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Chapter One: Infatuation

Warnings: Maize drops a few real curse words.


“Room 303, hallway B, Deluge building,” I repeated the words under my breath; both in an attempt to memorize them and drown out the whispers that haunted me down the hall.

The decision to stay in Willow Creek for an additional week was already biting me in the ass. I had missed Sugar Spring University’s freshman orientation in order to say farewell to my friends back home. and spend one last weekend with my parents. As a result, I found myself hopelessly lost. To make matters worse, conversations stopped mid-tempo when I approached, only to pick up again after I passed. Everyone wanted to talk about me but no one wanted to talk to me.

I fished out a piece of paper from my hoodie, hoping the college provided map would help me orient myself. The map showed the three buildings that composed the campus, each larger than the last. Besides helping me gain my bearings, the map also provided some interesting facts about each building; what year they were built, what studies took place inside, which prominent family had donated towards its construction. The latter was easy, each building shared the family’s surname – Matisse, Prelude, and Endive.

A solid mass rammed into my shoulder, sending me sprawling onto the floor. I hissed in pain, knees throbbing from the sudden impact, but grateful my skull hadn’t been cracked open, brains spewed across the polished tile. That would have been quite the mess for the janitor.

Laughter erupted, dancing circles around me as a trio of berries came into view. A red woman and pink man stood on either side of my assailant, in a V-shaped formation. Their leader was purple, hair short and well kept, lavender eyes darkened with resentment. “Watch where you’re going, color-traitor.” He spat in my direction, and more laughter erupted at his remark.

His accusation was ridiculous, as I hadn’t been going anywhere, but I rose to my feet with a forced smile, “Color-traitor?”

More laughter filled the hallway, swallowing my question beneath its haughty depths. The trio left, the red-haired woman mouthing ‘watch yourself’ before she scampered to catch up with the two men.

I wasn’t sure if it was a warning or threat.

I took a moment to catch my breath, clear my head, and refocus on my destination: Room 303, Hallway B. Only, I didn’t know where the map had gone. “Shit.”

“You stand out enough without using foreign curse words.” I spun around and came face to face with a girl about my age. One hand rested on a jutted hip while the other held out a piece of paper.

I took the map, equal parts thankful and confused. Berry’s official language was English, of that I was certain,“Foreign curse words?”

Her eyes were wide-set and round, though unimpressed, as a single green brow arched delicately over her diamond features, “That’s what I said.”

“But aren’t you speaking English right now?”

“Yes.”

“Then -”

She snorted, cutting the words off my tongue, “Dialects. We use a different dialect of English than…. wherever you’re from. The vernacular that southern women in America use to censor themselves, those types of phrases are used in our dialect to swear.”

I thought back to the screaming of my second-grade teacher after she stubbed her toe, “Like mother fudger?”

She rolled her eyes, expression steeped in boredom, “You stumbled upon one of the worst ones there, didn’t you?”  

“Oh, sorry.” I apologized, but she was already heading down the hall. I followed, quickly falling into place beside her. Though her tone had been condescending, she had been the first person to willingly speak to me since I boarded my plane. “Thank you. For finding my map.”

She glanced at me; looked like she was going to say something. Instead, she elongated her strides.

I did the same. 

Finally, she stopped, whirling to face me, “Why are you following me like a stray dog?”

“Well, I am lost like one.” I flashed her a wide smile. She stared back, expressionless.

“Go find someone else to imprint on.”

“That’s ducks, not dogs.” I corrected.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her narrow nose, “Room 303, right?”


“How did you-”

“You were reciting it like a mantra earlier. Anyways, it’s right there,” She pointed at a door on the right, three doors down from us, “Now if you excuse me, I have my own class to attend.”

“Thank you …” It was only then, after she had entered her classroom, that I realized I had never caught her name, “Damn it.”

***  

Despite getting lost and the short confrontation, I was on time for my first college class. It was a fairly small room, bloated with easels and about a dozen students. I headed towards the nearest available canvas, my pace picking up as I passed the purple terror and his red companion from earlier.

“I wonder if they have that genetic disorder?”

I rolled my eyes at their comment, continuing down the tight row, adjusting my posture as I walked in order to keep my head held high.

“She has too. She is colorless, after all.”

“Looks like all the freaks got accepted this year.”

At the realization that they weren’t talking about me I found myself glancing around the room, attempting to locate the poor soul that found herself at the wrong end of their jabs. I didn’t find the ‘freak’ that they described, but the most beautiful individual I had ever seen.

I can’t tell you what it is about her.

Maybe the curls of her hair.

The flutter of her lashes.

Or the way her delicate hands grip a brush.

What I can tell you is from that day forward I was infatuated.


A/N: For any original readers of mine, this is what you can sort of expect from generation one. The Same overall plot line, just much more fleshed out than the original.

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Prologue: Not Berry Enough

“Look at him.”

“What is he wearing?”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Should someone tell an elder?”

“It’s not technically against the law.”

The onslaught of whispers ricocheted off me as I made my way past the center of Sugar Spring University with my head held high. Curiosity dosed with venom was second nature for all races, it seemed.

You see, I grew up in Willow Creek – home to Vanilla’s and three Berries: Me, my mom and my pops. I was always sort of an outsider there. After all, I was the only child, and eventually teen, Berry in the entire populous. You can’t really blame Vanilla’s for being startled when a yellow individual walks into a room. And when I say yellow I mean completely yellow: hair, eyes, skin, even my unmentionables! Though, my classmates never saw that area.

According to my father, Vanilla’s were not allowed into the country of Berry and Berries were only allowed to leave under special circumstances. My pops said we were a special circumstance, though he never told me why. My mother was more tight-lipped than pops, and always seemed irritated when I brought it up, so eventually, I dropped it. Despite the secretive nature of my parents – and apparently my entire race – I was raised in the Berry culture. Taught that we were supposed to marry within our color. Taught to wear my own color. Hell, I was even named Maize because it is yellow.

The divide between Vanilla’s and Berry’s was thick, and the lack of exposure lead to a lot of teasing and bullying from my classmates. I blamed them when I was young but soon realized that their hate stemmed from the unknown. I was awkward, but I forced myself to keep trying. Eventually, I made a few friends. We had a misfit connection, like many teenagers, and they certainly weren’t the brightest or most popular, but then again, neither was I. The important thing was that we accepted each other, we looked out for each other, and that they taught me to embrace myself. Like many of them, I appreciated an alternative style. In particular, I was fond of the color black and, though it rebelled against everything I was taught, they encouraged me to express myself through my clothing.

I started wearing my normal clothing in the morning, stashing black ones in my backpack. When I arrived at school I would rush to the nearest restroom, change into clothing I liked, and then swap back into my parental approved attire before heading home. I hid it from my parents for years – three years to be exact – but every secret gets exposed eventually.

My secret came to light when the school bully sucker punched me. The fight was over before it began, with me collapsed onto cement outside of second period and a crowd of Vanilla’s laughing at my misfortune. Even though I didn’t lay a finger on the guy – literally – the school called my parents and they… well, they freaked.

Not because I was sporting a black eye and a few new lumps on my face. No, because I was wearing black. How dare I not dress like a Berry? How dare I embrace a culture that was not our own? Their disappointment was stifling, and it only grew worse when my mother went through my dresser and found an entire wardrobe filled with the offensive color. Over the next few days, I overheard my parents debating their options, but they soon decided that a simple grounding wouldn’t fix the problem.

In a desperate attempt to get me to act more like a Berry and less like a Vanilla, they shipped me off to their Berry filled home town. It took almost an entire year before I was properly vetted and allowed access into the country. By then I was old enough to refuse. However, I had long wondered what the country of Berry was truly like, and I didn’t have anything going for me in Willow Creek. 

So, here I am.

Guess I wasn’t Sim enough to be accepted in Willow Creek and not Berry enough to be accepted in Sugar Springs.


