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Continue *Edited*

The Edited version

“We’re back,”

            “We found you something, Rotten!” 

            Beneath the boy, two figures stood. One shifted impatiently in her shoes, jumping, childlike, around as she smiled up at her friend. Her face was round, a small nose accentuating cherubic lips. She looked young, not over 14, with pink hair and livid green eyes. A baby-doll dress and Mary Jane shoes supported this look, along with a red headband. On her dress, the word “Apple” was printed in small letters, a matching image decorating her right shoulder. In her hands she held the candle, defending it against the chill of the night and snow.

            The other simply stared into space, looking bored as his smaller companion jumped in her shoes with excitement. Long white hair flowed down his back, hiding his eyes and face. Beneath this mane, however, deep yellow eyes were accented by a small mouth and overly pierced ears. In this boy’s pocket, a rusty chain dangled nearly to the floor, tinkling along to the slight movements of his body. On his body he wore a simple white t-shirt, overly-large dark baggy pants hanging over ratty sneakers. On his arm, the word “Cake,” was marked, hidden beneath a black armband.

            The one above them, Rotten, said nothing, jumping down effortlessly and almost smiling as the younger hugged him around the middle. He looked down at her, putting a protective hand atop her head.

            “Show him, Cake” She said, setting the candle down gently on the floor. Running back, she stood at the white-haired boy’s side, excited. She giggled, craning her neck to see what she already knew was there.

            A small, rusty blade was centered in Cake’s palm, the metal worn down by many years. The blade was made of steel, the hilt, polished copper. It was curved, small enough to be easily hidden. Rotten took it, caressing it between his fingers, face unreadable in the dim yellow light. Apple smiled, knowing he was pleased.

           

            Apple had fallen asleep resting against the far wall, small body covered in a thin blanket and undershirt. Cake, too, was there, breathing shallow alongside his sister. The flame had died out long ago, helping faint shadows fill the silence. The snow had stopped as well, leaving only a blanket of cold behind. In the darkness, Rotten examined his gift, face nearly expressive in his concentration. Though rust and time had dulled it, he felt up the blade, hands and eyes searching. He was looking for something, though he didn’t know what. The wisdom of years had told him to trust his instincts, and they were calling to him now. At last he stopped, mind focused on what was before him. A name was engraved into the handle, so worn as to be almost unnoticeable. The letters were outlined in faded green light, the strands barely moving. From Samantha was all it said.

 

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