Down in the dungeons of the Ancient Cathedral…
It was an almost labyrinthine complex, built many floors deep underground. A place where great, winding staircases led out to the many underground blocks that held the condemned of the Holy See of Arcadia. Be they common criminals or even monsters unfathomable to mankind, all found their due here, beneath the very foundation on which the Ancient Cathedral itself stood atop its opulent perch, where Lightsworn wardens and enchanted traps made escape all but impossible by sheer force of might and magic.
Kept away from the general population, within solitary confinement, Cecelia languished in her cell, upon straw bedding stained with tears. She lay there, her red hair falling loosely around her shoulders while her green eyes, red and raw as they were, stared unblinkingly at the dim light shining upon the floor that lay beyond her cell.
She was still alive. Somehow. Though for better or worse, she did not know. On her, the Ecclesiarch had stayed her hand, even as most of Izoria Vhal’s faithful were dead, little more than corpses to feed the bloodied snow and the poisoned earth beneath it. And most of them, she had heard, by little Anna’s hand! The irony of it all was not lost on her, even as she languished here in the dark.
But truly, how long had she been in here? Days? Weeks? Months? That, Cecelia could only wonder. For it seemed in this hell, such as it was and had been for as long as she knew, that time itself seemed to crawl to a halt. That the days had bled into weeks, into months. So seamlessly, as though stitching from the same ball of wool. And if she was being honest, she could no longer tell, and a part of her preferred the still, though slightly painful bliss of ignorance as eternity itself dragged along.
Even so, she could still remember that day. Back at the mansion, when she saw the two sisters reunited. Claire de la Lune and Anna de la Lune, was it? Their names and their faces remained in her mind, the sight of their smiles and tears tingling her skin even now. After all, it was her, Claire de la Lune, that had set it all motion. A life for a life, if only to atone for the sins of the past.
And as Cecelia considered this, she felt a twinge of amusement tickle upon what little remained of her senses. Truly, was that the story she had stuck with, the one she had so brazenly spoken of with such emotion before a Vizier of the Eye of Elicia? In a way, lying was like breathing. So easy, when done over and over.
But even then, she had not been completely false when she spoke of only one master to the Vizier of the Eye. His name was not Izoria Vhal, but Terask Dagon. The great red beast, the Sorcerer King of the Cathanian Imperium who had so many years ago noticed her and her brother amidst the huddled masses of human and elven slaves whose souls were forfeit to the dragons’ Luminary. It was by his will that she and her brother had been taken aside, clothed and warmed while everyone else perished in the baleful light that waited in the distance.
Ever since that day, she had pledged herself to him, the great Terask Dagon. That her body and her soul would forever be his, given the fate that would have otherwise been hers. It was with this one truth that she had offered herself to the inbred imbecile that was the son of the traitor Izoria Vhal, dedicating herself to the bidding of his father even when he and his travelled across the sea to the Holy See of Arcadia. Doing his bidding, setting all the pieces of the master’s plan in motion, if only that her brother, her dearest Cedric, would live happily ever after. How else would the Eye of Elicia and her elven Vizier begin, given Izoria Vhal’s penchant for subtlety? Unravelling the diseased dragon’s scheme was still a point of pride for her, even now.
And now that everything had gone as per Terask Dagon’s wishes, there was only one thing left to do. To cut loose ends, as he had ordained, and she was one of the few that remained in this regard. As she best remembered it in his words, the world was but a stage, herself merely a part of it. And just as she had her entrance like everyone else, she too, had her exit awaiting her, just beyond the Luminary’s light.
But even then, she could not go. Not yet, even if in her heart of hearts she wanted to, even if it was the master’s will. There was something out there she was still waiting for. What it was, however, that she could not fathom it in her mind. It was only a feeling, something that stirred in her heart even as she continued her passionless stare at the wall beyond her cell.
And yet, it meant the world to her.
It was then that Cecelia heard footsteps pattering upon the floor, and she felt the tiredness of her ears perk up at the sudden noise. The steps were light and unarmoured. Gentle, as though filled with apprehension and anticipation. In a way, it reminded her of her walk to the Luminary, where at spearpoint by the Sorcerer King’s half-dragon soldiers, she and so many others marched to their doom all those years ago. All while an Overseer watched them, a dragon whose lidless eyes glinted silver with malice like the stars in the darkness of the night sky.
And soon enough, she saw the source of those footsteps when she caught sight of a pair of feet in brown, jewel-studded sandals stopping at her cell door. The wardens whose footsteps had clanked alongside those soft steps had hung back, it seemed.
“Cecelia? Is that… is that you?”
Cecelia looked up. When she did, she stared unblinkingly at Claire de la Lune, who knelt before her, dressed in robes of red and saffron wrapped around her slender and voluptuous figure. And as her nostrils took in the scent of lavender perfume, she could see so clearly under the dim light, the weariness in the gaze of her friend’s brown eyes and the little notches etched all over her otherwise immaculately beautiful features like tiny cuts upon a perfect painting.
And to all of this, Cecelia could only grimace. For truly, Izoria Vhal and his servants had left a piece of themselves upon her forevermore. Just as her beloved master, Terask Dagon, had done the same upon little Anna de la Lune. Her black heart, the horror of it all, reeked with her master’s magics. And deep down, she knew herself to be the one responsible. After all, it was she who had received it when it was smuggled across the sea, hidden within sacks of pastry ingredients stuffed with magic nullifiers meant to distract the Lightsworn tasked with checking any and all trade goods coming into the Ecclesiarch’s dominion.
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In a way, it was all thanks to her. But the thought of it hurt. It really did.
“Cecelia, I…” Claire said as she knelt. “I came here to, um…”
She then paused for a moment, placing a fist upon her chest as though to steady her heartbeat as her brown eyes looked straight into the tears dried within Cecelia’s green eyes.