A/N: Special thanks to: Pammiechick, Skcaga6, bellagorrilla, thejennifer and cecerose for creating most of the Berries in these scenes!

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Casting Call for Chasing Rainbows

Hey guys.

 

I am going to completely reboot the Chasing Rainbows story using the sims 4. ^_^ I have a casting call located on the forums if you’d like to submit your sim there, or you can leave a comment down here.

You do not have to have colorful skins in your game in order to submit a sim. Just let me know what color you wish your sim to be and I will make it happen. I have all the sims 4 packs/expansions and I do not mind CC.

I need 4-5 characters (Royal, Cephei, Ivy and Scarlett) for the first generation!

Please use the hashtag #ChasingRainbows when you upload them. <3

Gallery ID:
Character Name:
CC Links:
I am the color:
Background (optional):

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Another update

I did decide to start a new, non berry, legacy called The Landon Legacy.

However, I did also create Maize and Cream in the sims 4, and I’m kinda in love with them. I was thinking about re-writing the whole Chasing Rainbows legacy over again (re-creating the scenes in sims 4, getting rid of typos, getting rid of some cringy parts AND adding some details I had wanted to sneak in but forgot to). I could also just play with these two love bird off screen and try to catch all the way up to Lux’s generation in game and just continue from there. What do you guys think?

Either way, here are Maize and Cream in their new world :]

03-13-17_1-11-25 AM03-13-17_1-11-38 AM

 

 

 

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Question about the future of this legacy

So, I have been dying to start writing again and been toying around with the idea of coming back to the sims community to do so. I would love to continue Chasing Rainbows but there are a few issues:

  1. I’m pretty sure I lost all my save files from the Sims 3 (I finally got a new computer because that one was over heating and crashing).
  2. In addition to that, I really prefer the Sims 4 graphics but I do not know how to do/use mods as well in that game because I have never needed them.
  3.  I know where I was going with Lux’s generation for the most part, but some of the details are a little hazy and aren’t fully outlined in my notebook.

Are Berry sims even a thing in the sims 4? I would not mind recreating the family, going through the first two gens by myself real quick (cheating genders and twins where needed) in order to recreate the Spring family in the Sims 4, but I’m not sure how you guys would feel about that.

Would you prefer I just start a new legacy and let the Springs rest in piece? Or would you rather me continue on with this legacy and just move it over to the Sims 4?

If you’d rather the former, I would start the Landon Legacy over again.

I’m not expecting much feed back since it has been years and years since I have posted anything, but if any of my old friends and readers are around, I would love to hear your input.

Wishing you the best,

Arrow.

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Chapter Three: Instincts

A.N: Okay, so it has been SO long since I updated and I apologize for that. I just decided to post this since I haven’t posted anything in forever. There are no pictures yet but I will be updating this post soon. Hopefully everyone didn’t give up on me but I totally would understand if you guys did. Also I hope I didn’t regress a ton as a writer in the past year.  

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Sirens.

 

The air in my lungs turned stale at the sound, anticipation gathering in my legs. Flight or fight was activated and my body was choosing the former.

 

“Windsor!” I cried as blue and red lights began spilling into the alley. I didn’t give him a chance to respond, opting to detain his hand in my own as my feet began to move. We weaved past garbage cans, narrowly dodging an officer as he rounded the corner.

 

“Stop right there!”  A quick glance showed that our pursuer had stopped to fumble with his holster. The alley ended into a wooden fence but there was no hesitation by either of us. Our hands left each others, legs instinctually bending before they propelled us upwards; towards freedom. Fingernails scratched against wood, frantically gripping as I pulled myself up and finally over the barrier that stood between myself and freedom.

 

The sound of our fall was punctuated by a gunshot, the bullet shattering a hole through the fence a few feet to my right. There were no words exchanged between Windsor and I, I had barely even glanced at him, before his callous hands wrapped around my forearm and we were moving again.

