School of the Crown Assassins

02

"Indigo?"

The voice echoed in the distance. I was too busy paying attention to the dream around me to listen.

It was a prison cell. I sat still on the ground, unable to move. Chains wrapped around my ankles and wrists, holding me down. My thick, black hair hung in my face.

"Indigo?"

The prison cell walls disappeared, replaced by the images of beautiful green hills and fields. The sun shone. White roses colored the ground. A tree swayed back and forth atop a hill, glossy green leaves hanging off the branches. A lake glittered at the bottom. I stared at the imagery. It was stunning. Longing clenched a fist around my heart. I pushed myself forward, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the images. I wanted to go there. I wanted to go back.

Without warning, the bright sky turned cloudy. A dark red substance trickled through the first blades of grass, oozing between them, growing in volume and mass. Blood. More and more spilled down the hills, tainting the white roses red. It dripped down the tree branches, seeping into the leaves, which dried and turned to ash at its touch as if it was poison. The blood spilled into the lake, tinting the blue water a dark red. The air smelled of copper.

"Indigo!"

Something tapped my cheek softly, but I barely noticed. My eyes were fixated on the blood-red scene in front of me. Everything was red. It was all blood, too much blood. The sky fell darker and darker, making the blood turn colorless black. The temperature dropped, the cold stinging my arms. My deep breaths were visible in the air. I shivered.

More dark liquid spilled down the hills. But it passed the lake, passed the dead grass. It passed right through the picture and onto the stone ground of the cell. It oozed through the cracks and crevices, inching toward me. I shrank away, pushing myself as close as I could to the cold wall.

My breaths became shallow, the air growing colder, the light dimming away to near blackness. The dark blood oozed closer and closer until it reached me. At first touch, the liquid burned through my skin like acid. I screamed.

"She's not waking up."

"Slap her."

Something struck me hard across the cheek and my hands flew up instinctively. They gripped the attacker's hand and twisted. A shriek of agony echoed in the air. My eyes snapped open and I released my grip.

"And that's why I told you to wake her up."

I looked to my right to find Axe standing a couple of feet away, watching me. I turned back to my wrongfully convicted attacker. Kneeling next to me was Chance Dayholt. He rubbed his wrist, caring grey eyes set on me with worry that was doing little to mask the pain.

"Sorry," I muttered as I propped myself up on my elbows. I winced as my head spun and familiar nausea arose. I fell back into the snow, trying to push the contents of my stomach down.

"Are you okay?" Chance asked. His bushy brown eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded. "Fine."

"You don't look fine," Chance pointed out. "What were you doing out here?"

"Playing the game. Racking up wins. Adding points."

Chance's eyes dropped down to my leg wound, "You must've been doing something right if someone went as far as shooting you."

Axe coughed.

Chance continued, "Do you know who did it? We can go kill that bastard."

"Nope," I said and fixed Axe with a venomous stare, sarcasm oozing from my voice. "I have absolutely no idea."