Chapter 1: Bo

She doesn’t know. And she doesn’t know what she doesn’t know, but for all she knows, she was there, floating.

She shouldn’t have known.

She shouldn’t even have the capacity to know and think.

She has existed for years uncountable, yet she has never had thoughts, but purely survived through instincts.

Yet, somehow, someway, through strange fate and coincidences, she has gained self-awareness, and most notably, memories that belonged to a girl not of this world.

But she now knew, strongly, that she was, and is an existence named Bo, Bo Clementine.  

Bo simply floated. Although she has gained new memories, thoughts, and experiences, she hasn't lost her instincts. And her instincts told her to float.

And her thoughts told her that she was currently and probably in the ocean. And not as a human.

And Bo’s conjecture is correct. If perceived from an omniscient view, she was currently a pink glob of translucent iridescence that resembles a fluttering silk cap, the size of a cantaloupe, with hundreds, if not thousands of feeble feelers.

Within the walls of her translucent flesh, one can identify a gem-like object that glows with speckles, like a starry night. It continues to flicker and palpitate, like a beating heart, and can easily be mistaken for a priceless gem.

Bo was currently a jellyfish, to be precise. Known to this world as Pink Meanie*, to be more precise. A rare creature that only lives in certain parts of the deepest trenches of the sea.

Jellyfishes are known as the slime; or weed of the sea because of their large abundance, and little to no usage to humans. However, there are some rare subspecies that are highly valuable, or dangerous. The Red Meanie, for example, is a rare type of jellyfish that is extremely rare and volatile, however, their flesh are highly coveted and priced in the merfolk community, as they contain valuable medicinal properties.

As for Pink Meanie, they are by nature, docile creatures that they can hardly be considered monsters. While some jellyfish pose some threats with their poisonous, acidic nature, that only affects those that hunts and prey on them unknowingly. And Pink Meanie belonged to the subspecies of jellyfish that, other than its luminescent and regenerative abilities, and its highly coveted materials from their bodies known as Lumisilk, they pose little to no threats. They are, however, considered a meanie species of jellyfish because they sometimes preyed on other jellyfishes. 

Despite their abundant populations in the deep trenches of the sea, where even the dimmest light cannot reach, they are considered incredibly rare creatures for the merfolks, as they live in the upper levels of the ocean, much closer to the surface; and the Pink Meanie very rarely traveled vertically.

Bo floated, floated, and floated. She has strange, yet familiar senses. She could not see, and she could not feel many sensations that were once familiar to her memories. But she was also familiar with her current senses. She could change the trajectory of her trajectories. She can instinctively feed on the tiny planktons that pass through her body. She can propulse herself anywhere without fully understand how. She has none of the 5 senses, yet, she can clearly determine her surroundings at large. Bo couldn’t swim in her past life. She has never been anywhere near the water, but in this life, she has swam, floated, more accurately, for years unaccounted for.

Bo had nothing to do except following her instincts, so she fiddled with her memories. She recalled a sensation that was very unfamiliar in her current body. The sensation of extreme heat, the voices of people, and a myriad figures of people holding fiery torches. Their gazes were unpleasant, but much more tolerable than the feeling of having one’s organs boiled by their own blood. The pain, unfortunately, were deeply ingrained in her, much like her current instincts. But she found solace, knowing that she no longer had to feel that sensation, as it was a sensation of the past, one that was somewhat unfamiliar to her.

She began to recall herself, and her past. She was twelve, and she lived peacefully in a secluded forest with her grandmother, along with those who shared a common practice. They weren't related by blood, but they were family. It was a peaceful life, until the king who went by the name of Louis, sent out a nation-wide witch hunt. All under the suspicion that his son, Prince Charles’ death was caused by a witch’s poison, or a curse, as the court announced. Suspicions and fears grew. And soon, various noblemen and townsmen began to associate anything unfavorable such as famines, deaths or sickness to witches. Witches were cruelly hunted. Botanists and Herbalists were condemned as witches. Husbands accused their wives as witches due to infidelity, infertility  and various conjured reasons. Neighbors condemned neighbors. And women accused one another in hopes that by condemning a witch, they will less likely be condemned as one.

