Quill dreams of the girl, the girl who died that day. The girl who will never be a problem again, and the girl he had wanted to choose to be the next Leader of the Clans. He dreams of that night over and over. The people, the shouts, the blood, the boy that ran up the steps to kneel at her side, Banshee... How did things get so out of control?
The good news is, for Quill, is that everyone returned back to normal. They buried the body and people soon forgot about Becca Reed. She’s a whisper to the wind long forgotten by now.
He wakes with a start, something in his dream startling him. His room is twice as large as anyone else’s in the city because he is the Leader of the Clans, and there seems to be something wrong. Everything is lighter than normal. It’s not supposed to be this light yet.
He feels a breeze on his face. His face? But his mask...
He reaches up to touch skin.
Something creaks above him. He looks up to see his mask.
It drops to the floor, a figure cloaked in black standing slowly before him. He sits up straight in bed, his blood running cold.
“Help!” He cries.
The figure with his mask shakes its head and points to the window above his bed. It’s open.
He looks back to where the figure was.
In its place is a mask. Its colors are strange in the moonlight as Quill slowly gets out of bed, his feet touching the white carpet of the Light Clan’s living quarters. He reaches for it and lifts it up so he can see.
The colors are dark on the front, and sparkle slightly in the pale moonlight slipping through the open window. The mask looks partially melted, and as he turns it over, he realizes there is enough light to read the words written in red on the white paint.
I know Becca Reed
. . .