 

We moved liked snakes through the slums. Slittering our way down alleys and backstreets, we managed to race the flashing lights until the crunch of gravel beneath our feet drowned out the screeching of police cars It was only then, chests heaving, lungs burning, that we spoke, “Tacha… must have… thought we were…. done.”

 

I slumped against the brick wall behind me, sweat drenching my forehead, “Rosa,” Her name sounded pathetic on my lips, but it was all I could manage as my vision began to blur, “Rosa.”

 

“She’s fine,” Windsor’s soft voice drifted across the night like a cool breeze, “Rosa knows the plan.”

 

She did. We all did. When things went south we were to retreat – pull our hoods up and walk away. There was no point in being a martyr; dying accomplishes nothing, after all.

 

That did nothing to quell the unease that sloshed in my stomach, “What if they caught her first?”

 

Windsor’s blood red gaze held mine as he slowly closed the gap between us, wrapping me up in the warmth of his red skin, “Impossible.” His dark locks brushed against my forehead just enough to tickle.

 

My hands raised, resting against his chest. I allowed myself to fade into his presence for a moment before pushing gently, regaining my composure, “Don’t matter.” I mumbled. And it didn’t. Worrying about Rosa wouldn’t make her safe. I couldn’t change what had or had not happened to her. I could change what happened to me, however.

 

Straightening my shoulders, I gestured to surroundings. While back alleys didn’t change much – rich or poor, they tended to be littered with garbage – the buildings surrounding us were in much better condition than the slums. “Do you know where we are?”

 

“We’re on the border.”

 

I nodded. The buildings weren’t grand – no stained glass or marble architecture – but they were in good shape, fresh paint. I should have known.

 

The border was middle class – Mutts were hardly ever seen here. The rich owned us as slaves, property to use as they saw fit. The slums is where we hid, desperately hiding from police, hunters and pure-breds. The middle class, for the most part, were far too poor to own us but entitled enough to hate us.

 

“We should keep our heads low.” Our pace was brisk but not hurried – should someone see us we didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. Luckily, the sun was just beginning to pierce the night. Most ‘Bows were in bed, sleeping peacefully, and not transversing the city streets. The gentle hum of electricity was accompanied by melodic chirping of birds, only broken by the occasional grinding of rubber against asphalt.

 

I relished in the sounds; in the cool morning air against my dark skin. Moments like these were few and far between. Moments where I could enjoy the small things in life, even if they came while I was being pursued. Then again, when wasn’t I being pursued? My whole life was a game of cat and mouse.

 

“Help!” My musing were ended abruptly, replaced by the tense muscles I had become so accustomed to supporting. The plea came from a back street that intersected with our own a few feet ahead. Two other voices – gruff, demanding – echoed out after fear laced cry. Threats. Taunts. Hatred.

 

I approached the intersection with the intention of ignoring it. ‘Bows and Mutts were hurt and killed everyday. It was none of my business. This city was the embodiment of survival of the fittest and the prey in that alley wasn’t cut out to survive. Windsor had already done just that – not even glancing at the crime taking place.

 

That was my mistake.

 

I spared the briefest of glances, just long enough to sate my curiosity, but long enough for pale pinks to meet my own.

 

I froze.

 

Those eyes. I knew them. Pain flared up, fire eating away at my temples, as fog coated the memory those eyes dredged up. My battered knees scraped the concrete as my fingers intertwined into my hair in a desperate attempt to ease the fire licking it’s way through my skull.

 

“What the heck is wrong with you?” The voice was husky, heavy, as it breathed over me. My jaw clenched as I pried my eyes open to take in the looming form. Male, slightly over-weight and a Mutt. Through the first Mutt’s legs I could see another, this one using his knees to keep a pink pure-bred pinned against the trash laden ground.

 

My hands dislodged from my hair as I pushed past the resounding pain. In one swift movement I was balancing on my palms, legs swinging out from under me as they swept the offending voice into the air. I heard the air hiss through his teeth as he violently crashed down. I was on top of him before he even had time to refill his lungs with oxygen. My fists tangled into his unwashed hair, grease coating my fingertips, as I yanked his head forward and slammed it back down.

