The entire day was well spent collecting information about Destiny's shears.
MG had slept through most of it, while Hope had cast a cloaking spell that would supposedly keep them off Atropos' radar, but there was no telling how long it would last.

She was almost back at full strength now, but although the legendary tri-brid, she had no idea what kind of match she could possibly be against a deity -and she couldn't even find her aunt to get her help on this one.
The older witch was probably sound asleep in the deepest confines of the late Dowager Fauline's mansion in 1934's New Orleans, waiting to be awakened to finally meet her long-lost immortal family. In other words, Hope had to forget her pain and focus on the matter at hand with the only trustworthy help she had, baby vampire Milton Greasley. 

However, after reading every book that they possessed on the topic, neither one of them had any more clues on how those shears worked.

On one hand, cutting Aion's wings ought to be simple; a forceful clip to cut through something real and compact, however bloody and alive -she'd done it many times with knives and other sorts of sharp objects.

However, Greer's fate was not palpable.

What were they supposed to cut there?

Hope didn't see herself scarring the poor girl or even worse, maiming something important or striping her of her bodily autonomy, but until they did find out what exactly they were meant to do, they had to remain close to her.
That would be a fairly easy task, the easiest she'd had in days, and it almost felt like a breath of fresh air.

She'd already sworn MG to secrecy, and he'd reluctantly agreed not to let any important intel slip -because heroes always do the right thing.
She didn't know anything about that, but she would do the only right thing if it meant shutting that rattling chest permanently in the farthest corner of her deeply troubled mind.

As they winded up in Gloria's that very night, the vampire wasted no time to look around, desperately trying to catch sight of the familiar shock of blonde hair that hadn't left his mind for days.

But a hair-tingling feeling of dread washed over him when he realized that Greer was nowhere to be found.

''Maybe she's just home. I'm sure she'll be here soon.'' Hope said, trying to calm his frantic nerves. What were even the odds that Greer had been kidnapped and taken back to Portland?

''We have to find her,'' he said breathless, ''Now.''

''MG,'' she caught him by the elbow, forcing him back inside the building as he tried to turn, his heightened emotions leading his wrong path, ''Even if we did find her, how are we supposed to change her fate? We don't even know how those shears work.''

''We'll find something. In your books,'' he persisted. She'd never seen such worry in his eyes before -not when the numerous Malivore monsters had tried to come after them, not even when Lizzie had been turned to stone.
No, they'd been through thick and thin together, and yet, this was personal and beyond everything else -more important than anything else, ''You're the witch, come on!''

''There's nothing in there about how they fun-''
''Well then, ask Clarke!'' his breathing was shallow as he panted heavily, his senses working all at once.
He could hear it all, the soft melody of the piano, the kitchen's deafening brouhaha, and most importantly, the hearts.
Every heart in the room, including his, beat so fast he thought they might burst from their chests and create an endless whirlpool of warm, delicious blood.
All for him.
He shivered deliciously as his cheeks throbbed and spidery veins crept up beneath his lashes, releasing the predator inside him.

But Hope caught on -she always did.
She was the light in a sea of darkness and not just to him, but to everyone -her friends, her father, Clarke...

''Okay, MG, breathe,'' she squeezed her hand around his shoulder reassuringly, almost in need to cast a quick spell, ''I know you're worried, but I'm trying to help you.''

''I know,'' he said quietly. The win was on him this time and without the use of any magic, the veins faded away until there was nothing left of the beast, and everything of the sweetest boy remained. ''I'm sorry. I just— I can't...''

''I know. I'll talk to Ryan,'' she cast a look over her shoulder to find him at his usual table, ''You go and find her. Ask around.''

He didn't need to be told twice. Nodding, he bolted out into the night.
If a part of her was scared that he might do something stupid if given the occasion, she knew that his need to find Greer would trump any predatory instincts that he had.
She still half considered placing a spell on him, but her thoughts were interrupted by a rather rude voice that was rather unwelcome.

