The Girl With A Synthetic Halo

Katharine was born in 1898 in the late Victorian era. She was literally dropped off at the doorstop of an orphanage. She doesn't know her birthday, she doesn't know her parents, and she doesn't know her last name. She doesn't even know her ethnicity. All she knows is that she stopped aging sometime in the 1920's. The mafia attempted to murder her and her love, but they only succeeded in taking her love, not her life. Almost a century later, Niall falls into her life. A descendant of her true love, and his spitting image, and after she finds out what she is, he becomes some one she needs to protect with her life.

A/N: So my first story on here, and I don't really know where I'm going with it. But Give me opinions, and I don't think that 'The Girl With A Synthetic Halo' is accurate, because her halo is real. So ideas??(:


4. Origins.

Niall's P.O.V.

I saw the slim mysterious girl walk in the pub and my eyes widened. She was sheer perfection itself, yet she looked like someone. I pull out my wallet and look at the picture of my great uncle and his deadly love. They were exactly alike, but she had waist length brown hair, curled at the ends. But the eyes, they really got to me. I only caught a slight glance of them but I could clearly see that they were mischievous, but weighed down. I could feel her sorrow, they were like portals to her soul. And I knew I had to talk to her.

Woah, hold up. Since when am I all deep? Since when have I ever even taken an interest in a girl for more than sex? Yeah, I'm kind of a player, in all honesty.

But anyways, I decided to talk to her. I just had an impulse, like it needed to happen. So I slowly walk up to the bar, right as she takes a swig of her beer. She gets a look like a five year old smelling dog pooh. So I chuckle, and slyly say "First time you drinking a beer?" She turns around and looks like she saw a ghost..... Must have scared her. I swear she almost dropped her drink. So I apologize, introduce myself, and start a conversation. Turns out she's a direct descendant of my great uncle's kiss of death. Makes sense, I guess, but I feel that she's hiding something. By the end of the conversation, I'm intrigued. Some how, she knows my life story and I don't even know her age. We continue talking and I pry a wee bit about her past. Her mother was murdered and I guess it drove her to become a cop, or something of the sort. She says this with a distant look, and I feel like there's something that she's hiding... I just can't help it. But alas, by the end of the conversation I just want to see her again, So I slip her my number, and ask if we can meet up again. She accepts and gives me a brilliant smile. It makes me want to smile all night.

And with that, I head home, replying the night over and over again. Then I think of how supernatural she feels. Just her presence, the way she talks. So I google her name's meaning: it means pure, or innocent. Apparently there were a lot of saints names that.... Hmm. She doesn't feel like a saint. It clicks and I know what sounds more accurate: An angel.


Katharine's P.O.V:

As soon as I get home, I take a shower. It helps me think. While washing my hair, I start singing Scarborough Fair. The old song just connects with me, and I don't know why. While singing, I start thinking about my name. Katharine, I know how I got that name. When I was dropped off at the orphanage, I came with a note that said: This is baby Katharine, make sure she keeps the name and keeps her faith. I was also left with a cross. But when I got my last name, I was sure I wanted the last name of Jones. I picked it out when I was 4, and I don't know why, but I was sure that I needed that as my last name. So I get out of the shower, and grab my laptop, plop on the couch, still in just a towel, and I google my name. Katharine: Pure, innocent. Which was true, to an extent. Still a virgin, Jack and I had only kissed. I've only ever drank, no other drugs. I've stolen, but that was for survival. There were saints named Katharine, but she was brutally murdered, so I think I'll pass on that. Then I look up Jones: The name I wanted for myself. Welsh origin, and the american translation was: without god, without anything. Which is odd to me; I've never been what is now referred to as a 'Jesus Freak', but I have realized that god was there. Especially with growing up on the streets. Some how, I never went hungry, or cold. I was never raped, or beaten. But after Jack, I had forsaken him, and after a awhile, I drowned my sorrow in liquor. Then, gradually, I picked up the pieces of myself and went through the proper schooling and became a detective. Then a private investigator. And gradually, I let him back in. And I've always known he's there, in my very core. Never doubted my faith. I break out of my thoughts, and start pacing back and forth with only one thought in my mind.: Niall.


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