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Conor could still remember the moment his mother had told him the story of the legendary battle between the two mages. The most extraordinary of their time.
It was an autumn night, the streets of New York covered in a carpet of gold as beautiful as it was ephemeral, similar to the existence of humans.
But it wasn't just humans who populated the Earth.
The night was cool and slightly windy, and in the last hours of that Thursday, when the rather busy streets were now almost deserted, a beautiful young woman passed by, looking like a fairy with her veil dress and her all-white cloak, and her hair as bright green as young spring leaves misted with dew.
Her breathing and light footsteps echoed faintly in space. She was clearly on her way home, and looked as if she could fly away in the slightest breeze.
She paused for a moment to breathe in the deep night and ponder something that had been bothering her for some time, when laughter was heard in the darkness.
You didn't need to see their origin to understand their meaning: danger.
And out of the shadows came a whole group of thugs who looked as if they'd never done a good deed in their lives, and who were staring at the young woman with their dark eyes animated by an ominous gleam. Their intention was obvious.
First they followed their prey with their eyes, hissing and booing, before approaching her and surrounding her.
The young woman frowned, worried at first.
“Leave me alone, please. I just want to go home”, she asked in a voice as soft and seductive as her appearance.
The one who was obviously the leader, more tattooed and charismatic than the others, was the first to laugh before being followed by the others.
“I don't think so, gorgeous. We have other plans for you.”
“What do you want!”
This time, the group laughed outright.
“You know very well, sweetheart. There's no need to play innocent, even if another form of innocence would please us even more.”
The chief reached out and stroked a lock of her long, silky hair.
He ran his tongue over her lips.
“You're beautiful, you know, very beautiful, and we're really going to enjoy trashing that beauty.”
“Don't touch me!” the young woman shouted at him, slapping his hand to get him to let go and taking a step back.
“Ah, aggressive too. I'm going to love this,” he mocked even more insolently.
“If I were you, I wouldn't do that,” came a deep voice, also emerging from the darkness.
The group of thugs gasped and turned to their owner. It was a man sitting at the foot of a pillar, wearing a bespoke indigo suit, a large hat and dark glasses, very dark. His legs were crossed, his head resting nonchalantly on one hand behind his head, a sneer on his lips. His wrists were adorned with a watch and a thick gold bracelet.
He exuded mystery, wealth and power.
“What do you want, you oddball?”
“I'd just like to give you a little free advice, for which you should be really grateful because my rates are out of reach for pitiful hungry people like you.”
The chef took a few steps towards him.
“You seem to have quite a face for a sick man. And rich, too.”
“So what?”
“So what!” raised the chief with an unbearable sneer, ”I'll tell you what. When we're done with our beautiful prey here, we're coming after you... I hope for your sake you're not planning to be a hero, weirdo, or it'll be the last thing you ever do in your crazy life.”
“That, I highly doubt.”
“Ah yes, and for what?”
But the mysterious man said nothing. The young woman advanced towards him and, to the thugs' surprise, curtsied.
After which, she faced the group, straightened up and beamed, transforming herself under their shocked and frightened gaze into a gigantic raging beast.
“I warned you,” laughed the man, as if in jest.
The beast, having sufficiently frightened them with its new form, pounced on them like the prey they had become.
The roles had been reversed, or more accurately, revealed.
The beast tore them apart, taking his time and leaving only a pool of flesh and blood.
The mysterious man laughed heartily.
“That was quite a sight.”
The young woman resumed her original form and turned graciously to the man.
“Thank you, Your Excellency.”
She looked at her nails and quipped with a small grin.
“Damn, I broke a nail.”
“Wouldn't that be easy to fix?”
“Yes, but it still hurts.”
Marion lightly glowed her hand to repair the nail, turned to her great fellow and made a reverence for him.
He laughed and slowly disappeared in a puff of shimmering dust.
The young woman smiled, arranged her coat without needing it, then resumed her walk.
“I'll have to hurry, I'm sure he's waiting for me.”
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Conor ran around the apartment, struggling furiously whenever his nanny managed to get her hands on him, until he escaped again from her firm but tender hands.
And by nanny, we were talking about a bright red flying creature who hardly ever spoke but knew how to make herself understood, and who often took on the expression of a grumpy person but who actually had her heart in her hand.
You could tell by the irrepressible indulgence she showed her little protégé.
She growled to make it clear that it was time for him to go to sleep. Even though it was long past his bedtime.
The little boy refused, and made it clear by constantly running away and throwing tantrums that were as false as they were annoying.
He would make deep grimaces that faded as soon as he heard the front door open.
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