Shattered Hearts

Prologue: The Girl without a heart

By: Liewe

Standard disclaimers apply, sadly, these character aren’t mine. So please don’t sue.

To live and to be alive where to different things, to live all you had to do was breath and repeat the monotonous tasks of everyday life. To be alive you had to approach life with joy in your heart and a purpose in mind, to have fun, to live life to its fullest. To live each day as if it would be your last. Midii sat staring into the blackness of the coffee cup contemplating the difference of the two words; she lived but was she alive. No, she wasn't alive; she hadn't been alive since that day when she had betrayed Nanashi. To any normal passer by she would look like an ordinary woman, but was she. No she wasn't, she was an ex-Alliance spy, a professional in the game of Espionage. A girl without a heart as she had so often been called, she lived but she wasn't alive.

There had once been a time when she was alive, but that had been more than a decade ago, when her heart still beat to the challenge of life. Now she was the ice-queen, a woman without a heart, a woman who couldn't cry. She guessed there must be others like her, ones that had suffered from heart break so severe that they had retreated into themselves never to be seen again as the woman they once were. No one remembered what the real Midii was like, that girl had been dead and gone for so long, it was hard to remember what she had been like. Had she liked going for a walk in the park so watch the birds fly, had she enjoyed spending time in the company of friends, or has she cried at the end of a tragic love story. No one knew the answers to those questions; not even Midii herself knew the answers. Her heart had died on that day when he had left her, never to forgive her betrayal.

To run was something she was accustomed to, to stay in one place, she was not. To feel the security of not having to play the game every moment of the day was a luxury she was ill used to. Her life had changed drastically since the day the alliance soldiers had dragged her from her home, her father's arms. She had been an idealistic child then, her head in the clouds, and her mind filled with the story's of knights in shining armor rescuing the loves of their lives from the clutches of the evil emperor. Who was she; she didn't know anymore, did anyone know who she was, she mused, her cup of coffee growing steadily colder.

The old man at the counter, gazed forlornly at the young girl who had occupied the same table for nearly three hours. She had been motionless for just as long, her face an impassive mask except for her eyes. Her eyes told the tale of her troubled life, the intense pain she had been forced to live through, the emptiness in her heart. Her eyes were a soulless and dull dove-gray, he mused that once those eyes must have sparkled with the joy of life, and maybe once upon a time she had been whole. There were so many affected by the war, but the young had been struck the worst. Their lives torn in two by the demands of the spirit, to fight for those you loved and cared for. He had seen many like her, but each was different, each had lived through a different hell, but hers pulled to him. She was so like his daughter, a child who had been carted away by the alliance to never be seen again, an innocent.

The chiming of the bell didn't awaken her from the trance she had slipped into, her eyes, remained towards the cup. She didn't move a muscle as the young man took a seat opposite her, his posture nonchalant as he hungrily feasted upon the site of the best of the best. The queen of the game, the master of the tricks of the trade, she had never been caught and she had never messed a mission. She was perfect in everyway, the coating of ice, which surrounded her heart, did well to preserve her, to keep the monstrosity's of her crimes at bay, allowing her to live life but never to be alive.

He flung the manila envelope onto the cool surface of the table she was currently occupying his face a mask of apprehension as her manicured fingers moved without a waste of movement to pull it to her. Her eyes remained unchanged, not acknowledging his presence or the predatory gleam in his eye. When he didn't leave her, she turned her icy gaze on the arrogant wannabe, the sinister smile on his face telling her all she needed to know. He was a bug that needed to be quashed and she would squash him if he made one wrong move, one movement, which bordered on suspicion, and he would be dead. She had become a ruthless player in the game, she would do anything to retain her place and remain alive.

The hand, which flew out to grab her, own found itself impaled onto the smooth surface of the table. The blood seeping from the wound to pool into a sickening puddle, surrounding the offending limb. The cry of anguish which fell from the mans lips didn't go unheard, as people turned to stare at the spectacle, the chair next him empty of it's former occupant as Midii ghosted away from the scene of the crime, a schooled expression of indifference on her face. She didn't see the people gather around the pathetic excuse for a man, she didn't hear his cry of pain as the knife was wrenched from his torn hand. She didn't hear and she didn't care, she had a job to do a monotonous task to fulfill.

To infiltrate a community was an easy task, to gain their trust, slightly harder but still not worthy of her talents. Her task was not hard, nor was it easy, it was just simple, a task she had done many times, infiltrating a home, a community, a base, it was all the same. She had to only infiltrate to the Bloom family, to find it's secrets and then she would have completed her mission and earned her pay. Why did she still go from day to day playing the game when there was no need? Did she need the money, no. Did she want the excitement, not really. Did she need a purpose in life, yes. She couldn't stand to be idle, and to do nothing would be to be idle. True she wasn't alive, but she lived, and she was used to the way of the game, she was comfortable in that pre-ordained groove.

Her employer, a man who would remain unnamed, wanted the secrets of Don Bloom, and she would find them for him. Her mission was to find the secrets buried within the past, to find the secrets buried within the future, things she had never failed to do, things she would never fail to do. Or so she thought. To have become so used to the monotony that one fails to see the warning signs of danger to come, is common when one has been through so much. Midii was not one to fall for the monotony, but she was one to underestimate the values of human emotion as she had discarded hers so long ago. To fail to value, the strength of someone's passion, their anger, their love, and their sorrow, could be a fatal mistake, one, which Midii would make, and one that would change her life forever.

The old man saw her leave but he said nothing, the young man deserved what he got for acting so rash. Her movements had been honed to perfection, as had the ice, which surrounded her heart. He swiftly pulled the knife from the man's now ruined hand; his mind on other matters as the blade disappeared into the pocket of his jacket, the blood seeping into the dark material. He didn't know why he kept the blade, what had possessed him to pocket it, but he had and he would keep it. She was what he pictured his long lost daughter to look like, the same golden hair, the dove-gray eyes, though he had always pictured them so full of life, but he knew things could change. Time changed people, and he hoped that one day that girl would be able to be alive again, her heart had not been whole, it had been broken and he hope that one day someone would piece it back together.

-To Be Continued...