 

The crack was sickening.

 

I was back on my feet before the second Mutt had even registered what had just transpired. His eyes were wide, confused, shocked, “But, you’re one of us.”

 

“I am not one of ya,” The loathing dripped from my words, “Ya are no better than the scum ya hate. Two grown men hurting a young boy. You’re a freakin’ disgrace. Get out of here before I beat the snot out of ya.”

 

The man slowly rose to his feet, hands raised in an effort to show that his ill-intentioned actions were over, “Now.” I growled, eyebrows furrowed at his snail like pace. He needed no other prompting as he scrambled down the road, disappearing into the early morning.

 

Instinct is a funny thing. Those two men were my kin – they knew the pain I endured because they themselves had gone through it. Every Mutt living in Starburst Shores knew it. And yet the fear present in those young pink eyes fueled my actions.
I sighed, not daring to make eye contact with those pink orbs again. Instead I turned on my heels, stepped over the limp body that separated me from my exit, and swore not to look back.

———————–

A.N: Oh, if you guys hate me updating without pictures I’ll cease to do so, by the way. I just thought I’d give you a little something instead of nothing since my SIMS computer is at my mother’s house and I don’t live there anymore, thus making picture taking a once a week (if I’m lucky) type of deal.

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Helios’ Story: Mistresses and Paupers

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I had a habit of breaking the rules.

It wasn’t intentional – I was well aware of my status within the Puff Estate. Being a slave meant you were dispensable. Being dispensable meant performing your assigned tasks to perfection. But, how was I supposed to lie in bed when my mind was restless and the night sky whispered my name on every breeze? Where was I supposed to stow my curiosity when a fresh batch of scones had just escape the oven, summoning salvia to my mouth? How was a young man supposed to abstain from sexual relationships when surrounded by more than willing participants? And most importantly, how was a brother supposed to sit complacent when his sister was missing?

I slipped into the gardens unnoticed, fruity perfume clinging to my clothes, lipstick staining my collar. I was disheveled at best – shirt unbuttoned, pants unzipped – as I mulled over my partner. An adulterous and unsatisfied middle age woman willing to divulge rumors of a purple haired, golden eyed mutt: at a price. You might say I was selling myself for information.

I’d say I was killing two birds with one stone.

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The gardens were in full bloom that evening, spectacular colors dotting green walkways. I did my best to keep my footsteps silent in the dying light – heels planting firmly on the ground before rolling steadily onto the balls of my feet. It worked, much like it had in the past, until sniffling broke my concentration. In a hurry to locate the source, a twig snapped under my foot, sounding more akin to the bite of a whip in the still air. The sniffling ceased just as my attention settled on a bundle of pink; her eyes brimmed with tears, yet filled with dignity as they met my own.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was commanding, strong, as she straightened her back. She made no attempt to unfurl her knees from her chest, or to wipe the trails of wetness from her cheek.

“Neither should you.” I replied, unthinking as I buttoned my pants.

The skin between her brows wrinkled, lips tugging down in annoyance. The tilt of her head and the set of her jaw was adorable, “Do you know who I am?”

“I do,” She was Guava Puff, daughter to the man who owned me, “And I also know that your bedtime was an hour ago.”

“Bedtime!” Her voice cracked as she cried out, “I am twenty years old. I do not have a bedtime.”

“Your father seems to believe differently.”

She paused at that, pondering over my words carefully, “You won’t tell him, will you?”

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“If I did you would just snitch on me. Only, my punishment would be far worse than your own, milady.”

“Milady?” She squeaked, shocked, “That’s so… ancient.”

I laughed, allowing the tension to ease out of my shoulders at the sudden turn of conversation. Guava’s personal attendants spoke positively of the woman in private – that she was sweet and kind; though I had no personal experience myself. I had, however, grown up in the Puff Estate. As such, her beauty was of no surprise. I had seen her from afar copiously, though her dimples were enamoring up-close, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“You know who I am but haven’t introduced yourself yet. A rather rude misstep for someone who speaks so politely.“

“Lady Puff, you can call me whatever you desire.” If there was one thing I had learned over the years, it was how to play their game.

