Amora Caerys-Cupid

TW: Description of torture & blood.

She felt the tip of the blade touch her cheek. All Amora could see was darkness, her vision pitch black. The coldness of the knife traced along her skin, almost to tease her in a twisted way. Amora tried to speak, but she couldn't for some reason. She was stuck, trapped in this horrible reality.

"You stupid Cherub." The voice whispered in her ear, too distorted for Amora to clearly tell if it was a male or female. Was Amora blindfolded? No, it was just her spotty vision. Her heart raced as she swallowed hard. She felt the person's laboured breathing on her neck, making her flinch. "You ruined everything for me."

The blade grazed her cheekbone and Amora winced as pain erupted. She couldn't see, but she felt the liquidy fresh blood spill from her cut. Her head pounded as she tried to make sense of where she was. She couldn't see, talk, or touch, but she could still smell and hear. Amora felt the breeze whip her hair, so she was somewhere high. The air stank of rot and decay, making nausea form in Amora.

Finally, she found a way to speak. "I... I can't.... Don't hurt me, please, is this a ransom? God, don't do this, please, please—"

"Don't."

Amora struggled to think clearly, turning into a stumbling mess. "Please, please, please—"

Suddenly, the knife dug further into Amora's cheek and she gasped. Pain exploded as the blood dripped, causing her to cry. She tried to move, but her hands were bound behind her back. The blade twisted inside her flesh as Amora slumped. She clenched her teeth, too shocked and agonized to continue her train of thought. "Stop," she said at last. "Please. Stop, s-stop, and—"

The person leaned in closer, Amora knew because she felt their body press against hers. "You made me a promise," they spoke with malice, their voice sounding like a computer glitch. The voice rang in Amora's ears painstakingly. "And I expect it to be fulfilled, mi salvadora."

Amora let out an ear-piercing scream, echoing in her empty dorm room. She blinked, panting loudly as the world came back to her. Her vision cleared and she could speak. She was drenched in sweat, the sticky bed sheets clinging to her. She sat up, clutching her chest as she gasped for air, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

It was just a dream, she told herself. Amora absently rubbed her cheek, finding it smooth and untouched. She hadn't gotten cut, there was no blade deep in her face. She gulped, sitting up as she raked her fingers through her slick blond hair. Amora held her head in her hands, choking out a sob. God, she was a mess ever since Lovella passed.

She hadn't even brought herself to go to the assembly.

All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. Amora jumped out of bed, alarmed. Oh God, what if it was that person in my nightmare, she thought, horrified. "C. C.?" It was a collection of multiple voices out in the hall. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, um, yeah." Amora, embarrassed, opened the door. Outside her dorm were many Monster High students in their pajamas, some peeking out of their dorms to look at Amora vaguely. In front of her was Lamenta Wailsong, a literal Banshee. She went beet-red, realizing just how many people were outside her room, wondering why Amora had screamed in the middle of the night. "I didn't wake anyone up, did I?"

"You did, in fact," Asterian Goyle said, a sleeping mask in his hands. Of course, Aster was probably taking a quick nap after spending most of the night stargazing as a Gargoyle did.

"Sorry, just a scary movie I was watching," Amora lied, smiling.

"Happens to the best of us," Yukio Snowvester laughed, always quick to turn a situation upside down by cracking a joke. For once, Amora was glad for Yukio's witty humour, it took the heat off of her. "Welp, nighty-night, monsters."

As the students slowly retreated back to their rooms at the stroke of midnight, only one remained. Callas was the only person dressed in day clothes, mainly because Vampires only slept during the day. Still, it was rather strange he had stuck around.

She assumed he wanted an apology. "Oh, sorry, Callas. I was hoping I didn't wake anyone."

"You sounded as if you were getting axe-murdered," he answered bluntly. "It was impossible not to. Besides, that's not what I'm here for. Can I speak to you for a moment?" His question caught Amora off-guard. Usually, Callas would do anything—basically, anything—to avoid Amora. She glanced at the clock back in her dorm. It was 12: 50 PM, too late out.

