(New story! I'm doing something new and writing from a guy's point of view. Yep, the main character, Ryan, is a guy. Gasp. And yes, I included the character I always use for stuff, Raven. But I made her a tad more innocent for this story . Anyways, Enjoy! ) I sighed, brushing my spiky black hair out of my face. It was pitch black outside, making it impossible for a normal person to see. Luckily, dark angels weren't normal. I silently drifted down the sidewalk, and up to a large house. I was sure it was the correct address, but the light upstairs was turned on. The last time I checked, it was one in the morning. Grasping the doorknob, I turned it despite the lock's protests, and walked inside. The house was nice; adorned with stylishly modern things, but it had an icy cold feeling to it. Everything was white, the walls, the marble floors, the expensive furniture, everything. It almost felt uninviting. I shook my head, irritated. I had a job to do; I wasn't here to admire the decoration scheme. I was sent here to kill someone, by the name of Raven. I wasn't sure what she had done to deserve death, but I never questioned my targets. My morals never got in the way of my job, since I had no morals whatsoever. I didn't bother to be quiet going up the grand staircase; humans couldn't see me anyways. I was invisible to them, until they were almost dead. I was visible for a fleeting moment before they died, and for some reason, I'd always smile at my victims before they died. Not a genuine smile, a "I just killed you and you didn't even see me" smile. Turning down the hall, I saw a door that was slightly ajar; letting light stream through to the dark hallway. I approached it, slipping through the space between the door and the doorframe. The room was huge: a queen sized canopy bed with a Sharpie-decorated MacBook on it faced me on the far end wall. A walk in closet was to my right, a door to my left revealed a giant bathroom, the desk had a Mac sitting on it, a television mounted on the wall above it... this family was obviously rich. I turned to see a girl sitting at an easel, painting a delicate picture. I couldn't see who it was. She stiffened, her paintbrush falling to the carpeted floor, splattering icy blue paint on it. I blinked, the color was identical to my eyes. The girl turned, a wave of her jet black hair, that was perfectly tinged with blue highlights, flowing with the sudden motion. She was beautiful; her steely grey eyes shifted up, in my direction. She was looking directly where I was, her eyes widening a bit. "Ryan..." she murmured. I froze; how did she know my name? ...how the hell could she see me?! Standing up, Raven walked forward, the canvas not blocked from sight anymore. It was a portrait of someone. Me.
(I'll update anyways ) I backed away a step, bewildered. How could she see me? How did she know my name? I had never been to this house in my life. But strangely, Raven looked vaguely familiar. Her grey eyes felt... like a memory. Like I've seen them before. Or gazed into them before- I stopped myself, pinching the bridge of my nose to clear my head. I was here for business only; to kill Raven. I couldn't not do my job, I'd probably get killed myself. Besides, I didn't like her. Did I? "Ryan." she said softly. "...Raven? I mean, how do you know who I am?" "Out of the very few dreams I'm lucky to have, they're about you." "Me?" "All of them." she sighed. It was then I noticed Raven looked extremely tired, like she hadn't sleeped for weeks. Her eyes darkened a little as she spoke. "I'm an insomniac." she said matter of factly. "Oh. You know, I'd love to chat about your medical conditions, but I have a job to do." I snapped, pulling out the dagger from my pocket. A pain pierced through my heart, and I cringed. The thought of me killing her was horrible. The thought of her not living another day was unbearable. The thought of my blood on her hands was unthinkable. I felt her warm hand grasp mine, intertwining our fingers together. Any anger I had before melted away. Raven pulled me closer, looking at the dagger. I let it fall to the carpet, and it landed with a slight thud. "What are you?" she asked I stared at her, tempted to answer. Those eyes were so mesmerizing, they were almost forcing me to tell her everything. She came closer, until our faces were inches apart. "Just tell me." I had to bite my tounge to not let the answer escape my mouth. I forced myself to look away. "That's none of your concern." With that, I nimbly jumped through the open window, landing on the sidewalk. I ran with immense speed, all the way to my loft a few miles from Ravens house. Bursting inside, I threw myself onto my bed, cursing. How could I let a mortal have an effect like that on me? I was a killer. A monster. We weren't meant to be together. I mentally erased the last thought, and sighed, reaching to my holster for the dagger. My eyes widened. Of course, I left it at Raven's house.
Bump btw you said The thought of MY blood on HER hands was unbearable... Isn't it ( I know it is ) supposed to be The thought of HER blood on MY hands was unbearable...
Gah! Dolph you're correct And this is sorta like hunting dawn i guess, but with a twist and a turn
Raven's POV ~ Great. Just freaking great. I thought I was going to finally get some answers before Ryan left. As the hours passed, I grew even more unsure of what had happened. Was Ryan even there? Or was he another dream I was tormented to have? I didn't know. But, he seemed so... real. That feeling of electricity sparked between us when I grabbed his hand. Surely he felt it too, right. If he even existed. I sighed, tiredly walking over to the easel. My overpriced therapist told me painting could help soothe me, and possibly lull me to sleep. I tried, but it hadn't worked. I could only paint pictures of...him. It started off with me painting those beautiful blue eyes, but everything grew more detailed. My dreams became more vivid, and the newest picture was from the dream I had last week. The dreams always started off the same, going the same route before continuing on. Like I was rereading a story, and reading the next page each time. A sharp pain in my foot made me wince and look down. A dagger lay on the floor, glinting against the lights. It was then I knew everything that happened was real. It was the dagger Ryan had. The one he was supposed to kill me with. I picked it up and studied it in my hands. The handle was cold and silver, heavier than the actual blade itself. There was a sapphire embedded into the handle's base. The blade was slightly curved, and serrated at the bottom. Overall, it was a delicately made weapon. But why did Ryan leave it here? I laid it on my desk, and flopped back on my bed. It felt that this time, I'd be able to dream.