Sapphire orbs gazed out at the sea. It was dark outside, the sky’s lights covered with clouds. She was in the middle of nowhere. There were no cars or streetlamps to inhibit the view of the stars. Her hands were in the deep pockets of her ankle-length trench coat. The tails of the coat licked at her calves as the light wind blew off the sea.

Where am I?

She felt as though she couldn’t move. Her gaze permanently locked on a place in the sea where the lighthouse’s light reflected off the water. She slowly regained the feeling to her upper body. Blinking softly, her torso turned around, though her boots felt as though they were cemented to the dock. In a vain attempt to move, she bent slight to grip her thighs, trying to lift them. Impossible.

What’s going on?

Slowly, she looked around her, giving up on the attempt to try and move herself. She began to feel eyes upon her, boring into her very soul… her very essence. She managed to turn her body to look behind her. Indeed, there were two, large, burly figures behind her. They were males, most likely… or very, very testosterone-filled females. She opened her lips to speak, but no words came out. One of the figures lifted his hand, signalling for her to not even try.

What do you want?

The two figures moved forward into the light, laughing loudly. There was a low beeping off to her right. She slightly frowned as she squinted to try and see who the two men were. The lighthouse flashed, blinding her briefly. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision. The men began to fade away, replaced by a dim, white light. These two things shifted back and forth, every time she blinked.

Where are you going?

Gwenivere shot up in bed, breathing heavily. There was a light sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead and her chest. Her eyes were wide, pouted lips parted in an “O”-shape. The collar of her muscle top dipped down across her bosom, a little sweat noticeable against the black fabric. Her hand slapped to the beeping alarm clock at her side. She glanced once, noting that it was 9:54 in the morning. Her hands softly lifted, fingers running through her hair, smoothing back the ebony and crimson locks. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, letting out a low whistle. Throwing back the covers, she slipped out of her bed, black cut-off jeans hugging her waist and her thighs. She stripped down as she moved into the washroom, the black tribal tattoo against her back accentuated by her pale skin. She stood in the shower, then, allowing the water to beat down against her shoulders and the back of her head. She tilted her head forward, closing her eyes.

Who the fuck were they? God damn it…

A light seemed to suddenly glow inside of her head as she figured out who they were. It was so blatantly obvious. As she finished her shower and got dressed, she thought quietly about the dream, trying to figure out its purpose. Her diagnosis: guilt, frustration and overall self-loathing… which was a stupid choice on her part. She began to pace in her hotel room, hands lifting to idly play with the middle labret piercing.

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Starbucks. 1:32 PM. The Mistress of Darkness sat silently, huddled in a corner of the bustling coffee bar. The buzzing fluorescent lights glowed above her head, making her think that her ears were ringing. It wouldn’t surprise her, due to how loud she generally listened to her music. A little annoyed, she pulled out the little mini-disk player from her coat and stuffed the earphones into her ears. She pressed play and Metallica instantly began to blare it’s rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar”. She pulled on her West Coast Chopper toque and settled into the bench. Slowly, her fingers curled greedily around the warm cup of coffee. Hell. It wasn’t even coffee. Starbucks didn’t understand black coffee. It was either some berry-flavoured shit. Oh no. It was like naturally coffee beans didn’t even exist. They had to have some disgusting flavour added to them in order to make them desirable. The only reason she had stopped here was because she was fucking freezing and needed something to warm her bones. She couldn’t even swallow the coffee. It was just so…

Revolting.

She crinkled her nose in disgust and pushed the Styrofoam cup away from her, so that it was centered in the table. As she preformed this simple movement of her fingers, a couple young boys, probably about fifteen, came up to her table. They were gothic in a poser-sense. Understandable, she guessed. Slowly, her fingers lifted to pull the ear buds out. She looked up at the two boys, her pierced eyebrow lifting softly in question.

Gwenivere: “Yeah?”

A little bitchy. Understandable. Night terrors plus guilt complex plus really bad coffee made Gwen not a happy camper. The two boys sat down with her with their own coffees or some other hot caffeinated beverages. Gwenivere really wasn’t paying much attention. Granted, she would give them attention because they obviously knew her from the television and she was always told to be polite to strangers. One good lesson her father had taught her.

First Boy: “Are you Gwenivere?”

Gwenivere: “That I am. Can I help you?”

Second Boy: “We were just wondering if we could get a picture?”

The first guy pulled out a small digital camera and smiled. Gwenivere laughed a little bit and shook her head. She pulled her toque back a little, exposing those bright, sapphire eyes.

Gwenivere: “All right. Sure.”

The first guy called over one of the girls that was working the counter to take the picture. He gave her the camera and the two boys piled into the booth on either side of her. Gwen lifted her arms and draped them over the boys’ shoulders. The two leaned inwards, smiling. Gwen lifted her gaze to the camera, each hand curling into the classic ‘rock on’ symbol. The camera flashed and the girl looked at the picture on the screen, nodding her head in approval. Gwenivere’s hands cropped into her lap after pulling down her toque again so that it came just a little bit passed her eyebrows. The two boys moved away a little bit, but stayed in the booth. Gwenivere looked at them, curiously.

Gwenivere: “Anything else, boys?”

F.B. “Well. How about an autograph?”

Okay, sure. It was obvious Gwenivere wasn’t used to being approached like this in the middle of a Starbucks. Hell, no other federation she’d been in was as publicized and watched as N.E.W. It was… nice. Slowly, Gwenivere pulled out a black Sharpie that she always carried with her. One of the boys brought out one of their notebooks that had scribbles on it of how much he hated school. She smiled a bit as she flipped it open to the cover and uncapped the marker.

S.B. “Can you make it to Mike and Rich?”

Gwenivere nodded softly as she began to write: