SOPHIE EL - "Flowers and Mistakes."

[Izzy Anders]

CHANGE IS INEVITABLE.

There was no longer a voice of a woman who dubbed herself “dead”. In the same token, there was no longer a girl standing in the coldness of the waking world. In an infirmary like a while ago, Sophie El sat. Instead of being the victim of circumstance, getting treatment for wounds that were not of her own volition, she was now the victor. Within the hour, doctors would have to adhere to the mangled phalanges of one Jackson Magnum. 

A defiant force he may be, but on this night, Sophie stood the winner. Furthermore, she transcended past her previous existences. She had reached the perfect state she wanted to be in, temporarily if not permanently. None of her memories returned to her. She had not reverted back to Sophia Kaiser, the youngest child in the Kaiser Dynasty. She simply sat as an awakened person, someone who was ready to make something of herself. Five points in the All or Nothing Series, a crucial step forward to worldwide glory. 

Jackson Magnum, a man who captured her and used her to further his goal of disrupting Magdalena’s title reign, was her victim. She told him that she was going to get him back. She didn’t do it for Magdalena. She did it for herself. She took his little finger and his middle finger and made them go snap. She forced blood out of him. She made him scream and cry. Was it for mercy? Sophie didn’t care. She just wanted to hear them rip from his vocal chords.

Magdalena was, of course, pleased with the match. She wanted to see Sophie change in such horrific ways. She wanted to orchestrate Sophie’s metamorphosis into the violent, but artistic being she stood as now. Magnum’s assault might have been a part of her master plan. Sophie pondered on the thought briefly, before reveling in the anguish she caused Magnum, a father to a daughter and a man with grandiose plans.

Stitches were being implanted into her forehead and cheek flesh, stopping the copious flow of blood. Sophie didn’t flinch at the needle weaving through. In fact, her smile growing and contracting made the doctor a tad frustrated. She had to contain herself. Medical procedures were not the time for giggling fits. Once the doctor snipped the elongated string, Sophie forced on her wide smile. Twinges of pain radiated in the cuts; the adrenaline began to wear thin.

“Why are you so cheery?” the doctor asked, placing his tools on a countertop close by. 

Sophie kicked her legs up and down, wanting to sing a song to herself. “Have you ever felt the thrill of mutilating one of your enemies?”

The doctor’s stance stiffened entirely. “No,” he said, turning back to the counter top. 

Sophie giggled loudly. “It’s quite nice.”

The doctor didn’t seem to pay much attention, before motioning to the door. “Well, we’re going to be treating him now,” a pursing of the lips, “Thanks for that.”

Sophie got onto her feet and began for the door. She stopped midway, curtsying to the doctor. “You’re quite welcome. Have a good night.”

=

A Monarch Butterfly floated gently throughout a calm garden. A sea of natural color accompanied by the light harmonies of songbirds became its temporary home. The butterfly landed upon a yellow flower, batting its wings once before coming to a peaceful halt. It moved slightly, taking notice of the girl sitting in the field. Small noises of graphite sliding across rough paper, brief erasing noises, and finally a soft song. 

The butterfly lifted off the flower and got closer. The blissful air of the artist invited the serene creature close. It landed upon her hand. Sophie rose her hand up, noticing it. “Hello there,” she said, almost inaudibly. She leaned forward and sneaked in a quick kiss to the butterfly. It took off, scared of the sudden contact, but it came back to land upon her shoulder. 

Sophie returned back to her art. She was in fact finalizing her latest piece. Pastels rested upon defined lines, making up a beautiful image. Her mentor, Magdalena Lasiewicz, rested in the garden with her lover, Chris Strike. She wore a sky blue dress, reflective of the wonderfully cloudy sky. She had a summer beach hat, selectively colored in favor to the yellow tulips. Her raven hair, a contrast to the light colors.

Strike, on the other hand, remained as dashing he always have been. He wore a black suit, only lacking the tie. He opted to keep his jacket open, along with a few of the buttons unbuttoned. His smile was wider than his lover’s. He held up a crystalline glass of maroon wine, offering it to Lady Magdalena. It was a joyous picnic, forever immortalized by the brush strokes Sophie El made. Sophie finished off the painting by adding in a Monarch Butterfly flying among the scene.

“Look, you’re here too,” Sophie said gently to the butterfly that rested upon her shoulder. She relaxed completely, falling slowly back into the flowery ground. The butterfly took off again, circling around her head before landing upon a flower near her. Sophie remained there, watching the butterfly do what it does. She was enamored by the grace of its actions. Never a moment of roughness, only daintiness and serenity. 

Sophie rested her eyes for just a moment, before she saw a flicker of something most foul. In addition to that sight, she heard a voice. “Enough of this, Sophie. You’re going to die out there,” the voice resonated, with tones of hatred seeping in. 

