✨Moriarty the Patriot Oc✨ + little fanfic about her
The summernight that fell over the world was warm and soft. Gentle, just like a mother cradeling her child, the soft breez brought sleep to all those, who welcomed it with open arms. The quiet wind hushed over fields and foerests, whispering the song of the night. Rivers ran silently and the birds lost their will to sing. It was so peacful that probably no one would ever think that in this night something outrageous and unprecedented would happen. A story that most only saw from one side and never dared to understand the other one. A story filled with so many emotions and rage that'll always has only one outcome. A stolen future and a bloody carpet, shimmering in crimson red.
The clock hit 3 in the morning as Charlotte Afton stood in one of the hallways in the McAllister estate. The corridors seeming endlessly, the only thing breaking the stillness was the ticking of the old grandfather clock and something wet dripping to the ground. Dip, drip, drip. Charlottes fingers trembeled slightly, but her grip on the shiny knife was still steady as her ruby red eyes followed the clocks pendulum. She didnt dare to look down, knowing what view would greet her if she did. The rage that burned in her soul just minutes ago was gone, leaving something empty and lifeless behind. The sounds were stil there and what ever it was, was still runnig down her hands and dribbeling to the floor. Drip, drip, drip.
Her hands tightened around the knifes handle, something wet and sticky reaching her fingers. It was still dripping. Charlotte swallowed weakly. Her rips and stomach were still burning on the spots a foot kicked her a few hours ago. I must have damaged something if it still burn hurt like that, but the adrenaline that was now fully leaving her body just left her numb to the pain. She still didnt dare to lock down.
The warm wind enter the room through the window like a late guest, filling the hallway up with the wonderful scent of summer, but despite this Charlotte was freezing. The sticky substance on her hands that was so warm once, had turned cold. Like a frozen burden she carried on with her. Only then she finally dared to look down. It was everything that she feared. The bitter cold fear climbing up her back. The once emerald green carpet had turned crimson red, seeping through the wool like a prove of what happend here. Empty and lifeless eyes met Charlottes blue ones. Mr. McAllister, already far gone, looked still scary even in death. The eyes opened wide, the mouth ripped open like he wanted to scream at her again. Charlotte clung to her knife, blood still rinsing from it to the ground. Drip, drip, drip. It was her fault. She did it. The blood gliding through her fingers, a reminder of what she had done. The hands of an 15 year old girl. Hands that had killed. Her hands.
Hours had passed like a painful blurr, after the realisation of what she did hit her. She didn't dare to move, still stood in that corridor and held the knife. Something looking so innocent and yet so deadly. Cold blood ran to the ground, as its metallic smell corrupted her loungs. It made her sick, but her body wouldn’t cooperate . It was like her legs were glued to the floor.
The wound in her side burned like fire. True hellfire. It was probably punishment for her deed, because before the massacre, it was Mr. McAllister who had attacked her with the very knife that would soon kill him. Charlotte's neck hairs stood on end the moment footsteps shattered the otherwise hushed silence. The sound of polished shoes on wood.
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