''Everything okay here?''

She spun around, only to come face to face with an employee of Triad's she'd rather forget about.
Charles didn't seem concerned about her or her friend by any means, no matter what his tone let on, but she put that on the fact that he was one of the few bad apples in the bunch. Those bad apples that would inevitably grow so rotten the decay would spread among everything and everyone in this industries, turning Triad into a full-profit mass-murdering organization in less than a century.

''Don't worry about it,'' she merely answered, groaning inwardly as she walked past him.

Before she could get as far as she wanted, he grabbed a hold of her elbow and spun her around to face him, making it a point to speak directly in her ear so no unwanted company would join as he formed his threat.

''I don't know what you did, or what you think you're doing, but you're not going to get out of this alive, little girl.'' his breath fanned across her cheek and it took everything in her not to retaliate with physical strength.
She clenched her jaw as hard as she could, ready to snap.
If he thought he could threaten a Mikaelson without consequences, he was about to be surprised. She was her father's daughter in this department.

Alas, luck was not on her side tonight, or any other day. She glanced around at the many witnesses, finding a handful of people with their eyes trained on them, and she sighed deeply.

''I don't know what you're talking about,'' she said, trying to push back, only for him to tighten his hold around her, but to be fair, she could only use a quarter of her strength.
Her eyes almost flashed an angry yellow but she caught herself on time and focused on her breathing, try as she might to remain civil with this excuse of a human being.

''You didn't think I would figure it out, did you? You getting closer to the boss... your friend and his little witch. You're obviously after something. Whether it involves Triad or not, I'm not going to let you ruin it.''

By 1934's standards, what he said to her must have been very frightening, if his self-satisfied smirk was any indication.
She shrugged herself out of his bruising grip at last, feeling her searing flesh mending itself under his curious gaze.
At first, for an excruciatingly long second on her part, he looked down to the bruise he'd left on her fair skin, a sense of unbridled satisfaction running through him.

Although she had to keep a low profile, she couldn't begin to describe her own satisfaction the very next second, as his eyes widened upon the impending fading of the so-called wound.
Her skin was as good as smooth again and when he looked up to meet her eyes, she sent him a challenging glare.

He seemed thoughtful for a moment before he backed down, walking to the counter with his head in his hands.
A jerk and a coward; that ought to be a combo right there.

Regaining her composure, Hope made her way toward Clarke's table, trying to ignore Charles's lingering glare in her back. Once there, she couldn't help but notice there was a vacant seat.

''Running low on employees?'' she asked, sitting down beside Ryan.
Their eyes met and he grinned -the same smile she'd see night after night that was meant just for her.

''Business isn't what it used to be. Roy stayed home tonight.''

Hope nodded, looking over at the others with a pointed stare, her specialty lately.
Whether they got the hint or not, they all stood up and walked to the counter, following a forlorn Charles.

She turned back to Ryan, only to find his eyes already trained on her. Hope could still feel his employee's glare on her back, but she couldn't risk him jeopardizing her plan. She didn't care much that he'd witnessed her healing abilities, as he would forget about it very soon if everything went according to plan.

''It's a little cramped in here. Do you, maybe, want to...'' she gestured outside, and he nodded.
Together, they walked out and into the narrow alley she'd first met Greer in.
''So... Has Aion been thrown into the pit yet?'' she asked, walking alongside him. They set a slow pace, but no one else seemed to be around.

Clarke looked her over suspiciously, almost stopping in his tracks.
''It's scheduled,'' he simply said, looking up at the beaming moon.

She nodded, her mind replaying the moment she'd fallen over the railing with his hand clasped firmly around her neck.
He'd spent the following months trying to get back at her for that -for leaving him in utter damnation, both figuratively and literally.

She recalled the night he'd been the closest to actually ending her, taking the time to explain his plan thoroughly, because he wanted her.
He wanted her to see how she'd wronged him, and most of all, he wanted to see the look on her face once she realized he'd won. But he'd seen neither of those things, and in the end, he'd died as he lived, alone.

