Enjoy.
The thud of an arrow spearing densely into wood upon impact was a sound that would simply never cease to please Cheryl Blossom.
The creak of the bow, the strained resistance of it as it fought against her hand, tamed by its master, like Raphael, as it pulled and bent into obedience. The wait. The stillness. The perfect combination of angle, precision, wind speed and trajectory, distance. The pause. The final breath. The final release. Leaving on command. The hiss of the dart as it shot rapidly through the air, faster than the human eye could calculate. And then, finally, a second later; that dull, punching, satiating thump as it pierced into the target, protruding proudly from its kill.
It was orgasmic.
She had been 14 years old, practicing at the target range on the estate one afternoon in September. The air was chilling seasonally on the backdrop of an overcast sky and the smell of mulch and decaying foliage had delighted her nose spicily as she'd planted her patent boots into the ground with a crisp crunch, knees rigid and straight. It gave her such a sense of freedom. Power. To know you held a deadly weapon in your hands, skilled and trained and ready to use it. Able in mere seconds to determine just the right arc to kill someone.
It was intoxicating.
Peaceful.
She had been informed, a mere hour prior, that Heather was to be leaving Riverdale soon to attend a private convent school in Oregon. They would not be starting Riverdale High together in two weeks' time as they'd planned. They would not be forming the foundations of a new, beautiful, innocent, first-love companionship. And, as it would come to light years later, they would not be seeing each other ever again.
Cheryl was simply, and wholly, heartbroken.
Her mother had smiled when she'd told her.
Smiled.
A twisted, satisfied, self-serving grimace of a smile.
'That should put an end to your nonsense, Cheryl. Try being deviant nearly 3000 miles away.' She had chuckled.
Bitch.
They couldn't have sent her further away.
They may as well have killed her. And Cheryl too.
In many ways she'd wished they had.
Jason had attempted to comfort her, but she had decided that she'd needed to be alone, with her thoughts and her bow.
She'd bent to pick an arrow from the rack, pointing it to the ground as she had hooked it to the string and noticed glumly how shiny her boots were. Spotless. New. Unmarked.
No scuffs.
God those bastards.
She'd brought up her arm, straight and perpendicular to her body, her jaw set tightly.
They'd taken her Heather.
She pulled on the string.
'I think I love you, Cheryl.'
Nimble fingers coaxed back further.
'Our future is beautiful, Cheryl'
She'd closed one eye, honing in on the intricate 'B' initialled on the target board.
They'd taken her Heather.
She heard the words of her archery coach echo in her head.
