༻༺༻༺༻ Paris, France. 1845 8:45am "Murdered?" Colette repeated. "Yes. Our sources report that a gang of criminals in India are going to kidnap Tyler and kill him. Pack your bags. Your flight leaves in two hours. Your information is on your desk." Colette nodded and left the dark room, then hurried down the earthen hallway. The corridor was almost empty. One man dressed in black hurried past Colette, carrying papers and muttering under his breath. Everyone who worked at the UDA-the Underground Detective Association-wore black unless they needed a uniform for their job. The black was for observation and stealth. So they could spy on the enemy. She paused at a wall sconce and relit the candle. There were a few candles scattered around here and there, just enough to see by. The UDA didn't want to risk the chance of a passerby seeing illumination from the bark of a tree. They had taken many precautions like this to insure the UDA to go unnoticed. Almost all the doors were made from tree bark or tree roots hanging down and desks were made to look like logs. Every other object had a compartment to conceal it in the dirt packed walls. If the trumpets were sounded, the UDA headquarters could be rearranged to appear as old abandoned mining tunnels. Colette's hand brushed the low ceiling as she reached above the candle to put away the matches. A small shower of soil rained down on her head. Cursing, she continued on her way to her office, passing many doorways. The only sound was her boots softly treading on the dirt. Colette brushed aside the tree roots and padded inside her office. It was small, but not cramped. The only objects inside were a log and a tree stump. A scroll of parchment rested on the desk along with a few sketches of her family. Like every other office, the faint outline of a small doorway was carefully cut into the rounded wall. It served as the emergency doorway. Colette plopped onto the tree stump and studied the drawings. The first one was of Christophe and Adeline. The gentle, shy Christophe. A perfect pairing to Adeline's very friendly-and sometimes a little too friendly-personality. Tears sprang to her eyes as she recalled how Christophe was named. Flashback Jaipur City, India. 1830 7:10am The sun had gone down and the first few stars had begun to shine. A few bonfires roared to life, reflecting off the large pieces of fabric forming makeshift tents. This could only mean one thing. The French were here. A fifteen year old Christophe Dubois shoveled food into his mouth. "Good food," he commented to his twin sister. "Haha, thanks." Colette replied. She gathered up a stack of empty plates and headed towards a tent to scrub with the other women. The men continued to eat. They lazily took swigs of ale and joked around with each other. A few started to sing merrily, encouraging others to join in. And everyone did. Well, almost everyone. A single teenager slip off to use the latrines. Outside of the circle of bonfires, it was quiet. Almost silent. There was a hushed expectancy in the air, as if the night was waiting for something. Teenage Marc Moreau shuddered and quickly dashed towards his destination. The French were still celebrating. They cheered as another round of drinks was brought to the table. Shadows slipped out from the alleyways and ghosted towards the camp. The French were still oblivious to it all. They continued laughing. Soft footsteps crept towards camp. A slender hand was raised. They were on to telling ridiculously exaggerated stories with hilarious results. The laughter grew louder. The hiss of steel sounded. And the light of the silvery moon glinted off their curved blades. The French slurped noisily from their glasses of ale and continued laughing. The warriors attacked. Colette finished drying a plate when she heard a shriek. She and the other women peered outside to see a massacre. The Indians clearly did not want the French here. They leapt on them with the speed and ferociousness of a tiger. The fighters darted around, stabbing and slashing, staining their tunics with fresh blood. The French were slow to react. They were drunken and exhausted from their long day. By the time the survivors had come to their senses enough to run away, the Indians had already plowed through most of their camp. The crimson liquid had splattered all over the tents and pools of it were forming on the ground from the many wounds of the French. Colette dashed forward and arrived at the limp body of Christophe. He was stained with blood. She cradled the body of her brother in her arms. "Christophe," Colette sobbed. She felt as though a part of her had just died. Like a part of her had just been severed off and carelessly tossed aside. Why? Why had he been cruelly killed by the heartless Indians? They didn't even know him. They just thought he was worthless enough to die. But he wasn't. "Colette," one of the survivors gently took her hand. It was sticky with blood. "No," she wailed. "It should've been me. I can't… I can't… I can't live without him." "Come on," he urged gently. "The attackers are going to see us. We have to go with the others. They're waiting for us to escape." "I don't care." Colette whimpered. "Let them see me." But she let herself be led away from the brutal scene. The Indians never spotted them, though. They never saw the depressed, broken girl and her concerned savior. And they never knew they would soon become lovers. End of flashback Colette dried her eyes and smiled at the thought of how kind Marc had been during the time of mourning. She recalled him offering her Madeline cookies as soon as she was well enough to eat. They were both her and Marc's favorite food. So it was an obvious selection for Adeline's name, too. They met from Christophe. And they fell in love from Adeline. But now Colette was going to have to go back to the scene of her brother's death. She would have to relive the trauma of that massacre. She might get killed by those same attackers. And die in that same spot. ༻༺༻༺༻
༻༺༻༺ India Papers 3:50pm Office of Temra Temra gave her a wistful smile,"My adoring Anika, you are truly a work of art. But what you give me is not enough."he said through is golden teeth. This is how is always started to Anika, and the way of Temra. He was only a fool to let Anika do more than what she could, she may be the alone and the forgotten, but she is not yet weak like the rest, where they escape their voices into the wind as they gently rock people to sleep by their murmurs. Anika. Was. Brutal. She smiled so politely, cracking the joint in her neck that gave a braking sound in her body, and she loosened her shoulders, aiming that she would get some benefit out of this equation. Anika looked at him, and her eyes stood before him, but Temra studied her like an experiment, where she would then best the way of his doing, the way he tried to lure her into more work, but with no avail. Anika looked around at his room and found so humbly a statue of a goddess, where who supposingly had more than 4 arms, and was mounted on a tiger/lion, where she was slaying what appeared to be demons. Then that what flashed her. A pearl necklace. Temra still held the gun out, and she didn't stop looking at the statue, and Temra warned her,"Don't hurt the goddess Durga, you are not worthy." Then so surprising in a rare sight, she spoke, ever so gently, but it was grating,"What makes you worthy?" Then Temra pulled the trigger. Anika dodged and she took blows at him, kicking and swirling into gestic motions as she held her currency tight. Surpringly, she fell to the ground, not standing up, Temra shot her on her arms and legs, where blood oozed away on the carpet, and she struggled to move, but she felt she could not breathe. And at the last bullet, Temra pointed to her face, the light came. Blinding. Beholding. What was it? ༻༺༻༺