Against all odds and every comic book MG had forced her to read, his rant hadn't been a cliché villain monologue, but rather a last thought he wanted to share -it was as good as the Eulogy he never had.

She'd learnt what he'd enforced in the pit -that he was just a boy, who'd been wronged by his father.

Her own father would seek revenge after anyone who'd wrong him, so she had no judgement to pass, rather an unbridled admiration that Ryan had actually come to terms with his fate.

She shuddered still, recalling the way he had run his fingers over the side of his face that night, scraping his nails along the dark mud, and revealing more and more of the very core of his being.
Were she to reach out now, would all that be left on her hands be drying sludge?

She pushed those thoughts aside, for MG's sake, because she needed to think about her friends before she thought about anyone else.
Because she had to think about everyone else before she thought about herself, just like she always did.

''I had a question about Atropos too,'' she began, still walking beside him. His hands were behind his back now, just like the rigid way he used to stand in Malivore, walking as though he knew the place by heart, no purpose or end to the path he took. ''How do the shears work?''

All at once, his head wind up, looking over at her carefully. She could barely see his face under the moonlight, as pale as it was, but the expression on it left her breathless.

''Why on earth would you want to know that?'' his words drew her out of her transe and she almost laughed. No wonder he'd been so good at impersonating Vardemus.

''Witchy stuff,'' she didn't bother to stifle the laugh this time, ''Told you I was looking up all things godly.''

''I don't know how to use the shears,'' he replied after studying her for a longer moment, ''I mean, to cut through something firm, I guess they'd work the same way any shears would.''

''And for something rather less... firm?''

''What did you say you were doing research for again?'' his tone was accusatory, and she found she didn't like it one bit -especially from him. As if he'd never used her before too.

''Morbid curiosity. Aion's my main goal but Atropos is...'' she trailed off, unsure what to say as her feet took root in the gravel beneath her shoes.

They were now facing each other but the way he looked at her, it was as if he was seeing right through her, as the same suspicious and paranoiac Clarke she'd met in 2028, chilled her to the bone.

She wondered how much similarity the two Clarkes shared. If they were alike in as many ways as she thought, then maybe Aion was the least of her problems.

''I don't know,'' he finally said, his jaw clenched as he spoke the words, too quietly for her taste.

She almost felt angered by his reply, as acquainted as she was with his suspicious and vengeful nature, but she'd manage not to let it show if it was the last thing she did. Over the years of closing herself off to people, she'd become a master at manipulation.

''Okay,'' she nodded lightly, ''We should head back inside. It's a little cold.''

She began to make her way backward, running her hands along her arms over the passing gust of wind, when her feet stopped again upon a morbid realization.

This Ryan was doing something the Clarke she knew would have never done, not even for a million dollars: he wasn't following.
In other words, he was leaving her alone.
What spiked her curiosity though, was that, once upon a time, she would have considered it a good thing.
What happened to the pledge she'd made in Malivore? What happened to I don't trust you. And I never will.

''So that's all you wanted?''

She found herself looking over her shoulder when he spoke, drawn out of her wandering thoughts by his accusations. She couldn't help it, they held something so insulting in a single sentence -a seemingly innocent question, no less.

You are such a child! No wonder you failed.

''I'm sorry?''

''Don't be,'' he laughed humorlessly, as if subject to a joke no one else could understand, ''People tend to disappoint me.''

Hope had always found his laughter unsettling, sinister, even -he was, after all, the bad guy.
But along her time here, she'd seen a new side to it -she found it free-spirited, unhinged, enchanting and so uniquely him -the last remains of a well-spent life his father would soon rip away.

Yet, the laughter that rumbled from his throat had nothing enchanting at all, or even sinister.
No, this one was so much worse on so many levels, because, unlike everything else she'd known, she couldn't put her finger on it.

It took time, some days more than necessary, but she always figured out everything, but this- this she didn't know.

