It's amazing

There was a silent ticking of a clock somewhere in the house. The sound of paper flying around in the air and then hitting the ground in larger bunches.
It was exactly four weeks, two hours and forty-two seconds since she had realised that someone was following her. Or at least that was what the mind started telling her, as she kept seeing him, feeling him nearby. Not to say that she might have ended up stalking him, because she was sure at first that he was just a paranoid image of her mind, putting together scenarios that she was still back in hell going through the same nightmare over and over. But as she kept seeing him, she had to conclude that he was real, and he had some type of connection to hell. What, well, that was what she was trying to figure out. More so, she needed to be sure he wasn’t put on her tail so that he could force her back to her torture.
But so far, she hadn’t found any proof of who he was or that he was even trying to put her back where she belonged. Into the cage, she had spent the last thousand years getting out of—and it was starting to frustrate her to such an extent that she completely forgot time and place as she kept moving through the house with little care for the fact that he might be home any second.

The only way to see if she had been startled or not was the slight tension in her shoulders. Over a thousand years in hell, it would either break you or make you expect everything and nothing all at once. You were constantly on edge, and even though it was clear to see that she was a broken soul, if not in how she carried herself, then if you dared look into her eyes.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the lump that had temporally formed. Then she turned as a wicked smile curled over her lips, parting the normally beautiful face into something far more sinister. “No, I’m not a maid”, she declared, then followed his silhouette as he walked over to get himself a glass.
Well, maybe this was for the best; now that she clearly hadn’t been able to find anything on him while rummaging around in his house, she would just go straight to the source. She let her magic swallow her and made her appear just in front of him, her hand grabbing his neck and forcing him up against the wall.
Her strength easily compared with a blood demon rather than with an ordinary witch. “Who the fuck are you, and what do you want with me” she snarled, her eyes narrowing as the room slowly darkened, deprived of the light to feed her hell magic.

When his fingers closed around her wrist to get it away from his neck, her lips widened, and her eyes turned almost manic. “Stop deflecting; I’m the one asking the questions” her voice dropped a few octaves, almost rumbling in the quiet room. She could, of course, just kill him and then start a spell to retract his memories to figure out just who he was. But even if that would make her life and this entire situation so much easier, something in her stirred, and he almost intrigued her enough to not just end him right there and then. But only just enough.
A laugh formed in the back of her throat, and almost as if she was looking at a lover, she stepped closer, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. A soft hum left her, sounding more like a kitten than the paranoid and irrational woman that she had become after she had died.
“One way or another, you’ll give me what I want”, she snarled; the smile and flirting attitude vanished as the morning dew when the sun hit the leaves.
She moved her hand and placed it against his chest, spreading hellfire from her fingertips into his skin around his heart. “Who are you” she hissed, her eyes narrowing once again, moving closer so her lips were only a few inches away from him; enough so she could stare directly into his eyes, scanning them for any lies he would string together and tell her.

Her eyes lit up in intrigue when he grabbed her hand and asked if she thought it hurt him. It took her breath away, and a laugh left her as he pushed her away; she made herself limp, which ended up with her turning her body and ended up hitting the desk where she had been rummaging around in trying to find some sort of lead. A giggle left her; her fingers danced over the cut on her lip. She could easily have manoeuvred her body and ensured she wouldn’t take more than a few steps backwards. So why was she lying on the ground with her long legs sprawled on the floor like a damsel in distress? Well, it always helped with people underestimating you. Seem just crazy enough not to pose a threat or weak enough for someone to think that you might not be as strong as first believed.
She liked her blood, the bitter and awful taste forming on her tongue as she got up on her legs again. The wicked smile subdued until her face had fallen in completely neutral folds. “You can’t fool me, and I’m not about to go before I know exactly what type of threat you pose to me” she lifted her hand, and this time she used her powers to force his body straight against the wall; you could almost hear the pressure of his body against the plaster.
Her blood started to drift in the air as she used it as an offering to use more of her powers than usual, making her far stronger. “But if you won't give me what I need, I should just kill you and pry that little head of ours open, pull each of your dirty little memories out in the open”, she chuckled, tilting her head and taking in his expression and reaction to her words.