"It's about Lovella," he supplied.

Lovella?

Amora immediately became more alerted. "What about her?"

"Everything, I suppose." Callas glanced around. "Can we talk, you know, privately? Outside." He nodded his head towards the window that overlooked the school's Courtyard.

She tossed a look over her shoulder, gazing at Lovella's vacant bed in their shared dorm. The police had stopped by earlier today, tearing the place part in hope of finding a suicide note. It has to be suicide, that stupid human detective said. By the looks of it, Detective Johnston wasn't going to give up on his narrative. Lovella didn't deserve that.

"I'll grab my coat."

✦⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ✦

Callas Laurence

The school's bell clock chimed softly once the hour turned to one. Callas and Amora had crossed past the yellow crime tape, walking into the Courtyard. It was starting to get colder, Amora had a vapour of cold air near her mouth. Callas didn't feel the temperature drop. They didn't speak a word until they reached the area that Callas was reaching for.

The death spot of Lovella Cherish.

He stared down at the dried puddle of blood. It had been scrubbed away, but stained the pavement. Callas glanced at Amora, who looked uneasy and about to throw up. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked, averting her gaze and backing away. Understandable, he guessed, as a literal dead body had been there less than three days ago.

"Because on Halloween night, you said something to me before you blacked out. 'Someone killed her.' Now, I can't stop thinking of it." Callas tried to read Amora's face, but it only resulted in vain. Her posture often changed, so did her facial expressions. She couldn't stay completely still either. She was like a ticking time bomb. "Did you mean it? The part about someone killing Lovella."

Amora's face went blank. "I-I can't remember. I didn't even realize I said that until you mentioned it." Great, this little Cherub seemed to be just as forgetful as everyone else. She was a lost cause. "Wait." Suddenly, it looked as if the gears in Amora's head shifted. "Mi salvadora."

Callas raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Mi salvadora, I heard that before. L-Lovella said something like that." Amora paced around, her gaze occasionally flickering up to the rooftop. Where Lovella had fallen to her violent death. Those wings... "The entire circumstance of her death was strange, even if Detective Johnston is trying to convince us otherwise," she said slowly. "But I saw her before she fell. Even if I can't recall it perfectly."

Callas' voice caught in his throat. "And...?"

Amora stopped, her head tilted back up as she stared at the roof. "Her back was facing me, that explains why she was laid on her back when she landed on the ground." She closed her eyes shut, trying to remember. "There was someone up on the roof with her. I can't remember them—barely got a glimpse of their face—but I-I think someone pushed her."

"Pushed her?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "C. C., you need to know that's a huge accusation."

Amora crossed her arms, almost to defend herself. "So? Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"You said it yourself, your memory is faulty."

"You're the one who came all the way here to talk about Lovella." Damn, he couldn't exactly protest after that. Why had he come all the way to speak with Amora? A crappy text would have sufficed. "What you're scared of saying is that Lovella could seriously have been murdered, Callas."

"It's a thought," he said curtly.

"You truly think Lovella just killed herself by flinging herself off the roof? There's s0 many factors you're not considering." Amora pursued her lips, shaking her head at the blood stain on the ground. Maybe Callas hadn't considered how insensitive he was acting, Lovella and Amora were best friends after all. "Johnston can go to Hell, that sick bastard."

Callas agreed with that at least. "So..." He hadn't thought up a plan if his suspicions about Lovella's death being a murder was confirmed by Amora. There's so many factors you're not considering, Amora had told him. That was true; Callas was semi-aware that he had very strong opinions that could tamper with his line of thinking.

And then there was Amora, she thought completely differently from how Callas did. Refreshing, but also just as damning. Their ideas would either clash or fit together seamlessly, plus everything in-between.

Two sides to one blade, but you bleed the same. Callas would never forget those words.

"Then what's your next step, Cherub Holmes?"

"We find Lovella's killer."

A/N: And so one of our favourite detective duos meet up and discuss Lovella's murder! You know, Amora and Callas are just going to be goofy af in an unironic and totally ironic way.