She didn't know what it meant or what he understood that she obviously didn't.
She was distraught and actually found herself frowning -she, the smartest of her class, the bright tribrid!

And all this time, he just kept laughing at her, or rather at the gravel underneath them, as if there was the funniest elephant in the room and she just couldn't get it.
The thought was beyond unnerving.
She wanted to shake him, hit him, kill him if that meant he would stop -stop laughing, stop mocking her.

She bridged the two steps separating them, a bad feeling settling in her gut, but it was nothing compared to what she would make him feel if he didn't stop soon.
To top it all off -because she really needed that!- he cut her off before she could even form her threat.

''All this time, you were just trying to get information out of me,'' he began, his laughter subsiding at long last. She hated it, but she didn't know how to feel when his face looked like that. So torn and sad at the same time -conflicted between pain and genuine anger. ''And I thought- never mind what I thought.''

''What? No, that's not all I've been...'' once her anger diminished, she didn't know what to say. Because finishing that sentence meant admitting it to herself as well.

And to say less than a month ago she would have had no remorse doing whatever this was.

He looked up as she trailed off, finding whatever he was looking for written all over her unfocused gaze.
''What do you want from me?'' he asked, his agressive business persona taking over his entire being. ''What do you want from Triad?''

She looked up at last, meeting his deadly cold glare. It was actually worse than any cold glare he could have mustered, because what she read over his face was complete blankness, and a lack of interest in anything that had to do with her, except, of course, the answer to his precious question.
In this precise moment she found he resembled Charles in ways she never would have thought possible.

''Nothing.'' Freya had once told her that a white lie was not a lie at all, but she didn't feel bad about lying. She never did.

''Stop lying,'' he grabbed her arms suddenly, pushing her back against the nearby brick wall. The force of the blow nearly knocked the wind out of her but she managed to find his eyes again, ruthless and laced with unhinged fury she'd only seen once before.
Memories are a precious thing, Freya had also said, but some were better left in that box.
A stranger's living room. A fireplace. Two chairs. An angry figure over them.
Dad?
Get out!

''Whatever it is, you won't get it. I'll make sure of that.'' Ryan continued, unaware of the war raging within her.
She managed to keep in the tears, as she'd found that she'd shed so many of them, so much of her soul over this peculiar memory, she couldn't cry anymore -not physically or emotionally.

But this very moment, all of this, was exactly the reason they'd both stopped trying to let people in.

''What the hell is wrong with you?'' she shoved him away, her strength startling him for a second. Good. ''I was just asking!''

After all the time she'd spent with him, she was only just starting to come out of her comfort zone and was finally able to admit that the fun they'd had was genuine. But he had to ruin it. She had to ruin it. Just like she ruined everything.

There was something about this girl though, that he'd always found intriguing, however, she had never looked more beautiful than in this moment -more full of life.

She was breathing heavily, anger and frustration leaking from every pore as she maintained a fair distance between them, nearly pushing herself further into the wall. Her chest was rising and falling quickly with each ragged breath, steam wafting between her lips and meeting the crisp winter air which had her cheeks flushed, coated deep with red.

''I'm sorry,'' he said once they'd both cooled down enough, ''I guess I'm just too paranoid.''

Her chest stopped heaving at last, her frantic nerves settling. Manipulating him should have not been so easy. Finding remainders of guilt in her heart, she forced herself to look away for moment.

''There's nothing wrong with that,'' she shrugged at last, her gaze set on the brick wall ahead. God knows she had her fair share of trust issues as well. ''But, Ryan, you're going to have to trust me at some point.''

Silence fell upon them then, swallowing her whole and giving her the space she needed to breathe normally again, much to his ignorance.
While her nervousness faded away, along with her guilty thoughts, he found himself studying her from every angle, desperately trying to understand this impossible girl before him.

Then, ever so slowly, he raised a hand to her cheek.

''I do trust you,'' he admitted, just as slowly as his gesture, to whomever was there to hear, ''Maybe even too much for my own good.''