“What’s your name?”

“Helios.”

“Then I shall address you as such.” Silence enveloped the two of us and, had she been anyone else, I would have made to leave. But she wasn’t just anyone – she was Guava Puff – which meant I would not be taking one step towards my bedroom until dismissed.

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Finally her legs stretched out across the dirt, pale pink skin cover by glossy sheer skirts. I noticed she wasn’t wearing shoes, her toes wiggling freely, “I suppose you are wondering why I was crying.”

“Not enough to risk asking.”

“Because it is not your place?” She asked, curiosity tinting her tone.

“If I were to speak freely,” I paused, silently waiting for her answer. It came as a nod, soft curls bobbing around her heart shaped face, “When ladies cry it is usually the fault of a lad. Women allow their hearts to run amok.”

“Oh? And how would you know such things? I would not think a man of your status would have much experience with the opposite sex.”

“I have enough – more than you, surely.”

Her cheeks flushed, her pink skin burning scarlet, “What do you know about me? We’ve never exchanged a single word before today!”

Her scolding left me with two options: Feigning regret, which would result in an apology from me and show of poise from her. Or I could continue to tease her, testing the boundaries between us. I decided the second option would be far more entertaining. At the very least I’d get to see her pretty little features scrunched up in anger.

“I know you like your tea with two sugars, that you sleep with a light on. I know dozens of men have come here desiring your hand only to be rejected. I know that your father isn’t forgiving or understanding. I know you’ve healed wounds he’s inflicted.” The words streamed from my mouth, the sentences weaving together, and her facial expressions did the same. Disbelief to embarrassment to sorrow but never the anger I had anticipated.

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Slowly, as if she had forgotten I was present, she tottered onto her bare feet. Her hand raised, steady where her legs hadn’t been, and I closed my eyes in response. Her hand met my cheek without pain, no snap of skin slapping skin. Instead her thumb outlined my jaw, “You’re right. I am crying over a boy.” By the time I dared open my eyes again, tears had already begun to spill over. How was one supposed to react to their superior crying? Instinct told me to hold her, but even the briefest of embraces could send me to the gallows, “But not because he broke my heart.”

And she was gone, skirts whooshing through the gardens before I could fathom a reply.

I had broken many rules over the course of my enslavement.

But falling in love with Guava was unintentional.

A.n: So, during the heir vote Helios and Lux were my favorites but I’ve decided that Lux winning doesn’t mean that his story has to be told solely through flashback conversations with her. It might take a small amount of mystery out of Lux’s generation (as you now know that Helios is, indeed, alive) but oh well. I wanted to tell his story, at least a little. I don’t plan on this being more than five or six chapters though. :]

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Chapter Two: It’s Foggy at Best

We were given blueprints of a pawnshop that was nestled into the corner of a street just a few blocks from our own. It was rundown despite being owned by a wealthy man, its appearance inconspicuous among the neglected neighborhood. Hiding in plain sight, no one would suspect that a goldmine of government information lay buried in its basement. Applesin’s instructions were clear – in and out, don’t be seen, seize whatever we could get our grubby little fingers on. If caught, we would not be recused. Any traitors would be tracked down and punished.
Mixen did not tolerate snitches.

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After the briefing, Windsor was pulled aside. Tacha went back to his card game and Rosaline pretended to be busy. I knew I should follow their lead, busy myself with some mundane task until Windsor returned, but I had never been good at quelling my curiosity. Instead I waited until the door closed, concealing my advance, before hastily pressing my ear against the door.

“It’s been years since someone’s tried to contact her.” Even muffled by whispers and wood, I could distinguish Windsor’s soft voice from Applesin’s. The girl they were referring to was a mystery to me – Rosa and I were both orphans, no had ever tried to find either of us.

