ILoveMyGhostGirls

Donovan chased the girl through the woods. Never in a million ages would he guess that he would be running from the Circle into a dark and winding forest. Although, in a way, he wasn't running from the Circle. He would return. He just wanted to speak to the girl. Maybe she lived in town? He didn't know anyone from the town, of course; he wasn't allowed to leave the building.      The noises of the forest sound became malevolent to Donovan's ears. The wind blowing became the sound of the Templar's Mabari howling. The songs of the night birds were the cackles of the diabolical Witch of the Wilds and her many daughters. Branches cracking under

  Donovan accepted his role as a Mage. He accepted the fact that he was born in, and would die in, the Circle. He accepted the way that the Templars treated him like both a wild animal and an unexploded bomb. He accepted the Fade; he accepted how it was his worst nightmare and would be his final resting place.       He accepted it. But that did not mean that he liked it. He hated it, in fact, and did his very best to block it out. He was inattentive in class (and yet he still knew most all the material), he made no friends, and even his tutors sometimes forgot his name. He was not a trouble-maker; he was simply invisible.      That day, it

---Coden---      It was crazy how well they fit in. Max and Nicole picked up in school without hesitation. Willow made friends. With sane people. Hato went to an elementary school. And if you didn't know that they lived together, you wouldn't have seen a connection between them. We had been following the "Ghosts" for about a month by the time Alexra got an idea. ''We should introduce ourselves to them, make nice so we can--'' ''Are you crazy?" Luca snipped. "We've been trying to hide from the Ghosts, why would we 'make nice'?''      Alexra looked a little hurt that her idea had been shot down so quickly, but she held her ground. "C'mon, if

I made you, little girl. A piece of silk, a lump of clay a needle and thread, it was child's play. But you grew different, changed and fought. Why won't you work? This is harder then I thought. You were once a little angle, my perfect doll. But now I must watch you fail, watch you fall. Why must you be different? Why will you not bend? Why aren't you perfect? Now I must put you to an end. You should have porcolen skin, not an opinion. You should learn a dance, not a fighting stance. Why so defient? Can't you learn your place? You belong in a dress, so why is there dirt on you face? You play with boys, not girls. You'

What have you taken away from me? A haze of betrayal as memories darken. Once we savored bliss, Open and innocent, but your heart soured. A clouded fever of lies - Tears follow hate, hate follows love, love spoiled. Even in a rush of hate, I still love you.

        Fay. Her name was Fay. She never would accept the way the world worked. She spent hours and hours working in her lab, inventing new weapons for the Liberators. Mother always worried that the Order would suddenly brake down our doors and kill us in our sleep because of all Fay did to help them.       I'm not sure what I believed back then; I always tried do live a normal life, despite the War. But I knew what Fay believed, every one did. She believed in freedom. That wasn't what the Order believed in; the Order believed in a world of perfection. And imprisonment. We

      We were ordered to kill the old man. We did not know his name; we only knew that he worked as a performer in the Silver City. We had stalked the man for the better part of a year, makeing sure we knew everything about him. He would wake up early and start the day by eating at a run-down old tavern in the Cavern district. He would then move to the middle of the Market district to berforme untill late at night, when he packed up and left for home.      That day was the day we made our move.      He stood, as always, in the center of the Market. His over sized black cloak came down to his knees and his black top hat hung crookedly on h

The sky was grey. The Imperial Highway was lined up with tall birch trees on both sides. Their snow white trunks seemed to glow in the dim light with eerie light. The small rickety cart drove on and on. Hawke's body was aching all over from the long ride. Carver and Bethany were huddled up together next to their mother. They were asleep. Hawke wished she could sleep as well, but it was no use. She hasn't been able to sleep much since that accident. Hawke glanced over her shoulder to see what her father was doing. Malcolm was driving the cart and keeping an eye out for any troubles that may threaten the safety of his family during the trip.

Down,    Down,       Down, Down a deep, dark, hole.                 Hounds of Hell                 prowl these halls. Symphony of cries.          Clatter of          bone on bone. Forget, hate, Beat, degrate.                      

Gold. You want more of it, More of it, More of it.    It's all you see.    Shiny,    Shiny,    Pretty metal.       To you,       It's valuble,       A golden symbol,       A golden rule.          But I know what is there,          Under the          Shiny,          Shiny.