The smell of flowers burning away overtook Sophie. Her eyes snapped open as she looked around the flowers; they were fading away in the blaze. Sophie snapped to her feet, watching as the flames danced around her. They may have licked at her legs, but they never fully engulfed her. They simply waged destruction upon everything around her. The gorgeous setting that she saw was now a wasteland. She turned to see the painting had come to life. 

But not in the gorgeous way she illustrated. Flames engulfed her mentor and her lover. Strike tried to snuff out the flames that ate away at both him and Magdalena. The gentleman he was, he opted to save Magdalena. It was to no avail. Once the flames made it up his form, past his head, he burst into ash. Magdalena screamed, tears flooding from her eyes. She took Strike’s ashes in her hand, not believing what had occurred. 

The magnificent woman had been reduced into a screeching mess. Sophie looked on in horror, unable to do anything to stop the tragedy. The flames still lingered around her, serving as a blockade. For Magdalena, they acted as hyenas, predators looking for an opportunity. Magdalena looked up at Sophie, her cerulean eyes locking with Sophie’s. Trails of ruined makeup and a broken visage summed up Magdalena. 

She reached out for Sophie, but as Sophie did herself, the pyre saw its chance. It took Magdalena away from Sophie. Ashes remained where Magdalena once sat. Sophie’s hand froze in time and space. “This dream you have, Sophie? It’s pointless. This world you live in? It’s dangerous. It’s harsh.”

The figure of Jackson Magnum appeared. “People like him.”

It changed to the monstrous Harbinger. “Or him.”

Then it went on to Artemis, her older sister. “Or even her. Even Artemis, your sworn protector, has hurt you once before. You can’t just sit here in this lush dream anymore. You want to be successful? Then you have to deal with this mess.”

Sophie looked around. “Who are you?”

Eventually, a girl appeared on the wayside. She was the spitting image of Sophie, but she stood there with black hair. “Obviously, I’m you.”

“Sophia?” Sophie asked, which got her a nod in response.

“If you want to stay here in this dream, then you can,” Sophia snapped her fingers, making the beautiful scenery return. Magdalena and Strike were back in the painting. Sophie looked at in wonder. 

“But you’ll go nowhere. You might as well just leave and stop wasting everyone’s time,” she paused, “Especially mine.”

Sophia began to walk off, leaving Sophie there alone with her painting. Sophie sat idle, before feeling some metallic in her hands. As she peered down, she saw the glisten of a Zippo lighter. She opened it up, then struck the flame. “I’m wasting everyone’s time?” she looked to see where Sophia went. She was nowhere to be found. Maybe she was a mirage.

A moment to reflect was all that Sophie needed before she stood up. She walked over to the bright flowers, feeling the wind pass her. She lowered down, taking a flower for herself. Then she set the field ablaze. A small flame crept onto a flower, but in a blink of an eye, the grand pyre returned. The whole field went up in smoke like a sheet of paper. Flowers dissolved, colors faded, and smoke dissipated into the sky. 

Sophie was left in a field of nothingness. Ashes dissolved into the blackened earth. Sophie looked at the single flower in her hand; it had already begun to die. Sophie let it go, hitting the ground. The single dash of yellow against the morose wasteland. Sophie grinned. She turned and walked away from everything, exiting her own vision. 

Leaving the dream behind.

Among the ground, a Monarch Butterfly laid. Dead.

=

Sophia whistled within the confides of Sophie’s mind. “Twisted Nerve”, she said it was. It was a tune that she picked up from a movie that Sophie never watched. The more that Sophia whistled, the more that Sophie felt the urge to follow. That thought became a reality. It became her favorite tune while she painted. The camera had caught her mid-process. Unlike before, she did not paint upon the walls of the arena she would be fighting in. She opted for the more acceptable approach, a canvas.

She wore a smock that was covered in an array of bright and shadowy hues. The beautiful contrasts all over her fit well with what she was painting. As she did with Justice Riot, Sophie illustrated her opponents. Yet, there was nothing grandiose about this painting. She did not manufacture them into some ostentatious light. She kept it down to earth. The two were already outlandish enough with their darkly appearances. There was no need to exaggerate it further.

“Silk and Cyanide?” Sophie asked, glossing over her handiwork. She stuck her tongue out and took aim. 

“What a fanciful name that is,” Sophie said, giggling slightly. “It spins the tale of elegance, but then incinerates it with the fires of crudeness. I think it represents you two very well. Two girls who bathe in the dark atmosphere, but have proven that they deserve some time in the spotlight. You both are as calculating as you can be. You get all your strategies from a laptop, a Google Search, and a few Twitter background checks.”

“You might believe that to be an insult,” Sophie leaned over, taking up a huge paint can of black. “It’s not.”