She was getting annoyed, scared even—because he wasn’t giving her anything, and it took her back to the trials she had gone through to get out. How she had killed, murdered and forgiven things that she would rather have been without. The torment and torture she had endured just because she was born a witch—she had never done anything evil in her life. Instead, life had taken from her. Over and over.
An annoyed scream left her as she flew towards him; by the sheer force of her anger, she pushed them through the wall, making her end up on top of her, her hand once again closed around his throat, squeezing it so he could get any air down to his lungs.
She wanted to see the life leave his eyes, and then she could get the things she needed in silence without him perturbing her.
“I’m not going back”, she hissed, leaning closer, so her nose was pressed against his “, and I’ll kill anything and anyone that poses a threat to my freedom” behind all the anger and insanity, there was a flicker of fear as she heard chains behind her; this time it was her own mind playing tricks on her. Fear shot through her body, and she could feel the cold shivers down her spine.  Fresh wounds started to form on her arms as she needed the power from the blood sacrifice to keep away whatever monster that was crawling out of the whole, wanting to take her back. Her grip around his neck had slowly lessened as she no longer looked at him but the empty spot in the room, where she saw a monster crawling toward her.

For that very moment, she was being pulled back into memories. Violently remembering how she had been burned and flayed alive, only to come back again the next day for more torture. How she had gotten out, only to think that this was just another part of a trial, that she was still back in hell and all of this? This was just her mind trying to deal with the pain—so naturally, she thought that the man Theo Alcott was someone that was in hell with her, another torturer and a trial she needed to overcome. But how? That she did not know, it wasn’t until he told her that it wasn’t real. She hadn’t even noticed how he had gasped and coughed after air “shut it”, she hissed, turning her attention back to him, but instead of taking his throat like before, she grabbed his wrist and pinned them on each side of his body, a little above his head. “You’ll make me think this isn’t real; you’re just part of a trial, aren’t you? Tell me how to get out!” she shouted, angry tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “I can feel it in you”, she hissed in a much lower voice letting their faces be inches apart once more. “I feel the corruption, I know that you have been in hell, or maybe we are still in it; I honestly don’t know anymore” blood was dripping from the scars that had formed over her arms and throat. Not a single drop was wasted; however, each one was sacrificed to make the hell magic inside her pound through her veins, ready to strike when needed.

“Why?” a manic burst of laughter left her as she looked at him, her eyes scanning his facial features; it was only now that she realised how beautiful he was; it was almost making her believe even more that this was a creature of hell sent to torment her. “it’s just part of your plane, of course” she theorised even though the volume of her voice dropped a few octaves, it was clear that something was getting through to her, and it only reinforced the fear; because if he wasn’t part of hell, and he wasn’t here to take her back or kill her—then she had broken into an innocent man’s home, and almost killed him? A gasp left her, and she got off him as if she had burned herself. Scrambling back, she pushed her hands and used her feet to make her back hit the wall. This time the fear was real, paralysing even; she couldn’t even recognise herself anymore. She wasn’t this brutal; she had never been this. The blood glided down her arms and formed small puddles by her fingertips.

It only lasted a minute. The fear that had blossomed in her chest and gripped the features of her face, it was almost enough to let the old Olivia shine through as she sat there, not knowing what to do with herself. Maybe it wasn’t even a minute, perhaps only a second? Or was it far longer. Time. It was probably the thing she had the most problem with understanding after coming back. She could feel seconds like hours and hours like seconds. Suddenly realising that she had been cooped up inside of the small apartment she had found for her and Quentin for days without realising it.
It was a reflex, and as he pointed toward her head, she grabbed his wrist, and the scared woman was gone, replaced with the fierce and powerful witch she had become. Her eyes almost sparked with fire as they connected with his, but she didn’t do anything other than keep her hand around his wrist, almost as if that right now was his anchor. Her lips started to move, and a spell was cast; the damage and mess she had made slowly got back into the state that she had found the house in; that being said, she could still end up destroying it all and kill him in the process. But for now, she was silent.

By using him as supporting weight, she got back up on her feet, her hazel brown eyes taking him in as if it was the first time she truly saw him—well, if this wasn’t a way to make someone acquainted, she didn’t know what was. Clearly, every other meeting would be boring after this. “Well, that depends on what you’re offering Theo Alcott” she purred his name before walking over and leaning up against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest while she watched his every move. How he let his fingers, long and slender, closed around the flask and started pouring into the glass. She was still preparing herself that he might end up acting out, attacking her because she had done so to him; it wouldn’t surprise him, even if she were somewhat convinced that she had read the situation wrong, and he, like her, was an unfortunate soul that had once spent time in hell—that was the reason why he had scared her because she could feel the energy within his soul, how he was supposed to be dead, withered and turned into dust. “So, are you often attacked and violated in your own home, or have your years made you wise enough to keep your head cool; in my experience, men never grow up that much”, she mused, reaching out to take the glass he was offering her.

