Marked

Chapter 3

Favourite quote of the day :D "If you're lucky enough to have something that makes you different from everybody else, don't ever change." -Taylor Swift.

That said, to all of you out there who are reading this, we're all beautiful in our own special ways, so don't ever change to fit anyone's expectations but your own. Also, drop me a message or something if you want to make friends :D (I like to think that) I'm a really nice person. I don't bite. Promise ;)

Here's the next part. Enjoy! 12 votes for this one, alright?(:

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“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” he demanded.

Sara edged back a little, shocked by his hostility.

“Speak!”

“I… I…” she stammered. At a loss for words, she slowly raised both hands such that her Marks showed.

There was a long pause, and Sara saw that the boy was still not making a move to put his knife away.
A sudden realization struck her that perhaps she had mistaken who he was, and he was an enemy. Immediately, her instincts kicked in, and she raised a leg high, kicking him squarely in the chest.

Stumbling back a few steps from the impact, he blinked furiously, observing her Marks with a rather dazed expression. “…Oh.”

Her blade. She needed her blade.

She had tucked it somewhere under that billowing mass of fabric. Feeling around frantically, she located it, and after a long struggle trying to tame her skirt, she resorted to hiking it high up her legs to retrieve the blade.

Looking at what she was doing, his eyes widened in alarm, nearly becoming as round as saucers. “What… what are you doing?” he spluttered, averting his gaze.

Making several realizations at once, the most obvious of them being the compromising position she was in, and the next being the identity of the boy, she hurriedly smoothed her skirt back into place.

“You’re not an enemy, are you?” she asked, laughing sheepishly. “Oh, dear me. I forgot that the Legions can’t enter our Manor. I’m new here, but I’m Plein too. I came here last night, and—”

“I’m Michael,” he said flatly, breaking her monologue.

Sara blinked, astonished. “Pardon me?”

Focusing on him again, she noticed that while he had seemed perfectly fine just now, something in his expression had changed, as if it had become shrouded in clouds, dimming the light behind them in the blink of an eye.

He seemed to have built a solid wall around him, but what was behind that wall, she could not tell. It was strange, and a little unnerving. She wondered if it was because of her, or that perhaps he had always been that way.

And in that case, then she supposed she could understand a little of why the Countess had been worried the night before.

She parted her lips, intending to question him, but stopped herself after making eye contact with him. His eyes—a majestic shade of midnight blue; but now cold and uninviting—scared her to some extent. “I’m Sara,” she said simply, deciding on a quick introduction instead.

In response, Michael turned his head away, choosing not to look at her. “We’re late for breakfast,” he said, in a low tone.

Then he walked off with both hands in his pockets, leaving Sara staring after him both astonished, and dumbfounded.

Everyone was gathered at the dining table by the time she arrived. Cringing and muttering a short apology, Sara slipped into her seat, but not before gamely returning the boyish grin that Maxon threw her.

Breakfast commenced immediately, and they alternated between taking bites of their bread-and-butter, and making small talk with each other, while Gwen occupied herself by making clinking sounds with her cutlery. Though Michael was silent throughout, staring moodily at his meal, the rest of them were friendlier, making her feel much welcomed. Making a mental note to ask if he was feeling ill, Sara chewed on her food slowly, readying herself for any questions directed to her.

And true enough, there it came. “So,” Louis began, in his loud, booming voice, as if he were the President announcing a very important decision, “how did you come here?” He looked across at her expectantly.

Deliberating for a moment on how she should answer, she noticed that a hushed silence had fallen over the entire group, and everyone’s attention—even little Gwen had quieted, to Sara’s slight amusement—was on her.

She set her roll of bread down and folded her arms across the table, composing herself.

Taking in a couple of deep breaths, she answered, with a faraway look in her eyes, “My parents were both Plein, and at the age of twenty, they met each other while out on a mission. Just like any other parent, they wanted the best for their child. They knew that life as a member of the Plein was dangerous, and they could not bear lose their only daughter to the Legions. The best option, in their opinion, was to take me away to lead a normal life.”

She paused to drink a mouthful of water, trying to rid the lump that had formed at the back of her throat.

“Life was good for a while. Though we had to wear gloves all the time, so that people wouldn’t find out who we were, we were happy. Content, even. Sometimes we had to move when the Legions got near us, but even though we were scared, we had each other, and love was all that mattered. But what we didn’t know was that the Legions would never give up hunting us down.”

Laughing bitterly, she shook her head.

“And then one day, on my eighth birthday… They found us.” She gripped the edge of the table tightly, her hands fisting up, digging her knuckles into the solid marble surface.

“Alright,” the Countess said quietly, reaching over to pat her hand. “You don’t have to tell us all of it, Sara.”

“No… I want to,” she answered, swallowing. “Perhaps if I share this, a little bit of the pain will be gone.”

“They killed my parents in front of me,” she continued. “I saw them screaming, bleeding to death on the floor, their lives taken out of them with each passing second. They tried to tell me about the Manor, telling me to return there, but I never got the address. I searched for a good eight years before I found this place. And I’ve been training all my life since then, so that when the Legions attack, I won’t be defenseless. I won’t be helpless, watching anyone I love die. I won’t be lonely again… I won’t lose anyone that I care about—”

She broke off, putting a hand to her mouth, tears threatening to spill over.

Apologizing for the second time that day, she rose from her seat, stumbling out of the room and into the hallway blindly.

The scraping of chairs behind her as she left barely registered, but the grip of a warm hand around her wrist forced her to turn around. Whirling around, she saw through the blur of tears that it was Maxon, and quickly turned her face away, the other hand still clenched in a fist, pressed to her mouth.

“I understand,” he said, running his hand along her trembling arms. “Honestly, I do.”

And there was nothing else that needed to be said.

Wordlessly, he gently put an arm around her, pulling her to his chest. And, collapsing against the warmth of his body, she began to cry, her hands clutching the lapels of his coat, sobs raking her body.