Bo remembered, the day when men in suits of armours, and wielded swords and spears invaded their home. Some were put to death immediately for "resistance", some were taken, like Bo. She remembered the feelings of indignation, how she feared the men, how she wanted to utilize the gifts that were bestowed upon her since birth, that her grandmother forbade her from ever using in public, and escape back home, where they were plucked from.

But before she made any decisions, the guards came and took her beloved from her. She remembers the face that Granny made. It was a confusing one, one that seemed to be filled with joy and tears, a smile full of warmth, yet it was the most sorrowful one. The words of Granny were muffled and drowned by the soreness of Granny's throat, the yelling of the guards, and Bo's own sobbing. But Bo heard. Granny was reminding her of the doctrines, the virtues that the family upheld, and swore geaes upon. And forgiveness.

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Bo was left in her cell in solitude. She cried and sobbed through the day and night, until her body was weak and feeble, until her tears dried and eyes burned, until the sun rises the next morning, and the guards took her, too, to where they had already burned her grandmother.

They say Winifred Clementine was found practicing witchcraft. They accused her of poisoning the prince. How she was the devil’s advocate; how she used her crafts to commit sins. And the King had her, and those accused tied to stakes. He wanted a confession, or perhaps a demonstration.

However, up until the very last moment, tied to the stake, Winifred never yielded. She did not beg for forgiveness. She shed no tears. 

“Confess your sins! You treacherous WENCH! Do you not confess what you have done!” shouted a man in a religious robe.

“And what have I done? Do regale me, of what sin have you seen me commit? This hag, this set of brittle old bones. Murder you deem? Treason? For what reason? I have not set foot outside the forests for decades, and would not have till death, ‘less you raided our huts and plucked us from our dwellings. Do tell us what you've seen. God is listening.”

“We know what you are, Wench, we fully understand your kind, your capabilities, how you bathe thyself in wickedness, how you reek of evil. Repent for thy sins. Confess!”

Granny Clementine then looked at the King directly. She showed no signs of fear, almost as if her visage of kindness in the homestead, and towards her granddaughter was but a mirage.

“I know what I am. Do you, Louis? Do you truly not know who poisoned thy son? Who has bled the last drop of blood in thy veins?” Winifred spoke, unyieldingly.

But, the King did not listen. He plastered a stern and serious look, one that often becomes a habit of those in power. However, the King’s grip on the armrest as it trembled, whispered a story of rage, despair, and guilt.  And with palpitation of heart, the King grimly made a decision and gestured for the executioner to set ablaze the stakes. Wretched screams were sung, some from the ones on stakes, and some from the audience. But not one peep of agony was heard from Winifred Clementine. It was as if she disappeared behind the wildfire.

The King and the courts were not entirely wrong.  The Clementines and their clusters had indeed been practicing witchcraft and sorcery, for they come from a lineage of great witches and wizards. In fact, it was due to their ancestors’ support, that King Louis II, the current king’s grandfather secured his throne.  

However, the Clementines never committed what they were accused of. In fact, they lived quite a secular life and followed a doctrine that closely aligned with kindness. They were devoted to God, and never borrowed powers from the Devil.

Bo, however, did not know this until she, too, was towed, following the steps of Winifred, and was tied to the very same stake.

This was no longer just execution, but also a demonstration. The King wanted to instill fear for those who dared oppose him. And he was to do so by sparing no mercy, not even for children. On the stakes were women accused of witchcraft, some from the city, and some captured from the woods.

Bo’s twelve-year-old self at that moment knew what the King plans to do. And what he has done to her beloved granny. For just a moment, she wanted to use all that she has learned, and all that was forbidden by granny, and end it, all of it. But violence was not a virtue that was taught by her Granny. Bo knew that caving into her desires right now would be betraying her granny’s teachings, and trampling on her grief sacrifice.

And so, Bo looked directly into King Louis’s eyes. Her eyes told Louis a myriad of stories, and in turn, instilled fear.

For a moment, the King trembled, in both fear and guilt. His grandfather has told him stories of the witches, what they were capable of, and what they've done for this country. But, he did not care. He despised these powers that were not his.

The way this young girl looked at him, gave a sense of macabre déjà vu, similar to a nightmare in the daytime.

Bo was questioning herself, whether she should perform a 1-man coup, right here and now, as both the judge, jury, and executioner.

Her eyes told him, that she was capable of it.

But who for? 

