James Moriarty - The Devil's Descendant

Chapter 2

Aella was left in her room on her own for hours, she had explored every corner of the elongated, rectangular room to suit her own desires. James had not come back after he left her there, failing to make sure if his daughter was okay. It did get her thinking about how he would be able to tell until it clicked in her head that cameras were in the room.

When she was clearing through her cupboards, looking to see what Moriarty's men had provided for her to wear, she spotted a little hatch in the top right of the drawer where there had been a microphone slotted delicately to suit their needs. Although she wanted to do something with it, she still failed to act since she knew nothing about her father other than him being dangerous in the world. 

When she checked the rest of the room, she failed to see where he had placed cameras, even after turning the room inside and out. For once, she rested, laying on her bed, turning the television on that was in her room to see what the news reports were. They had always intrigued her from day one, especially being able to understand the ins and outs of the problems other people were being faced with. She learned from peoples problems, to be able to use them herself. 

"I wonder..." her voice trailed off as she switched to the main news channel, there were helicopters flying over a burning building, it was set alight. People were running out of it enveloped in the flames. Her body leaned forward upon seeing someone on the screen, someone she had seen before. 

Who was it? 

Whoever it had been having ran from the scene, enveloped in the flames. Nearby had been a water source that she had also seen before, which he soon dived into, dying the flames from his body. He would have surely had some extreme burns he needed to seek medical help from, at least that is what it appeared to be like. That was judging by the intensity of the flames he was enveloped by during the fire.

Instead of laying in wonder, she got up, starting to anticipate what was going on. 
"Hey!" she growled under her breath, her brows furrowing in annoyance. "Is anyone out there?"

Fisting the door harder than before, she tightened her fingers till her knuckles went red, banging the door again. "For heaven's sake!" she cried, banging over and over, ignoring the fact that her knuckles were bruised, battered and bleeding. 

When she looked down at her hands, she saw her past flying before her eyes. A past she had left behind to come and find her father, to come and seek him and know who he really was since her mother had never let her know who he really was. Every bruise marked the beginning of the new chapter in her life that she knew she was never going to take for granted, she was never going to let go of, despite what other people would argue and tell her. Her skin had split open from fisting her door, small trickles of blood dripping across her pale skin, decorating her hand like a Christmas tree. Being locked inside of her room by her own father she wanted to be near was not what she had believed would have happened. He loved locking people away, it seemed he preferred to have her locked away too. 

Still, the door was made from wood, he was making no mistake with the flimsy, cheap materials that they use in houses today. All in all, she knew she needed to get out, she needed to find a way out. 

Moriarty was an expensive man, that was what she had originally believed. Never chose to be a cheapskate with the materials in his life. He loved all the luxuries that life could bring, especially since he had never needed to pay for a thing in his life. Instead, he would be or give people a price. Threatening them with the point of a knife or a gun. Some things are just a little easier to deal with for him by using those kinds of methods to get whatever it was that he needed. 

Moving to her basin, she washed her knuckles, taking one of the face cloths to tie around her knuckles in order to keep the blood in one place. The mirror in front of her displayed her reflection, a reflection she had not seen for a while, her mother had been unable to provide her things such as a mirror. It had not been until that moment that she realised how much she looked like her father. Stroking back more of her hair, she looked at her delicate features very closely, stroking her jawline with her finger, looking into her eyes, leaning over the basin to look at them closer. Step by step, she began to uncover how much she was her father.