A/N: This fanfiction is based off of the girl in the “In the End” music video. I named her “Ruxandra Camilla”. However, in this story the rebels do not know the real names of the band they only know them as: The Prophet, The Deviant, etc. They are their leaders, and they worship them. In turn, the three rebels that were saved and live in the home of “The Wild Ones” are not allowed to take off their masks or use their real names in the home. They too are given labels, either by the band or by their own accord. Why you might ask? Because Black Veil Brides are the leaders of the rebels and they are not “supposed” to become attached to any one rebel, they are there to save them all. If you are confused or have any questions, feel free to send me messages. No flames please, but I do accept critics and love. Thank you for reading and I apologize for the typos and such.
Remembering I remember black hooded figures approaching me in the open desert. I remember pain. I remember seeing red, then nothing. I awoke to a place that seemed to be decent looking home. In this post apocalyptic America, we, who were left behind the "God" that was supposed to be good to us, seem to have gone back in time. The 1950's architecture met with todays modern technology. The environment was barren, man had killed its mother earth. I had only seen dessert for my entire life.
I sat up rather violently in the bed I lay in, hyperventilating for breath that seemed to eillude me. I was halted by a gentle but firm hand on my chest, "Whoa! Slowly, young rebel," his voice was like velvet. I peered through my "devilishly" shaped mask. I knew him. We worshipped him. The Prophet. I scrambled out of the bed sheets that held me, and in one motion I was on my knees with my arms on the ground, and head bowed before him. His laugh sounded something of a scoff. "Stand up," he commanded gently. My head lifted slowly, my gaze met his ocean eyes, I was puzzled. A smirk split his features as he made a rising motion with his hand. Without hesitation I stood slowly, clutching my ribs with a wince. "Thats better, lift your chin wild one, be proud. I am not F.E.A.R. you need not be scared of me." He was always poetic when he spoke, we admired him for being so. I raised my head a small amount, only to have him place his thumb and index finger under my chin and lift to his liking. "Better," he nodded once matter-of-factly. The corner of my mouth lifted into a something that appeared to be a smile.
I exclaimed in pain holding my ribs again. His hands pressed against my shoulders guiding me to sit back down on the bed. "You will stay here," he stated before stalking out of the room shutting the door behind him.
Another young rebel about my age, I would guess 19, followed behind him. He held in his hands: fresh bandages, and a change of clothes to change into. The ones I wore were stiff with dried blood. "Who are you," I asked just above a whisper. "We do not use our real names here, but you may call me Arcane," his voice was hard but I could tell he meant no harm. He sat the clothes on the nightstand by, what I assumed was, my new bed. I placed my hand on my signature mask and went to remove it. Arcane, however firmly grabbed my hand, "We have one rule here, never remove your mask other than sleeping or bathing. When your mask is off, you lock the door and never let anyone in." I nodded slowly, and he released my hand, and like The Prophet, he stalked out of the room. I noticed that everyone I had met so far was quite standoffish. I secretly hoped that not everyone was like that.
Grabbing the clothes I was given, I went into the bathroom, which I had to myself, and was sure to shut the door quickly and lock it; remembering what I was told. In the mirror, I slowly took off my mask, and shook out the remaining the pieces of hair that were trapped under it. I almost forgot what my face looked like. I studied it for a moment in the looking glass, then rid myself of the rest of my clothes. I turned on the hot water to the shower, and stepped in watching in amazement as the clear liquid turned black; ridding my body of the black paint.
After the water ran cold, I turned off the shower and stepped out. The cold air assaulted my skin. I made sure to dry off quickly so I wouldn’t suffer for longer than I had to. I toweled dry my black wavey hair. After which, I examined the clothes I was given: a long loose fitted shirt, with black knee high stockings, and brand new lingerie for me; all of it still had tags on it. I smiled warmly at the thoughtfulness of The Prophet, and how I didn’t deserve it.
After I was clothed, I made my way out into my room. My actions were halted immediately when I realized I didn’t have on my mask. I turned to see it sitting on the counter of the bathroom. I grimaced at the thought of how silly it would look considering what I was wearing, but I knew the rules and went to the mirror to put it on properly. I then resumed my way out into my bed room. Curiosity got the better of me however, and I cautiously opened the door to my room and peered out into the hallway. My head tossed back and forth checking to see if the coast was clear. I snuck out with precision, and hurried down the hall to the staircase. I took one step, only to hear it moan under the weight of my body. I winced as the sound penetrated my ear drums. I hurried down the steps as fast as I could, a symphony of creaks and cries followed my movements. I waited for someone to see me, when they didn’t I smirked and turned around the corner. Just then: THUD!
I ran into someone’s chest. I looked up to see the eyes of The Deviant. My jaw went slack, I stared at his eyes, but my eyes wandered over his outfit. The torn fishnet under his leather jacket hugged his torso nicely. “Well well, you’re the new one, hmm? What is your name,” he asked. Remembering the rules that Arcane told me, I thought for a moment. He asked again, “Your name, young one?” Panicking I answered the first thing I thought of, “Aurora.” He smiled at me. My stomachs rumble was my only response. He turned on his heel and gestured me to follow him. I did so, and he lead me to the kitchen were a bowl of soup was prepared for me. He said nothing, just sat it on the table. “Eat,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry you are safe here,” he reassured me. I sat at the table, slowly and almost cautiously took a small sip of the warm substance off a silver spoon. I hummed in pleasure and turned to thank him, but he was gone. Even though I could feel their physical presence around the home, they appeared to be more and more god-like every second.