Snippet #2548900

SALEM WITCH

Salem was mighty proud of herself, for what she had done was incredibly bold. No witch before was as bold as she and none ever would be. Without using an ounce of magic she was able to secure a young boy, but alas, he was not attractive in the least. However she had no idea she would attract another boy, about nineteen she’d say. Within seconds it seemed the skinny youngster was detached from her curvaceous body and was replaced with the teen that had done the detaching. He burrowed his lime green eyes into her witchy, cutesy, heart shaped soul and it gave her a trill inside. She chewed her bottom lip and her cheeks burned red for a second- not wanting to admit that this weapon, for she could tell he was a weapon, was absolutely, without a doubt, a first rate hottie.

Unlike the last boy, he was totally her type. Clean cut, incredibly handsome, well-shaped, toned, and looked very suave. His voice made her knees weak. Yet all of this she shook off and was defiant against getting the help of a weapon. She needed no weapon-certainly not. The very thought made her stomach twist in a knot. It was enough to make her grapes sour. Yet something about him magnetized her to him and besides, she really needed assistance. She would take his lead but hoped not to see him ever again. It just wasn’t fair that a weapon- the thing she so despised- be so godly. She tossed her hair to the side when he said,

“You are something else you know that?”

She wished he would have stopped there, she had such a witty, cocky reply but of course like a boorish, insensitive, discourteous little jerk he decided on telling her what she already knew. She knew very well that weapons slaughtered her kind for their own amusement. It sickened her. She loathed them. How she longed for them to disappear from existence or at least have the decency to respect all creatures as mortal beings. After all, witches are people too. Unfortunately for her she had not the grace of being allowed to speak back to him, he was very to-the-point, just like a brute. All weapons were like that to her, they seemed to have a chip on their shoulder and none more than he.

She tried to make idle chatter on the way there, just so she wouldn’t have to die in silence- she was a chatty person by nature- but he shut that down quickly. He was absolutely uncivil, a real pig-head. This boiled her over, it really did, but she remained lady like, and kept her arms crossed underneath her bosoms so that they peered out from her top to greet the hungry eyes of all the student body. She took pleasure in seeing their jaws drop, seeing their eyes watch her hips as they swung left and right, but she turned her nose upwards at all the harsh comments she got. She was a strong girl and didn’t cry much but the words they chose for her, the venomous words that were as strong as sticks and stones most assuredly, wounded her deeply.

They’ll get theirs. They’ll see. This was her thought, a butter thought, an almost evil thought. The slightly twisted part of her that was hidden somewhere deep down-only reserved for those that were too blind to see past what her blood-line dictated her to be. Her delicate gloved fingers curled around a loose strand of green hair until she was inside the large hallway of guillotines that lead into Lord Death’s office. She surveyed the area grimly. Gee, he sure knows how to make a witch feel welcome.
As she sauntered in, sparing no detail in making sure all her finest assets were showing while scoffing at the boy’s words, she put on her sweetest voice and charm that she had gained while being held in her posh abode as something of a little princess. Just when she was about to curtsy to his “majesty” she was stopped by the sound of his unusual, comedic voice which was followed suit by an even more laughable appearance. She had never seen the great and might Lord Death who ripped off the kishin’s skin and sealed him away; who took a thousand witches soul, who was the reaper to surpass all reapers in person. She only saw posters, pictures, and heard stories. Seeing him up close was a hell of a lot different.

It took all the lady in her to hold back the high-pitched laughter that bubbled like a brew inside of her. She let out a few choice snickers here and there-it was beyond her power, she could not hold it back. Lucky for her Lord Death did not seem to notice it. The Dolt, She thought insensitively, nearly scoffing inside her head. He was unbelievable, really, how could someone so foolish sounding and silly looking even have the name Lord Death. The title belonged to some hard-core, tattooed, towering symbol of monstrous power. She had heard, once, he was a fearsome looking thing that made the very soul of Eibon tremble. She chose to deny that now. What a hypocrite this made her, thing those who judged from outward appearances and yet she did it now.

As she was introduced she curtsied like a real proper lady of the court, deep and beautiful, with an innocent sprightliness to her. She added a jovial smile with flushed cheeks. All in all she was adorable, completely innocent looking. She knew that. He ushered out a slight threat, a threat of murderous intent. HA! If only she was nearly as insolent as the male, whose name was apparently Cory, then she would have laughed right in his face. He would not dare lay a hand on her. She would not allow it. Imagine how he would of looked, too, mercilessly butchering a timid, goodly witch who was dressed in pink. He would be taken for a Satanist, something more inhuman than he already was. A true death god. A monster. A kishin.

