Wildflowers | Alec Volturi

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"She was a girl that had her whole life ahead of her, a girl with endless possibilities." 

The sun cast a red glow over the sky, a dark colour that felt like blood, like life draining away and leaving. It was an omen, a harbinger of death, as Robyn marched her warpath.

None stepped out to stop her, none called out a greeting. If they did, then she did not hear, did not care, as she went straight to the church. 

The colours of the sky were gone behind the building, replaced by dark clouds of a passing storm -- a storm that was to pass them by if the speed of the winds had anything to say on the matter. 

Shadows dew high, looming, and the soft, flickering of candles cast an eerie light from within. The door had been left open a crack. 

Robyn did not hesitate to enter. 

She did not muffle her steps as she strode forward, hoping to catch her Father here, in the house of the Lord, to ensure that this was not something that he could avoid, something that could be passed over based on the sake of simplicity. 

When she was young, she had placed the utmost eternal faith in her Father's abilities. He was a being to look up to, a man to set reason and morals. He was a man of ethics and rules that could not be broken. 

Over the years that childlike innocence faded away to something darker, something that could not be seen with the heart of a jaded girl. Yet that did not mean that her belief in the fundamental principles on which her Father stood had changed as he shifted into the man that he was now. 

They were far different than they had been so many years ago, but she would always believe that this was better. 

She wished now, that those differences would only aid in showing him the similarities that she had chosen to remain blind to for so long. Her father was much better at expecting such a thing than she. 

Her Father was much more adept at knowing what to do with such a thing than she, for Robyn actually knew exactly what she was and what she wanted and how she would go about getting it, but her Father knew how to do it all within the touch of the light, all over the surface that she could not help but bring darkness to. 

For in her soul was a darkness that she did not shy away from. She enjoyed her time digging for secrets, she enjoyed her blackmail. That would never change. 

And when she grew far too frustrated with the morals and legality of certain matters then she had no fear in bringing that inner darkness forward. She had nothing to hide of who she was. She was steadfast in what made Robyn. 

She was steadfast on what made her Father despite all of his sins and hypocrisy. 

If there was anyone that could see the damaging depths that rest just underneath such innocent appearing acts, then it would be him.

Forgoing the front of the church where the altar stood before rows of chairs, she went straight to the back. He was always here on days that he gave such large services, coming in the evening before he was to return home. He looked over tomes and bibles, he rechecked the candles and the water and oils -- ensuring all was in order on the days that he spoke to so many, trusting only himself to close on those days. 

Still, he did not lock the church, refusing to deny others access to the Lord's home should they ever need it. 

"Father," Robyn calls stopping the doorway of the back room. 

He was bent over a trunk from behind a blank desk. 

"Robyn," he says, voice a tone of surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"