𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥 - 𝓢𝓑𝓡/𝓙𝓙𝓑𝓐

♞

𖠁𐂃𖠁

Bloodshed. Bodies. Bullets. Visions of violence, from a time without the vibrance of life. Flashes of fatality during fleeting moments. Time thinning into a tumble of seconds and minutes. Guns firing gunpowder and steel cylinders from glistening barrels.

She awoke with a gasp, then the feeling of sticky sweat trickling down her pale face, then the morning light that cradled her. Each one of the five senses that returned to her felt a wave of ocean water spraying against her shivering form.

This is how most mornings started with the woman. The only emotion felt throughout the day was the dread when awakening from a nightmare -a memory- playing in her slumber. The pure adrenaline that raced within her veins was almost the same as it was in the memory.

With a shaky breath, she rose from her previous position, bracing herself on the shadows that were once blood and bone. Her 'fingers' clicked and creaked with the movements she made, creating a metallic symphony. Her joints cracked with the morning grogginess as she stood from her dishevelled sheets.

Her legs carried themselves to an oak desk with a dress draped over its wooden surface. A white underdress blossomed beneath a blue overcoat, the skirt flowing like an autumn breeze. She pulled on a pair of brown leather gloves and matching boots with zero wear and tear. Both were still in pristine condition and reflected the overhead lights that blared brighter than the light emitting from the open window. Her stiff hands clipped in a turquoise brooch to her collar. Blue undertones embedded within the infinite pool of emeralds that rested upon her collarbone. Lastly, she pulled up her blonde hair with a silky red ribbon.

Each of her heeled footsteps rang quietly throughout the empty building. As always, she had been the first one awake and functioning. Her stoic face gazed only towards her desk, which was piled high with work. Her previous job of writing letters had failed, as all the clients had been left unsatisfied. Now, her task was to fill out paperwork until the sun tumbled from the sky once again, leaving a starry night in its wake.

As she had done it hundreds of times before, she piloted her body to the wooden chair tucked beneath the desk and sat on the cushioned seat. Here she would sit for hours, completing her daily tasks, only to repeat this very routine forevermore.

"Good morning, dear."

"Good morning, Miss Catteleya," the blue-eyed woman responded to her manager. Her steel digits stopped their work, turning her attention to the person in front of her.

"Oh please, I told you to stop calling me that," Catteleya Beaudelair huffed, bringing her hands to her hips.

"Is that an order? If so, I am sorry for disobeying you."

"Calm down, it just makes me feel much older when you put miss before my name," the manager paused, flicking her inky locks over her shoulder. "I need to talk to you later, come to my office around 4:00, okay?"

"I will refrain from calling you Miss Catteleya from now on. I will be sure to report to your office later today."

And once again, her body flew on autopilot until the desired time ticked against the clock. Her perfect posture while she went about her duties made her look like a doll. A porcelain figure held up by strings that were manipulated by the gods themselves.

"Good, I'm glad you're here," Catteleya said, her smooth voice filling the room's once comfortable silence. "I wanted to ask if you were willing to go on a trip, down to the coast and then up to New York."

"I will do anything you ask of me. If it is required that I go on this trip then I will pack my bags."

Catteleya stopped her fidgeting and stared at the nineteen-year-old eyes. Her crystalline irises could compete against the stunning ocean depths. The way they seemed unnervingly dull. It was as though the time she had spent as a human instead of a soldier had done nothing to aid in her lack of emotional connection.