“Now is not the time to become complacent,” Applesin warned, “And your other job?”

“It’s going… good,” I could picture Applesin’s scowl at Windsor’s hesitation.

“You’re running out of time, good won’t cut it for much longer,” Shuffling punctuated the silence before Applesin continued, “I need results, Windsor. When I entrusted you with this job you said-“

“I know what I said and it hasn’t changed.” I found my eyebrows arched in astonishment. Windsor had never interrupted Applesin before. Hell, no one I knew would even entertain the idea of interrupting Applesin. He had saved us, all of us, in one way or another.

“Then do it.” The inflection coloring Applesin’s tone was that of a dare and no farewell was given as the sound of footsteps reverberated through the walls.

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I didn’t want Windsor to catch me eavesdropping so I did a quick about-face, practically throwing myself onto the floor next to Rosaline, as the doorknob began to turn. My face was flushed, breathing heavy, but Windsor’s brilliant red eyes took no notice. Instead they flared with determination, his voice darkened by anger.
“We’re going tonight.”

And there was no room for arguing.

*

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The night air was heavy, humidity causing my chaotic curls to frizz and stick to skin. The only lights illuminating the desolate street were rusting streetlamps, their aura flickering inconsistently. I chewed the inside of my cheek as my sneakers scuffed concrete, eyes down and hood up. Windsor had taken it upon himself to sneak inside the pawnshop while Rosa and I played look out on opposite corners. There wasn’t much to look out for though; police rarely patrolled this part of town. If a crime happened here, at this time of night, the victim would more than likely be a Mutt. We weren’t worth the tax payers’ dollars to serve or protect.

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My eyes fell on Rosaline’s thin form as she shivered across the way. Limited lighting made distinguishing her facial expression tricky, but when our eyes met there was no mistaken the worry. She didn’t have to say why. Windsor had been inside for thirty minutes now, much longer than our anticipated completion time. I dragged my gaze away from hers and focused on the pawn shop composed of crumbling bricks. There was no movement inside the dirt stained windows, just the eerie stillness that came with night.

Five more minutes, I decided. I’d give Windsor five more minutes before going in after him.

My eyes kept drifting towards the vacant windows until my feet were soon following suit. While there shouldn’t have been any danger lurking inside the diminutive building, Windsor could have hurt himself. It seemed unlikely that the robust male would make such an amateur mistake but the thought wormed its way into my brain and I couldn’t shake it.

I hesitated at the back door, the brass knob cool in the palm of my hand. Tacha had stayed behind, laptop in hand, in order to override any security measures that the shop may have in place. However, Tacha had no way of communicating with us. He only had the plan to work off of and, according to the plan, we shouldn’t be here. Would the alarm still be disarmed?

Windsor was family, one of the only individuals I could count on. Applesin had been the one to find me, the first memory I could recall before the fog started, but Windsor had been the one to make feel welcome. He was the one to teach me how to steal when I was nine – how to keep my head low, steps even, as I fled a crime scene. He had been the one to demonstrate how to avoid the police when I was eleven and our freedoms were stripped away due to law. At sixteen, Windsor was the one who showed me a smart woman had the upper hand on any man if she wasn’t afraid to use her body.

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Leaving Windsor behind wasn’t an option.

I opened the door; eyes clenched shut, half expecting the silence to be shatter by shrill alarms. Thankfully, my ears were spared the agony and I was engulfed in darkness as the door clicked shut behind me. “Windsor?” I whispered into the void, but my hushed voice received no response. Steps small and tentative, I tried my best to visualize the blueprints, heading straight for where the cellar should have been.

