Chapter Text
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the light is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations
That is known as the Children's Hour.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Children's Hour"
"Mister! Help me, please! My brother's hurt!"
The man looked down at the hand tugging on his sleeve, which belonged to a thin-faced twelve-year-old girl.
"Please," she begged again, her eyes wide with panic. "He got hit by a car that just kept going--he's not moving and I think he's dying!"
With those words, her panic spread to him and he nodded. "All right, where is he?"
Still pulling on his hand like a child much younger than her years, the girl led him to a dark corner, where the street split off into a narrow alley. "I...I pulled him out of the street as much as I could," she explained tearfully. "But he was so heavy--"
Her adult companion nodded, his heart sinking. The faint but growing sensation in his mind gave away her brother's condition--he was not dying, he had already died and was just beginning to wake up. When they reached the body in the alley, the Immortal looked at it with even greater dismay. Her brother was not much older than she was. And now, he would be trapped in childhood forever.
The older Immortal sighed. Well, the least he could do would be to teach the boy the Game anyway, even though there was no way he would ever survive it. He turned back to the girl.
"He'll be all right, kid--"
A low growl stopped him and he looked at her in surprise. Shock faded into horror as he saw that her brown eyes had shifted to a sinister golden color. Then, she smiled, revealing two sharp white fangs.
Before he had time to do more than gasp, she grabbed him with inhuman strength and sank her teeth into his throat. When she let the corpse fall to the ground a few moments later, the boy stood and crossed to stand beside her, drawing out a sword much to heavy for his size.
She smiled that same evil smile at him, blood still staining her lips. "Your turn," she hissed.
Returning the smile with equal malice, the boy raised his sword and swung it down, severing the dead Samaritan's head from his neck.
The sound of sinister, childish laughter could be heard even as the Quickening ripped apart the sky.