And then, her body went numb.

She tried to keep in mind that he was nothing but a creation of Malivore -his most dangerous son, made to look human.
How many people had he conned? Manipulated? Killed?

Her usual paranoia got to her for a split second, reminding her that he might be doing the exact same thing, in this very moment. Using seduction of all things to get to her head -it was a trick as old as dirt.
It wouldn't be the first time someone would do that; but she wouldn't fall for it any longer.
What was the saying? Fool me once...

But as luck would have it, or lack thereof, the cruel words died on her tongue as she opened her mouth, trying to voice whatever rational thought she still had left, for they were frantically swarming.
Yes, they were swarming -around her brain, firmly stuck in her head, circling that single most peculiar and dangerous box that could never ever be open, but she could feel them all the way to her toes.

Hope found those lesser rational thoughts pushing her rational suspicions out of her head and taking their place as he began to stroke her cheek, his hand so large compared to her face that it sent delicious tingles all the way to her neck.

Everything that this hand had done, that he'd done, had been to please his father.
The doom, the kills, the manipulation -all the blood that had been shed on these hands, was nothing but Malivore's doing.

And even in the rarest cases, Triad Industries, although made out of Malivore's doom to supposedly shield innocents from the most dangerous supernatural world, was still Malivore centric.
It was an endless cycle that she knew he would never be able to escape.

Her heart clenched at the thought and his words from that night came back to her through a hazy fog, her knees nearly giving under her.

You're just as screwed up as I am, but your friends still love you. I guess I always wanted to believe that my father could do the same.

Then, she felt all the anger and rage she'd bottled up for so long.

His father was the author of every hardship he had ever been through, and even though admitting it now, she knew he would still be trying to make amends with him, even a century from now.

The thought was so hard to bare that she almost pulled away from his gentlest touch.

''Your father doesn't love you, Ryan,'' she whispered, as quietly as her mind allowed.

Although her words stung, she had to get it off her chest, here, in this very alley.

Because Ryan was much too kind to become the shattered man she'd met in Kansas.
Because he deserved much, much, better.
Because he deserved the world and everything she knew that he'd been denied for so long.

''I'm sorry,'' her lip quivered and she looked as if she wanted to cry, the saltiest tears burning her sparkling eyes. The sight was simply beautiful to him. ''But sometimes you just have to accept certain truths-''

But he never did find out what she was about to say.

Whatever it was that she'd seen in him, that she thought he deserved when no one else did, he never got to figure it out or even hear it from her mouth, because by the last word, his lips were on hers.

Laugh. Hysterically.
That's what she would have done a month ago, had you told her she'd be kissing Deputy Agent Ryan Clarke with everything that she had, everything that she knew.

Never, in a hundred or even a thousand years, would she have even thought about kissing him back.

And yet, all she could think about was just that.

She drew a sharp breath but visibly relaxed, her body reacting on its own. Her eyes closed shut instantly, but before it could go anywhere she wanted, although she wasn't really sure what that might be, he pulled back, only to rest his forehead against hers.

''I couldn't care less about my father right now.'' he said with bated breath, but before she could even think to open her eyes, he kissed her again, this time taking her breath away entirely.

His head tipped to the side as she found her back hitting the wall behind her, but she buried her hands in his wild curls, just to make sure he was here, with her, the only place he belonged.

He was much taller, that much was not news, but he managed just fine, never breaking the kiss as he hooked her leg up his side.
A low growl left the back of his throat as she reacted to his display of tenderness, pulling on his chocolate strands, leaving him with no choice, no rational thoughts -only wanton desires.

So he did the only natural thing he'd had in mind all day -hell, since he'd met her-; he looked to deepen the only form of endearment he'd truly felt in ages.

She was simply intoxicating to him; unlike any other woman he had ever met.

''You're incredible, Hope.'' he whispered against her lips, only breaking apart to deliver the words, still holding onto her for dear life.