The floorboards groaned under my feet, crying with every displacement of weight, until a hallow thud floated through the quiet. I froze, blindly running my hands along the dirt caked wood. My nose scrunched up as the dust built up under my nails, clinging to skin. Smooth metal disrupted the coarse wood proving that my hunch had been correct. The cellar door flung open with a single yank and I peer down into the abyss with curiosity. The darkness mimicked the night sky; the sole exception: pale rays of light streaming in from under a closed door. I used them to my advantage, tip-toeing down dilapidated stairs until sturdy ground took its place. Windsor’s name left my lips, cut short by an itch in my throat. I pressed forward, ignoring my cough and the dust coating the air, opening the door with zero hesitation.
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There were bookshelves inside; tall and wide and filled to the brim with thick, aging covers. They coated three walls of the cellar and Windsor was scouring one, eyes narrowed against the shadows, a single candle in hand. Relief flooded my system, shoulder relaxing, as a quick scan of his stature signaled he was unharmed. The feeling was fleeting, the back wall coming into view as I approached. Instead of bookshelves, pictures lined the dank bricks. Pictures of Mutts.

Pictures of me.

There were a dozen or so, and while I varied in age, there was no mistaken they were of me. My eyes were wide, yellow, innocent, and always no older than nine. As if in a trace, I stepped closer, imprinting the images to memory. There was one in particular, one of me and three boys, that demanded my attention. We were all close in age, all of similar color, all mutts. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to recall the memory the image was provoking, fighting through fog into sandboxes and laughter, when fire coursed through my temples. A strangled cry escaped my throat as the vague image was consumed in gray, the burning piercing through any coherent thoughts I might have formed.

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“Lux. What are you doing down here?” Windsor. I could feel his hands on my shoulder. His touch did nothing to quell the pain; instead his fingertips on my skin coincided with the fire exploding within my temples, piercing my consciousness. I felt concrete skin my knees as I fell, body wrenching in pain as I tried to create space between us. Tears poured down my cheeks, coughs punctuating my screams, until the pain left as suddenly as it had come.

My eyes fluttered open, vision blurred by tears and darkness. Windsor was standing over me, confused, “What was that?”

I didn’t have an answer for him. When I tried to remember the past the fog had always been present; the pain dull and throbbing. Never this serious. Then again, I had never been so close to remembering something before. Even now I could picture the scenery, feel the sun on my skin and the sand in-between my toes.

“Nothin’.” I muttered, clambering to my feet. My knees stung, cut up and sore, but I ignored them, “What took ya so long?”

Windsor took the topic change in stride, “There was a lot more to shift through than I thought. I think I found something, though.” For the first time I noticed Windsor had a myriad of books under his right arm.

“Let’s get out of ‘ere.” Windsor didn’t bring up my fit again or the collage, for that matter. Neither did I. Not because I wasn’t curious, the fact that the Resistance had been watching me as a child chilled me to the bone, but because I knew Windsor didn’t have the answers.

I’d have to find them on my own.

*

A.N: Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry it’s been so long since my last real entry. I ended up cutting this short just to get it out to you guys. X_X

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Special: Red Like Roses

A.N:  This special is just lyrics and pictures. If you want to listen to the song, you can do so here.  However, the lyrics do not start until about a 1:30 into the song.

__________

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I couldn’t take it couldn’t stand another minute

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couldn’t bear another day without you in it

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all of the joy that I had known for my life

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was stripped away from me the minute that you died

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to have you in my life was all I ever wanted
but now without you I’m a soul forever haunted

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can’t help but feel that I had taken you for granted
no way in hell that I can ever comprehend this

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I wasn’t dreaming when they told me you were gone

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I was wide awake and feeling that they had to be wrong

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how could you leave me when you swore that you would stay

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now I’m trapped inside a nightmare every single fucking day

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It’s like a movie but there’s not a happy ending
every scene fades black and there’s no pretending

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this little fairy tale doesn’t seem to end well

there is no knight in shining armor who will wake me from the spell

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I know you didn’t plan this

you tried to do what’s right

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but in the middle of this madness
I’m the one you left to win this fight

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Red like roses
fills my head with dreams and finds me
always closer
to the emptiness and sadness
that has come to take the place of you

*

If anyone has any questions about the special, feel free to ask below.

I know the song format can be a little confusing but hopefully ya’ll like it.