“I came here to apologise. I know it’s a little late now, but I wanted to thank you for what did for me back there at the café. I’m sorry, I… I was so upset when I learned that you were… you know, with them. I was so angry with you, with myself, that I…”
Once more she paused, her chest heaving as though gasping for breath. And as she did, she reached through the bars of the cell that separated them both, taking Cecelia’s hands into hers.
“Perhaps it means nothing now,” Claire said, closing her eyes as she felt the dirt and roughness of her friend's hands that once made pastries so mouth-watering and beautiful. “But I… I forgive you. And I… I hope you’ll forgive me as well, for being such an awful, petty friend.”
As Cecelia felt the warmth and smoothness of her friend’s touch, her own vision glistened in turn. But the words, they brought with them such a good feeling, such that she found her grimace melting away into a smile as what felt like a massive weight upon her shoulders vanished, leaving nothing but weightless grace.
“Will you?” Claire asked, desperation rife in her words as her grip on Cecelia’s hands tightened. “If not, won’t you talk to me, please? Curse me if you must, hit me if you want, I… I deserve it!”
Cecelia remained silent, choosing instead to shake her head even as her smile remained. She then opened her mouth, revealing to Claire the uneven and bloodied stump of tissue that was what little remained of her tongue. As had been commanded by Terask Dagon, if only that she would present herself as voiceless before the Eye of Elicia.
“No… no way!” Claire exclaimed, tears falling from her brown eyes at what had been laid bare before her. “How could they do this to you! How could they! To think that the Ecclesiarch, she…”
With a tearful smile, Cecelia shook her head once more. Claire looked at her in utter confusion, and as she remained silent, her smile remained as she watched her friend’s confusion turn to anger.
“Izoria Vhal! To think that he’d…”
Still silent, Cecelia watched as her friend stopped herself mid-sentence, regaining her composure with what appeared like the brightest of smiles. And it was just as well, for what good was it to dwell upon the past? Once more, the irony was not lost on her as she listened to her friend speak of happier times, of days shrouded in ignorance and bliss as she held her hands in hers. Of memories of the past, of what was like a lifetime lost forever.
But how real were these memories, how genuine? That, she could only wonder as Claire began speaking of the future, of Anna and the Black Legion. After all, she did love Cedric as Claire did Anna, and his birthday was indeed the day after Anna’s. At the end of the day, what was true and what was not, much like how time seemed to flow within this hellscape, seemed to melt upon each other, such that the two were at times one and the same.
Truly, a part of her wondered if the mask she wore had somehow become a part of her. Was this why she had bided her time, so foolishly ignoring the master’s will? Waiting day by day like a fool for such empty words to grace her ears? That, she could only wonder. For so feverishly she had memorised the character she was to play in the Sorcerer King’s scheme, that a part of her had bled into it, such that it was, in a way, herself, having been made of so many pieces of her. Little wonder it had worked out so well!
Too well, if she was being honest. Especially now that she found her smile growing bigger and bigger as she listened to Claire’s words of hope, of a better tomorrow that would come someday.
“And when you’re released,” Claire said, a bright smile upon her face as she looked Cecelia in the eye. “We’ll start anew, alright? The café, and everything! Cedric, Elena and I, we’ll work with you, and everything will go back to what it was. Maybe, even better!”
And as Claire continued speaking with that lovely smile of hers, Cecelia found herself smiling in turn. Her words were so warm, so blissfully unaware. And a part of her wondered if that was why she felt this way about Claire de la Lune, even now. Her only friend.
Maybe, just maybe, she did want to make amends. A life for a life, was it? If only to atone for the sins of the past. It had to be, for why else would she feel this way?
With all of this upon her mind, Cecelia closed her eyes as she watched the Lightsworn wardens lead Claire out of the dungeons of the Ancient Cathedral, back to whatever new life awaited her. A Vizier’s servant, was it not? Surely, it was the greatest of honours for any Elician subject. And Anna, a Vizier of Lord Ebondrake? Those eldritch mutations, horrifying as they were, had amounted to something in the end.
And the thought of it all, as it rested upon her mind, brought forth a lightness, a peace she had not known in what felt like forever amidst the silence of her prison. A newfound serendipity as she drifted off to sleep, one that remained even in her dreams when she found herself standing before her rightful master in all his red-scaled glory.
“Your brother,” Terask Dagon said, his tone grim and his voice deep like the earth. “He is free to live his life in the Holy See of Arcadia. I will leave him be, for you are all that I want and need, my dearest, as was the pact we sealed.”
Cecelia had nothing but tears and a smile as those words graced her ears.
“Thank you, master…”
“You have no regrets left, do you not?” Terask Dagon asked, eyeing his servant carefully. “I knew you would look for me, once what ailed your heart was put to rest.”
Before the burning visage of her draconic master’s lidless eyes. Cecelia shook her head.
“Good. Then you know what must be done, my most faithful servant…”
“I do.”
When the words left her mouth, Cecelia awoke once more to the gloom of her prison cell. With a singular purpose burning upon her mind, she leaned back upon the wall of her cell. And as she envisioned Cedric, Claire and Anna in her thoughts, she reached for her throat with both hands, tightening her grip with every passing second.
As she closed her eyes, as pain enveloped her, she once more beheld the fate meant for her long ago. The light of the Luminary, baleful in its multicoloured aura as she had ever remembered it to be as she drew closer and closer towards its tempting beacon, as many had before her. And many after her as well, she was sure, for the dragon soul asylum’s hunger, much like Elicia’s Veil, was unending.
Indeed, death was all but an eventuality. For her, at least. And perhaps, there was truly no escape. But even then, despite it all, Cecelia smiled. And she did so without regrets and without remorse, as everything around her faded to black.