The smile she gave him at the sight of his barely-lit flushed face stirred something within him, something he had not felt either in a very, very long time.

This time, she initiated it and kissed him again, wanting -no, needing more of him. More of his lips, more of his touches, more of his feelings -just more.

He was pressing fully against her now, barely letting her breathe as he continued his delicious assault on her lips, the single thought of having him so close making her inner wolf growl.

They fought together, they always fought, but this was different.
This wasn't a fist match; this wasn't her throwing spells and him sass -or flying tridents for all she cared.

This was a battle of wills, of who would surrender first, but in this game, both were winners.

She couldn't believe this kind of affection existed. She'd heard of it, dreamed of it, but she'd never experienced this kind of passion before...

And then, just to burst her bubble and remind her that she had no right to be happy, realization and common sense hit her, as constant reminders that she was the villain of this story.

When he eventually broke contact between their lips to trail small kisses along her jaw, she shoved, as hard as he could, until he was no longer against her -until there was nothing left of their blissful moment.

She tried not to focus on his flushed and delicious lips as he looked at her, clearly puzzled.
There was, once again, something utterly satisfying in watching this entitled genius experience pure confusion, especially when it came to the enigma she was to him.
However, she found little to no joy in what she was about to do.

She had to shake her head, as if reminding her this was all real and raised a shaking hand to her lips.

''I-I can't do this.'' she said, lowering her gaze as her fingertips grazed the swollen flesh he'd left in his wake.

Everybody left her in the end.

It was an endless cycle of loss and endless funerals.

But for once, the roles were reversed, because she would never, ever let him do that to her.
She'd decided, long ago, when her heart had barely mended itself back together after her parents' passing, that no one would ever have that kind of power over her ever again.

She was true to her word, her own promise to herself, because he didn't even have the occasion to watch her leave and tear his heart in a million tiny pieces.

Between one blink and the next, she was gone, leaving him in a dark empty alley, as if Malivore all over again.

                                                   ⌛︎

After Hope had magically transported somewhere else on the outskirts of town, she found herself wandering the streets alone, a quiet voice in her mind telling her it was exactly as it should always be.

She was aware her little tantrum-based adventure was, by no means, safe, but if anyone asked, she had sharp claws and a rather short temper when it came to threats.

She'd already sent a magic note to MG and hoped that he bothered to check his pockets between rounds of shots and whatever he liked to do in the thirties.

Her prayers were answered when a car drove up the road and in her line of sight, and she hopped in without further questioning, turning to her vampire friend.

She was shivering and in such a state, MG could barely recognize her.

''What happened to you?''

''I kissed Clarke.'' she simply said.
Silence welcomed her confession but she knew that MG would pass no judgment, not after everything they'd faced. ''What about you?'' she asked, wiping a traitorous stray tear. ''Did you find Greer?''

''I asked around, but she's new in town so no one knows where she stays.''

''We have to find her. The sooner we get this done, the faster we'll be home.''

''Couldn't agree more.''

The car came to a screeching halt right as they passed the street that led to Gloria's, but the two occupants stared ahead wordlessly, a common feeling of dread settling between them.

''What have we done, MG?'' she finally spoke, a slight tremor to her voice. She hadn't cried in a very long time, and never for Clarke.

The vampire didn't find it in himself to answer either, clearly as struck as her. But he didn't need to, because while she was exceptionally good at lying, his eyes always betrayed him.

By some miracle they were both out of the car, their legs carrying them to the only safe haven they knew in this place, hoping for anything better.

But once they stood inside Gloria's, he couldn't even let the joyous atmosphere get to him. He had to find Greer.

''I don't have anything of hers, so a locator spell is out of the question.'' Hope said immediately, wiping her tears defiantly, as if to win a battle against them.

Crossing her arms, she glanced around, her eyes gazing over Clarke's usual table.
He was back there, a full drink in his hand, prey to only god-knows what cruel thoughts in his head, but most of them probably involved her.

