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You know that feeling of pure shock, when your body just loses all of its senses? Yeah, well that's what Bronte is going through right now.
All color drained from her face as she stared with wide eyes at the person she loved most in the world. The one person she thought was dead for the past two years of her life. Michelangelo Richards.
She had grieved over him. She had spent countless hours crying and wishing that it was her lying on the ground instead of him. What kind of twelve year old does that?
Bronte had forced herself to get over him if she wanted to move on in life. She found three wonderful friends who filled the void he had left in her heart. They became her family and she wouldn't change them for anything. No matter how weird or crazy they may be.
The blonde didn't know what to do. She stood in shock, with Percy right behind her. She was slowly starting to shake more and more, but she didn't know if it was from being hurt or the rage flowing through her body.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
Only one way to find out.
Bronte charged the boy, grabbing her dagger and holding it high in the air. She was aiming right for his chest, but with high adrenaline and only being able to see red, she ended up aiming for his face. That would not have been a very good reunion.
It also didn't help that it was dark out. Kids were still filing to their cabins, but many had stopped when they heard her scream.
Mikey's eyes widened in fear as he held his arms up in defense, but already started thinking of a way to get out of harm.
A crowd had started to form around them, and even though Percy was the first one there, he had to push his way to the front. He tried to pull her back, but Bronte had a one track mind. He just didn't know who the curly haired boy was or why she wanted to kill him.
She dragged the dagger through the air, trying to get a clear shot of him. He moved fast, weaving out and around her.
"Stop moving, you coward!" Bronte screamed, still slashing. All she hit was air, but she didn't stop trying.
"B! Calm down!" Mikey laughed, trying to lighten the mood. He blocked her shots towards the face, putting his armor up and shielding himself. He didn't stop her from kicking and throwing punches at him, though, knowing that he deserved it.
Bronte's eye twitched at the name. He had no right to call her that. Not anymore. Someone else took that role. "Don't call me that!"
She kicked him in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Weirdly enough, Mikey laughed.
Bronte stared at him, a sense of confusion taking over her. She didn't know why he was laughing, she didn't say anything funny.
She watched as he took out his own sword, and by the look in his eye, Bronte knew that he wasn't going to hold back. She repositioned herself, gripping the dagger tighter, her knuckles turning white.