“I could sit here and try to undermine your whole endeavors, just like everyone else. It’d be cliché. Acknowledging it is cliché in itself. But you two will mention it, won’t you? You’ll parade around the fact that MagiCastle and Dragons Unleashed underestimated,” Sophie paused, taking a quick gander at the paintbrush in her hand. She took her time, analyzing her canvas.

“No, I should correct myself.”

Sophie reached over to the canvas and made an adjustment to Erin’s face. She exemplified her lips with increased shading. The two looked on at the viewer with contempt. It was their default expression to Sophie. 

“Everyone that has encountered have underestimated you. Silk and Cyanide picked up another upset. It’s all they say about you two. It’s an insult, because it’s your strategy. No one can find out anything truly about you two. Personifying the essence of mystery, you two aren’t exactly accessible. But as I’ve stated, it works out for you two. It helps you keep the advantage on your unbeknownst opponents.”

“It’s natural that if someone cannot locate any information on a wrestler, they’re pointless. The average person would label you two as unknowns and unimportant and move along. They’d berate you. Once they do that, they won’t ever realize that they’ve fallen for the trap. They don’t say what they should; they don’t tell you that you two are indeed dangerous. It’s a fun trick, I admit. I found myself giggling as both teams you’ve defeated did the same thing and lost because of it.”

Sophie painted more of Sara’s red locks. Sophie had to be careful with that. Sara had black hair with red dye laced within it, not completely red hair. The layering had to be precise or risk ruining the image entirely. “The matter for me is that I know that you two have information galore on My Lady and I. I don’t consider myself the most approachable person in the world. HKW just does a fine job of keeping available archives. You can see me at my strongest, but most importantly, you can see every fault I make.”

“The stage is set for Le Pacte de Immortels to fall victim to the same rudimentary situations that every other team has fell for,” Sophie accidentally drew an extra red mark that landed upon Sara’s face. “Well, all but one thing. The typical thing that happens is that we both ignore your potential and underestimate you. The clear way to counter that is to acknowledge how good you both are and be prepared. That’d require me to let you stay in my mind that long.”

“I don’t mean that in the sense of me disregarding Silk and Cyanide. That’s hardly the case.”

“I know that we will only know each other for twenty minutes at the most. I will not delete you from my head, but I will give you the ability to seep into my thoughts. We will have a match and My Lady and I will win; it’s a simple thing to process. There are no twisted ramifications like with Jolyne and Wulf. There’s only the match and its outcome. If I sit here and overanalyze all of what you’ve done or what people have said, it becomes droll.”

Sophie picked up the now ruined painting and sighed. “Investing too much into you would be detrimental too, because you both hardly do the same for anyone else. Once again, a Google Search and a Twitter investigation and then you have it. But then again, the people you investigated weren't all that reclusive."

“The only thing truly noteworthy to say about your mentality isn’t how dangerous you all are. It’s actually how fragile your egos are. You all berated MagiCastle on not just looking past you, but kept speaking about how much they should regret doing so. It didn’t sound like the obvious; it sounded like you both were personally hurt by what they did. In the grand scheme of Dynamic Duos, you all are meant to be nothing. Hence why people constantly talk about upsets.”

Sophie looked over the ruined picture. The red marking had become a trail upon the two. Sophie grinned at the marvelous mistake. “Now will they say the same about My Lady and I when we beat you two? No, it is to be expected. The crowd has gotten used to you two being the ‘upset’ team. Thus, they’ll begin to expect you both to keep winning. Impressive as you are, you all are losing the edge as the unknown underdog. You both are becoming the odds on favorite.”

“You all will have to conjure up a new strategy. It’ll be based around not proving My Lady and I wrong. I, for one, believe in your strength and your potential. My Lady is wise; she knows not to give you two the satisfaction and inspiration to beat us. Your strategy will be simple. You must find a way to beat us without the element of surprise.”

Sophie looked at the painting long and hard. “A mistake has turned into something beautiful,” she turned it around. It was a photorealistic portrait of Silk and Cyanide. Yet, a single trail of red made cracks among the whole painting. 

“You’ll have to try a wee bit harder,” Sophie measured it with her fingers. “You have to come up with a new line of thinking in order to get past us. You can’t get into our heads. You have no inspiration. You have nothing against us other than a few weeks of lackluster research. Oh, it’s wonderful to know that you both will actually have to try.”

Sophie paused, beaming at the camera. A light flickered over her. “But you all will try so hard only to fail.”

“And I’ll truly enjoy watching your egos crumble into dust and fade into nothing," Sophie presented the picture fully to the camera. She reached into her artist's bag and pulled out a business card. She placed it in front of the picture.

“You both have fought wars against vainglorious humans for so long, but what will happen when you face off against us, the perceptive immortals?” Sophie rose up a finger, brimming with an answer. 

“You will lose.”