''So you said before,'' MG replied, glancing around too, ''Of all places... it had to be Fort Valley.''

She sighed, closing her eyes, a dubious feeling that he was right. When she opened them again, she half wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole, because Clarke was staring at her. He looked away quickly though, his jaw set.

''What about the shears?'' her friend drew her from her thoughts and pulled her from the war raging within her mind. She might give him a medal later, for he'd just stopped a brewing storm.

''Still no idea how they work,'' she looked away too, unable to keep this charade up, ''But the spell must be done the second I cut Aion's wings, MG. If we can't help Greer-''
''We will.'' he nodded, more to calm himself than the passive-aggressive tribrid he knew all too well. His eyes met a certain mud boy's and narrowed considerably, only to frown in confusion a mere second later. ''Where's Roy?'' he asked, tearing his glare from Clarke's table to glance around the busy hangout spot.

''Ryan said something about him staying home.''

''That doesn't sound like the Roy I know.'' his frown deepened and he marched over to the table, ignoring the deep loathing he'd felt for Landon's brother since day one. It wasn't much about hatred these days, as MG didn't possess the ability to hate, but rather about acknowledging his friend's pain.
Speaking of which, Hope trailed reluctantly behind him, her apathy to face Ryan bleeding through every small step she took.

''Where's Roy?'' MG asked nevertheless once they both stood before the Lesser Heroic Round Table.

''Wouldn't you like to know?'' the one they called Charles snorted over his glass.

''Home.'' Richard answered at least, his curious gaze darting from Hope to Ryan. No wonder he could feel it, the tension was so thick he couldn't cut through it with that wretched trident of Clarke's if he tried.

''Ryan?'' Hope tried as she might, and witnessed a miracle. Ryan Clarke, son of Malivore, looked up, his face so blank, she could have as well not been standing there.

''It's Clarke.'' he hissed, bringing his glass to his lips, his glare burning right through her.

She felt a part of her shrivel up and shrink away with the searing heat, but she wouldn't give him, or anyone, the satisfaction.

''Clarke,'' she repeated, her question long forgotten.

They were both stubborn as a mule and defiant, with the same thirst for power. They were alike in many ways but their defining traits resided in a single fact: they hid their pain behind a mask of indifference.
She would even go as far as to say that the rest, what made them opposites in as many ways, was the touchstone to everything they had. Or rather everything that might have been if she didn't hold all this cursed knowledge.

Nevertheless, the thirst for power took over and each tried to stare the other down, only to come up with an even score.
When two magnets are brought together, the like poles will repel one another. On the other hand, the opposite poles will do the contrary and attract each other.
So... which one is it?

''Anyone seen Greer tonight?'' MG asked, drawing everyone's attention and breaking their battle of wills at last.

''The girl you hang out with?'' Richard asked with a half-hearted shrug, vague memories of the tall blonde witch flashing behind his eyes, ''Not tonight. Sorry.''

MG was about to do something -he knew it. Whether it was something good or bad, that was entirely up to the next answer he would get.

However, it seemed Lady Luck had not turned her back on just Hope tonight.

The light and distant melody emanating from the piano tiles came to a sudden stop as the bell above the door chimed, time itself seeming to stop as the world spun on its axis in a dangerously slow motion.

As if in a movie, the atmosphere turned darker and a distinct chill ran up their spine, triggered by her heightened senses and the many unhinged screams of the crowd. She felt compelled to turn around.

The first thing she saw was red. Lots of red.

His shirt was covered in blood.
His slacks were ripped around the edges and his voice had a detectable waver to it, the tremor of a desperate man. A dead man's lullaby, they say.
Although his frazzled stare was a sight to behold, they recognized him instantly -all of them did.

''Roy?''

''He killed them,'' MG's great-grandfather fell to his knees, an endless trail of angry and desperate tears following and streaming down his cheeks, ''Oh my god, he killed them.''

A golem and a witch walked into a bar... I'll let you decide the end.