Melissa turned to her husband, slightly distressed. The footsteps pounding upon the roof raged throughout the house once more. Their heads were all directed towards the ceiling, gazing at their transient fates. Jonathan groaned. “Okay, fine…I’ll check it out,” he finally concurred drowsily. He pulled his gun out of the nightstand drawer and pocketed an extra cartridge. He really did not !
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want to go. Son of a bitch, he thought to himself. It was nearly five in the morning. What the hell kind of retarded animal walks on a goddamn roof in the middle of the night and wakes up a whole family?! “Stay in this room,” he ordered, “keep the phone close in case we need help, and whatever you do, don’t separate yourself from each other.” He exited the room, closing the door delicately behind him and then grasped the knob of the front door; a cool rush of electricity kissed his aching head. And he was outside. He encircled the house a few times, flailing his gun as if to target an invisible person. Then he saw it – a simple silhouette of a female on the roof. He could discern that it was female due to the body’s curved structure around the abdomen. “Freeze! You’ve trespassed on private property!” he bellowed fearlessly, raising his gun and aiming at the perpetrator. He blinked, but the target vanished. He flailed the gun wildly in every direction, attempting to locate the quarry. He wasn’t ready with his gear for this; to be frank, he actually felt a bit more secure with his uniform on. He dashed into the street to receive a greater view of the property. When he could not discern anything out of the ordinary, he held the belief that the guilty party had left, and so he proceeded towards the house to comfort his family. He would file a report when he arrived at the station. He clasped his gun low as he surreptitiously circled the property once more. In the backyard, he caught a glimpse of the female treading silently upon the grass, exiting the yard. He nearly lost his grip of the gun, but locked his fingers around its handle. “My name is officer Jonathan Grey, I’m with the West Hartford Police Department! Show yourself!” Identifying himself wouldn’t do any good if this character wouldn’t. The female ceased to move. “Hey!” He fired a shot at the grass. The creature let out a low, beastly growl. !
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He savagely bolted towards her and attacked, leaping on her from behind. He felt himself being rolled over and a sharp pang of getting elbowed in the stomach. The being sprung, but the officer grasped his gun and fired at her neck; blood seeped out of the wound. While a normal person would have collapsed and shrieked in agony, this being… if it was indeed human…oscillated in place from impact and brushed her fingers against the back of her neck where the bullet was lodged. She primitively dug her nails into the wound and drew out the bullet, hurling it to the bed of grass. She snarled barbarically. He noticed a sword sheath positioned at the back of the figure and jolted to grab hold of it, but as he did so, the figure seized his wrist and swung around. As the light peered into his eyes, he saw the terrible face of his opponent; his fingers could no longer hold onto his weapon in response. Well it wasn’t exactly a face. Half of it, including the eye and the mouth was concealed behind a dark mask, edges serrated. The other eye socket contained not an eye, but a lifeless vacancy about it. Her skin was tinted a grayish tone. A shredded, dreary-colored mini skirt with a leather material to it veiled one half of her while the other half was simply covered with numerous fragments of cloth hugging her chest cavity. Her stomach, and rest of her skin (including her face) was devoured in odd tattoos – all bizarre glyphs and characters. She did not wear shoes. Spiked cuffs embraced her wrists; her hair, in disarray, was blackened and had thin crimson highlights. The officer felt his spine collapse beneath the mass of her iced stare. “HOLY –!” he screamed, and she growled, as if she were some enraged mental patient gone completely feral. Her eye…she looked…departed. He attempted to explore the depths of her shattered appearance, but his attempts were futile, and appearances were deceiving. !
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She grasped his wrist and an inconceivable pain rocketed to the officer’s head. He mustered up the strength to swing a fist at her face. She reacted immediately. The mask consumed itself away, allowing space for her mouth; he nearly passed out as he saw her fangs emerge. His heart pounded, and pellets of perspiration formed on the façade of his skin, the color draining from his face; his bones turned to dust. The creature flung the officer to the ground; he attempted to slither away…but it was too late – she sunk her gleaming daggers into the man’s throat and drew blood. With each rising minute, he grew increasingly languid. Then…a flash of the sun’s inferno flared from beyond distant houses. The creature collapsed on him, rolled off, and squealed, staggering to her feet. She loped upon the roof and into trees in the distance, leaving officer Jonathan Grey fragile and fatigued on his backyard lawn. And so…he lost consciousness. ! !
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About the Author
Vienna Faux was ten years old when she began writing The Looking Glass Chronicles in the middle of her fifth grade math class. She finished outlining the first book at eleven years of age. Intending for the series to have ten installments, she eventually dwindled the storyline down to five. At sixteen, she received an Art & Writing Awards scholarship and national recognition award from Scholastic Inc. for submitting the first few, fully edited, chapters of Darkness Rising, as well as publishing a few of her works in the Youth Section of an internationally-based newspaper. She lives in New York City with her family.