sloane’s eyes never left cereza’s as she listened, taking in every word like it was a rare and fragile thing—vulnerability wrapped in strength, the kind that doesn’t ask for sympathy but demands respect. there was no flicker of doubt in her gaze, only a steady, thoughtful calm that felt like a harbor in a storm.
“you’re not just stubborn,” sloane said quietly, her voice low but clear, “you’re a force. an imbalance, a reckoning. and yeah, that kind of power… it’s terrifying to the heavens. because it’s unpredictable. uncontrollable.” she paused, fingers tapping lightly against the side of her knee, like weighing possibilities in real time. “it’s no surprise they’re scared of you. that they’re sending angels of death after you. but here’s the thing—being hunted doesn’t mean you have to fight alone.”
her gaze softened just a fraction, careful not to overstep but honest all the same. “you’ve been running so long you probably forgot what it feels like to stand your ground with someone beside you. to strategize instead of just survive.” she folded her hands, then gestured gently, almost like painting a vision between them. “there are ways to fight back—alliances to build, knowledge to gather. not just guns and muscle, but information, magic, tech… whatever it takes. and i know people who’ve danced in shadows with powers not unlike yours. people who can watch your back without asking questions or demanding explanations. they might not be as strong as you are, but there's power in numbers.”
sloane gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, the kind that held both reassurance and challenge. “i’m not promising it’ll be easy. this kind of war doesn’t have a playbook. but you don’t have to carry it all alone anymore. we can find a way to make those angels think twice before they come for you.”
her tone grew softer, sincere, like a quiet offer laid out on the table with no pressure, just possibility. “you don’t have to decide now. hell, maybe not even tomorrow. but if you want to stop running, if you want to fight on your terms… i’m here. and i’m listening. now...why don't we work on getting you out of here?”
Although Cereza was not at all use to offers of help, she was pleased to know there were still kind creatures in this world. “Fighting alone usually keeps the collateral damage to a minimum.” She sat upright completely then as she carefully examined her limbs, the evidence she’d been in a struggle quickly fading leaving her skin flawless once again.
“I suppose I should let you in on another piece of my very complicated puzzle if you are going to be supporting me in my troubles…” She pushed her glasses up her nose as she scanned the room, looking for any signs of heavenly interventions. “I am looking for my father’s side of my family. The Lumen Sages are responsible for the near extinction of my Umbra sisters…my mother…”
When she swung her long legs over to stand she noticed something was missing. Her calm, salacious tone shifted in an instant and her aura flared to life. “Where are my weapons?” she asked, her tone low but menacing as she stared at the empty space on her shoes where she kept two enchanted pistols. There were few things she kept sentimental feelings for so the thought of losing them was unfathomable.
‘Scarborough Faire’ were the name of her four pistols: Sage, Rosemary, Parsley and Thyme. They were forged in hell especially to assist her resistance. “I need my guns.” She didn’t. Not really. Cereza had enough power to keep fighting indefinitely, but did she want to?
“You should also know that I do not fight alone. Not exactly.” She added as she stood, removing the hospital gown from her body completely. She was only exposed for a moment, her long obsidian hair stretching around her to form clothing. A full body catsuit with an open back. Her signature look if she had to pick one.
“If Madame Butterfly approves of you. Then I will agree to stay and meet your people.”