Granny Clementine was no longer of this world. All her friends and families have been killed unjustly. And same with her neighbors, tied to the stakes, grieving the loss of their home and families.

And most importantly, Granny Clementine was no longer here.

Granny has always taught her to be kind, and use her gifts only for good. She would not have wanted her to shed blood with what was bestowed upon her. No, she would not have.

And a part of Bo yearned to be burned at the very same stake that Granny had burned. She yearned to be with her beloved once more. In the arms of God. She prayed like she always had. But, she felt distant, cold, and no warmth of God. It was as if God had abandoned them, left them to burn and die by these cold hands. Bo was angry.

Thus, Bo Clementine looked at Louis, King Louis;

“You are no king. And you will never be,” she said with a hoarse but clear voice and a hint of a smile. 

King Louis felt his spines chilled, a sign of foreboding, and a warning. As if he instinctively knew that a disaster was coming. He knew and feared that she has done something.

And as if a lever has been pulled, his fear embroiled with guilt pressured him to gesture, one that he has just done in this very same seat, during the same time yesterday.

And a fiery flame enveloped Bo and the rest of the accused. But strangely, not one whisper of agony was heard this time.

Stats

General Information Name Bo Clementine Species Pink Meanie (Jellyfish)  Sex Female(?) Age 1918 years, 4 months, 7 days.  Class (empty) Titles Immortale,  ⛧̸͈͝ ̸͈̀⛥̴̵̴̸̴̵̶̶̷̸̷̵̴̴̷̶̷̶̴̶̷̷̵̵̵̷̷̸̵̴̷̢̠̤̱̺͈̰̫̗̞̩͎̰͙̰͒͌͛̉́̓̋͂̊̎̿̂̓̒̈́͘ͅ ̶̴̴̸̴̷̷̵̵̵̴̸̴̷̷̴̶̸̸̵̶̴̸̷̶̵̶̶̴̶̴̨̨͖͚̳̟̣͓̠͕͎͕̝̥̻̜̈̐͌̒̆̀̂͐̍̽̀̈́͂̋͝͠h̷̴̵̷̶̷̷̷̶̵̷̷̵̸̶̷̸̵̴̵̴̷̴̴̷̷̷̴̶̷̵̤̰͈͙̟̬͍̱͕͍̥͈͉̠͓͚͒̆̆̏̓́͂̓́̌̎̏̌͝͝͝c̴̴̶̴̵̷̴̶̴̵̴̸̶̶̸̶̵̶̷̸̴̷̵̵̴̴̵̶̴̸̶̲͎̩̱̝̭͈͈̘̗̩̙͖̲̩̾̀͑̑̈̀̎̒̍̇̾͌̽̇́̚ͅt̷̸̶̷̶̸̷̸̷̸̶̴̵̶̸̸̷̸̸̸̴̵̴̷̶̸̸̸̷̷̵̢̡̡̤̥͖̪̹̟̤̺̰͚͚̲̓̆̆̀͋̆͒͐̒̔̈̀̅͛̕̚͜į̷̷̴̵̸̷̴̸̸̸̴̵̸̸̷̸̶̵̴̵̴̴̵̴̶̶̶̷̶̵̸̩͇͈̟͓̹͔̫̞̮̮̞̰̞̣͊̏̈́̏̽̋͋̀̄̉̀͆̓̌͝͝ẃ̵̵̶̷̷̵̷̶̸̶̸̶̵̵̶̷̵̶̵̵̶̴̴̶̶̶̷̶̴̷̸̨͕̬̻̬͉̙̟͈̙̣͍͉̰̰̙͒̆͗̋̈́͊̈͊̒̄̔̅̊̌͝ ̴̷̴̸̸̷̶̶̶̸̷̷̷̸̸̸̶̸̷̴̵̴̶̸̸̶̸̶̴̸̴͇̝͔̼̞̮̠̣̫͉͍̰̝͍̈́͐̈́͂̔͑͑̇́͛̒̕̚̕͜͜͝͠ψ̸̸̵̵̸̵̵̴̴̶̸̶̴̸̷̸̸̵̷̶̶̸̶̴̷̵̴̸̴̵̶̧̫̖͓͔͈̼̪̳͈̯̮͔̥͍͋̔͆̾̃̈̎͗͐̏͑̀̔̇͜͝͝ ̸̔ͅ⛧̷̤̂