Sold to a dark guild for money, Amethyst Fairy held no knowledge about the concept of family. Yet, when she meets her soulmates, she finds a home in their presence, surrounded by endless warmth. But when they disappear for seven years, what will hap...
sometimes i look in her eyes and that's where i find a glimpse of us
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"YOU'RE..." To say Amethyst was shocked would be an understatement. Something in her chest cracked, and it tasted like fear, or maybe it was desperation, she didn't know. Couldn't tell. It felt like horror, and then, as it flowed through every vein and artery, reaching to her heart, it felt like warmth. It reached the walls around her broken shell, poked and prodded, tentative and curious.
"Your soulmates? Guess so." A bright, toothy grin spread across a blond's face. "Who'd have thought we'd be mated to the infamous Purple Butterfly of Fiore, right, Rogue?" He nudged the shoulder of the boy beside him.
Rogue, himself, did not answer. He couldn't. Wouldn't even dream to think of opening his mouth. His eyes remained fixated on this girl in front of him. The pale skin, the jewelled purple eyes, her short black hair, and shadows. Purely shadows. There was something in the air around her that he didn't understand. Tendrils of darkness followed her, and in their wake, Rogue could see millions. Their forms shifted as the sun did, manifesting into people he did not know, coming and going as quick as the speed of light. Space was reduced to silence in her vicinity, a sharp breath, an answered plea.
Neither missed the beat when her eyes narrowed. "I already have a soulmate."
"Oh? Ain't that interesting." Sting threw an arm around Amethyst's shoulders, carefree and nonchalant with his touch. "Well, we don't mind sharing. You see, Rogue and I are soulmates, too. Sharing's caring, after all. Are they with ya?" He looked around the station, searching for anything that would raise a familiar reaction in his nerves. "I don't remember anyone else comin' with us."
"No," she replied. "He's too young."
Sting pulled away with a grave look. "You're not a paedophile, are ya? I gotta know before we even think of taking this further."
Amethyst brushed his arm off her shoulder. "No, I'm not. He's a year younger than me."
That action had interest rising in Sting's soul. Oh, he loved it when people played hard to get. It only drove his instincts of chase through the roof. Of a hunt promising a great and undoubtedly delicious reward.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Sixteen."
There was an audible sigh of relief resounding from the blond. "Oh, thank goodness. I was gonna shit my pants if you were twelve."
"Do I look twelve to you?" Amethyst deadpanned. The sound of footsteps echoed around them, people moving in and out of the station like insignificant flies.
"Well, not really. But you never know! People these days 'ave been using all sorts of charms to make themselves look younger."