In fact, something about Cory rung as Kishin-ish. Maybe it was his cold distance, maybe it was his inconsiderate, brisk tone, or maybe it was his eyes which reflected no warmth, no kindness, no compassion….no soul. She refused to admit he was interesting. Refused. She was focused on the words that Lord Death had said. He was giving her a chance to explain herself. Of course he was, he could not refuse her. She was a cheerful little cherub for his sake and he would not say a direct no to a face as sweet as hers at least that’s what she thought. Though she detested the derogatory term of ‘witch’, she put up with it. Now was time to strut her stuff-to be poise and prim like she was taught in her aristocratic life before becoming a full time witch.

She stepped forward, hands behind her back with a little pout. Oh it was time, time for a sob story, time for battering of the eyelashes, time for crocodile tears and strained words of purity. She would become the child most confused her as, if only to make a good impression. She had long ago abandoned her wealth and prosperity that was much too stuffy for a lifestyle that was free and fabulous. Now she harkened back to it, using all the noble ladyship for which she was bestowed and courteousness, to win him over. She looked him right in his eye sockets.

“Please, Lord Death, hear my plea. I want nothing more than to see what life is like on the other side of the fence and live normally. I want to research you and find out how you live. If you can see it in your heart to let me be here, I promise not to use any of my witch powers unless I am in battle. My witch life brings nothing but trouble and hatred. It makes me cry at night. I want to understand, I want to live freely, I want acceptance. Can you give me the key to said acceptance? If not I will continue to sell flowers at my shop, flowers that you yourself use I see.”

It was almost incredible how well thought out this was, being that she had literally pulled it out of her round, perky behind. She nodded toward the vase of flowers sitting on Lord Death’s table at the end of her sentence with a jovial yet bashful beam on her lovely face. She watched as Lord Death seemed to genuinely think about his decision. If all failed Salem would be distraught for this would ruin all her plans of making merry mischief like the fox she was but it would not be too terribly bad. It would depress her for a bit but she would find something else to do-perhaps go shopping with Blair or something. Yet all her fears were dashed away when Lord Death gave her a simple,

“Yeah, Why not? After all I’m not some prude who lives in the past.”

She could have cried out with joy and danced right on the spot. Hell, she would have grabbed that sorry excuse for a weapon next to her and dance with him-but…but then Lord Death had to add something else, some provisos, some limitations, some rules. Sure he had some sympathy for her, and he had accepted a witch there once upon a time though that was a whole other story, but he refused to let her roam freely without rule. There was no way in hell he would do that. No sir. He interrupted her short-lived squeak of excitement with a serious tone but his chipper chirp of a voice.

“But-” Oh but how she started to spurn the word ‘but’ just then if she hadn’t already, “But you must get rid of that attire-it screams witch. You are a going to be a DWMA student now, you need to dress normal.”

Normal? Normal?! NORMAL?!! Who was he to talk about normal?! What a charlatan! Has he ever looked at himself in that mirror he uses so often? He was the entire opposite of normal. Everyone was. People who turned into weapons, other people who wielded them, demons, devils, death gods, kishin-All these had or were residing in his school at one point or another. How in the world was that to be called this mundane, over-used word called “normal”? Furthermore this was how she looked, was there a problem with the way she looked? Goodness but he was picky but alas, she had no say in the matter.

“Of course, whatever you like. Is there anything else?” She questioned, with a slight touch of annoyance hidden with strings of politeness laced in her wording.

“Sure do kiddo! Just one last thing before you are formally accepted, you need a weapon. I won’t hear any arguing about this, it’s a requirement. I have already chosen your weapon too, isn’t that great? Your new weapon will be Cody!”

Salem’s jaw almost reached the ground while her captivating plum colored eyes, which usually glowed with mirth and life, were devoid of any at the moment. They were round as dinner plates which left her with a shocked and crestfallen appearance. First he told her to change her wardrobe, then he was forcing her to take upon the very thing that she so detested, and then…then…then that weapon would be that unbearably icy boy who stood there, who had all but shut her out, who was so ill-mannered and unpleasant that it made her vomit- was to be her weapon?! She could of tore out her luxurious, long, long ivy locks and screamed bloody murder. It was too much too handle and suddenly what started out as just childlike tomfoolery, a little bit of fun and excitement, now turned into something much…much….much worse.

Her dreams suddenly became a nightmare and she had no way of escaping.