Phoebe Johnson is the daughter of the Moon Goddess Artemis, and has a human father. Living on Earth as a Demi-Goddess surrounded by humans and werewolves isn't as exciting as it seems. No one is allowed to know of her true parentage, and everyone th...
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No, no, no! I can't die! There hasn't been a Friends reunion! Moreover, I still haven't had a wicked, book-worthy summer romance to brag about in the afterlife yet! And I can't kill anyone... I might snap a nail! It took years of extensions to get my natural nails this long and strong! Nevertheless, I will do what I have to do.
The chilling footsteps crackle as they hurdle over leaves, and I can sense one rogue overtaking me to my left, and the other closing in on my right. Shit. I am going to be surrounded and there is nothing I can do about it. My senses are sharp and focused, watching out for any slight change in the atmosphere, as my fight or flight motion kicks in. I wish I could fly. How amazing, wondrous, and spectacular would that be? I am reminded of the perilous situation I am currently facing when I sense the rogues stopping a few feet ahead of me. Time to face the music. Who knows what could happen in the next five minutes? I am not scared of my safety. Oh no. I know I can protect myself. I am scared of what I may become, and what I may be forced to do.
I do not stop sprinting even as they come into view, leaning against a tree and eyeing me hungrily. Two men. Great. I suddenly regret my choice of clothing... or rather, lack of it. One of them has a creepy wide grin on his face, his eyes a piercing black as if trying to reach to my soul. His skin is pale and ashy, and his clothes torn and dirty, with smudges of mud and what appears to be splotches of blood on them. His greased back hair looks like it has never been washed, and he smells so disgusting I fight the urge to gag. Bloody red crossed stitches climb his crooked neck, under his corruptive and perpetual grin. A raw, long and jagged scar swarms up his leg, curved at the top and bottom. It is drawn in such a smooth half circle that it looks it was carved there on purpose. The man next to him is even more frightening to look at. His bloodshot eyes twitch uncomfortably, under his un-brushed, jet-black hair. He is crouched uncomfortably, panting heavily, imitating a tarantula's scuttle. He definitely isn't the Prince type. Dirt and dried blood is smeared all over his face and body, and he keeps scratching at a cut on his right thigh, looking red raw and slightly green.
Welcome to the life of a rogue.
They have nothing but the clothes on their backs, and usually serve as lone creatures, but in this case, they seem to have paired up. Rogue number two is definitely farther into the pit of insanity then Rogue number 1, and will probably drop dead in the next few weeks.
"Hello!" I chirp as I plaster a big smile on my face, sprinting past them.
I think I may have gotten away with it... until Number Two latches onto my arm in a tight, almost uncomfortable grip. His nails are long and blackened with dirt, the cuticles ripped and torn, and half of his middle finger is missing. He must have pissed off the wrong person. His hand is shaking, and a glance at him shows his mouth frothing. How would a human react to the hand of a witch keeping her in place?
"You're a long way from home darling." Number one drawls in an oily voice.
"Yes, I presume so. If you could get your... friend to release me then I will be on my way." I answer in a timid voice, secretly screaming in my head for the man to get his dirty fingers off me, before I rip them off and shove them up his ass.