She laughed. “I am rather rude, aren’t I? the Problem is I don't really care much for whose feelings I might end up hurting, if I did we wouldn't be talking like we are right now”, she mused; “even if I was the one breaking into your home; and well, no, I gathered as much;” she took a step closer to him, tilting her head up so she could let her eyes study his face. Time in hell had her made unaware of where the line was between people and the personal sphere “but isn’t that why you invited me to drink with you, so you’ll tell me who you were?” she asked, lifting her well-taken care of brow.
Now, she could nod in agreement that this place was far scarier than the one down in hell. At least there, you knew what you were dealing with. Here you never knew. An angel could be out to kill you, and the demon would be the one helping you over the street. You never knew, and there was nothing but chaos in the cosmos that God had tried to create. It was just like murphy’s law; what could go wrong would go wrong.
“But if introductions are to be made, I’ll try to find my well-hidden manners” her eyes narrowed as a soft exhale left her; “I’m Olivia Jones;” now, Jones was a rather used last name, and even though she was a witch there was no reason to expect that she was one of those Jones. But you never knew around these parts; someone might easily make the connection.

Her head moved to the side; she gathered that there would be a reason why he had changed his name; it wasn’t often you met people that had lived as long as they had and kept the same name throughout the years—even if her uncle had been hell-bent on keeping his name, even though she had always thought it would bring in a lot of trouble, especially given that there were people out there that didn’t know about the supernatural world.

Olivia’s hazel eyes narrowed playfully when he asked what had landed her in hell; “that is something I tell people on the fourth date, not the first”, she mused with a cheeky grin forming over her lips before lifting her glass to her mouth to take a sip. The smooth liquid warmed her tongue and down her throat as she sank it. It didn’t burn as average cheap whiskey would.
Now, it wasn’t easy to surprise a paranoid mind because they were always on edge, always expecting the worst thing—but when he asked if she knew about Judas Iscariot, she almost choked on the second mouthful of whiskey that she had taken. “Are you telling me that you are the Judas?” she asked; she was old enough to know the tale; even if she weren’t, everyone that had been going to school would know about the friend that ratted out Jesus that ended his life on the cross. Then a laugh left her “oh, I see, I’ve gotten this backwards” she moved even closer, her chest against his; “you have as about as many enemies that I have”, she whispered, lifting her hand she let her fingertips glide over his face, feeling the hellish energy vibrate underneath her fingertips. “My mate killed me, he pulled the wool over my eyes, and I thought he wanted to be with me, but when we were to consummate the bond, he rejected me—I died before my family had a chance to get to me” she explained, “say, why did you end up in hell? Because if you hadn’t told them where to find Jesus, he would never have been able to return from the dead, only to prove his Godly linage?” she wondered, people ended up in hell for the oddest reasons.

There was a tug, that small one she knew from when one had a mate—not that Judas was standing on her collarbone; there wasn’t any name on her collarbone these days, almost as if it was deciding whether she was capable of having a mate or not; but she knew that one day a new name would come, and she would have to deal with the power and consequences of having someone once again in the world, that would be able to put her back in the hell she had clawed herself out off. No, it was the pull that one could feel when you met someone that matched your chemistry, and even if she had tried to kill him at first; broken into his home, she could see the craving hidden away in his deep brown eyes; a longing for someone that understood—someone that didn’t judge but rather, was fascinated with standing before the very man which name was used as an insult—which was why she elegantly managed to leave his question unanswered about where her former mate was.
Her eyes followed his fingers that removed small debris from her hair; “angels and their punishment”, she scoffed; “I’ve seen brothers and sisters being burned at the stake, just because they were who they were—angels may be the evilest creature there is” because they went against everything that had been said about the creator of life here in this dimension. Because if God hadn’t intended evil, why did he create it? “Why did you take the money?” she wondered; “was it for yourself, because it was for someone you loved? Why did you betray your friend?” she asked; no malice was detected in her voice. Instead—she was curious to hear his point of the story. There were always two sides to a story, and it wasn’t every day that you could stand before one of the stories that hadn’t been told.

She hadn’t even realised that she had forgotten to breathe. But as his story had unfolded, it had been hard not to be pulled in. To imagine what the world would have been like today if he hadn’t stepped in and taken the role of the villain. But why, if Jesus had asked it of him, had he been punished so severely? Couldn’t they just have marked him the villain, and then he could have lived his life as if nothing had happened? This continuous punishment for something he had willingly done because he wanted to help his friend. It didn’t make sense to her.
A soft, shaky breath left her as her tongue glided over her lips; “do you regret it?” she could have said a million other things, but that was the most prominent question in her mind if he regretted it or not. Or had it been worth it? She wondered if he knew what he knew now and was back in the same spot, would he make the same choice? Because that would mean that he wouldn't be here today, he would be dead, and someone else had taken his spot.