Once again, death had come for her.
Once again, she was drifting within the walls of that endless void. Up and down were the same, left and right were the same. She felt nothing, but she also felt everything. The existence of the one known as Elena had been vanquished, the flame of her life extinguished.
She was an exceptional being—one that not only knew death, but knew it intimately, in a perverse, unruly way.
To the point of being able to tell when something was off.
There were many other, unfortunate souls cursed to wander the sea of the beyond. Some who’d been doing so for millennia before her, others since more recently. Some were murdered, others took their own life, and others succumbed to illness. These souls differed in many ways, but despite their differences, they all shared in common one thing.
Death was always the same.
It was impossible, for the embrace of death, to feel cold one moment, and then scorching hot the next. Death was death, from the first moment it reared its head until the end of time. It was a constant, a sensation that never changed. This is what made it so terrifying to mortals, but also what led to its soothing effect on the perished. To all those whose lives were wasted in a world of incertitude, there is nothing more peaceful than a chance to rest, with no need to worry about the weather, or taxes, or war, without having to concern oneself with the challenges of the next day.
How was it, then, that Elena could feel her soul itching uncomfortably?
On previous deaths, at the moment her heart stopped beating, her soul, like that of all mortals, understood it could not sustain spending eternity in distress. Thus, her agony was slowly filtered out, until all that remained was peace, the quiet of a soul that understood its place in the endless abyss that was death.
This death, however, was different.
There was no peace. She was struggling. She should feel nothing, yet she could still feel herself shaking, as she struggled against the surrounding darkness that was her world.
It was like swimming. She, more than ever, strove to find light. Before, it was the light that sought her, forcing her to return to its realm. Now, she herself was pushing forward, trying to find a way out of the nothing she was enveloped by.
She swam, and swam, until at last, she found light.
What was it that led to this change in behavior in the girl who’d met death before?
Simple. There was something she needed to do.
Someone she needed to protect.
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The world returned to Elena.
The same one that’d just left her. It was still early in the morning, the same blue sky reigning above. The flowers that surrounded her retained their varied colors, and the green of the garden remained ever-present on all sides.
But while the garden was unchanging, it now found itself with the presence of an intruder.
“You filthy Marked! What are you doing here?”
That voice belonged to a young man, as she could tell from its pitch. What his name was, it didn’t matter. All that she cared about was that he was an enemy.
Elena was lying prone on the ground. Her curious hands began inspecting her own body, looking for evidence of her death. To her shock, her neck was intact, while her back appeared devoid of wounds of any kind. She was like a toy that’d been fixed after being played with; with a body that appeared brand new, without any proof of past damage.
Knowing this, she knew there was an opportunity here. Sneakily, as to not attract the assassin’s attention, she slowly raised her head.
She witnessed something she feared, but thankfully, not what she feared most.
The gardens of the Royal Palace had turned into a battleground. That of two people, both of whom clashed with weapons that they wielded with insecure hands. As they stared off, they both shivered with fear, said fear being all that prevented them from lunging toward one another, bringing this conflict to a bloody conclusion.
“Dammit, all she ordered was to kill the girl with brown hair. I didn’t expect to have to sully my hands further,” the man complained under his breath. He was short and skinny, wearing torn-down clothes that featured holes all over the silk. His skin bordered on gray, and his hair was black like chocolate. He appeared no older than a teenager, which explained the way his hand swerved back and forth in rapid succession as he held his knife. He likely lacked experience as a proper assassin, dealing with a task far above his skills, and was now cowering at having to also get rid of a witness.
For her part, Cordelia held the shears she’d been using on the vines like she was hugging them. That tool, despite failing at qualifying as a weapon, was the reason she remained alive. Any wrong move from the assassin, and she could counter by stabbing him with the blades. To an experienced killer, this would be easy to avoid by carefully plotting the moment to strike, but this man lacked such ability.
Thus, both would-be combatants were trapped in a deadlock, both lacking the courage to make a move.
Elena, however, could not simply stand around and wait.
She rose to her feet at a moment’s notice, and with a sprint she didn’t even know she had in her, she tackled the man who’d caused her death just moments before.
“What the—”
He had the time to voice out a reaction, but not enough to swing his knife. Before he knew it, his body was pushed forward, breaking his focus and causing his weapon to drop to the ground.
“You… you are supposed to be dead!” he screamed out, as his body hit the ground.
“Cordelia, let’s do it!” Elena pleaded to Cordelia, all while performing exaggerated hand motions, suggesting she stabbed the bastard with the shears on her hands.
“Elena! You are alive?” Cordelia naturally pondered.
“Now’s not the time for questions! We need to get rid of this guy.”
“G—get rid?”
“Kill. We need to kill this guy. Geese, do I have to spell it out?”
As she listened to Elena’s explanation, Cordelia took a step back, diverting her gaze toward the nearby intruder, gloom seeping out of her eyes. Elena placed her hand on her own chest; she could feel herself absorb Cordelia's dread, understanding its source.
Cordelia shuddered at the thought of taking a life.
“Too late!” The young man rolled across the ground while their eyes were distracted. He picked up the knife from the floor, and lunged toward Elena. “I don’t know what’s up with you freaks, but I’ll kill you both.”
Elena froze. If before death came as a surprise, now she was staring right at it, at the tip of the knife that approached her chest.
The knife sunk deep, reaching Elena’s beating heart.
But it wasn’t just the blade that did.
“Elena!”
Cordelia’s scream brought Elena a mixture of anger and euphoria. She regretted it had to be like this, that those blue eyes had to be witness to her weakness, to her body succumbing before the power of death. But it’d be dishonest to ignore how much it pleased her to hear real, human emotion within Cordelia’s shrill yell. To know it was her who’d awoken something within that precious girl of blistering beauty.
Such at awe was she, that it was enough to drown out the pain her chest experienced, which struck her all at once with the strength of a rolling boulder.
“Please… stay alive…” she pleaded.
Elena smiled at her, then collapsed to the ground, her eyes losing their luster, the windows into her soul sealing shut.
“Now stay down!” the man said. He voiced this with both anger and a sense of disturbance, as he couldn’t help but find uncanny the warmth of Elena’s smile as she was cut down. He then immediately turned eyes toward Cordelia. “Now, to eliminate the witness.”
At the last second, Cordelia blocked the incoming blade using the shears. However, the killer did not let up, as he followed his failure with several more swings of the knife. They appeared random, as if he was simply rapidly flailing his arm around in the desperate hope of maybe landing a blow or two on her skin. His fighting style seemed improvised, lacking the refinement and grace one would expect from a warrior.
Cordelia put up a respectable defense, avoiding harm to herself. But even when the man left clear spots open for a counterattack, she seemed unwilling to take the opportunity.
Without realizing it, Cordelia had reaffirmed Elena’s view of her, as someone who needed to be protected. If she lacked the strength needed to dispose of the threat at hand, then this battle would never come to a conclusion—at least, not to a favorable one. At best, it’d just be an endless tango, both combatants teasing the idea of killing the other, but never going through with it.
At worst, she’d pay for her hesitance with her life.
“Perish, already!”
His last attack, luckily for him, cut through the skin that made up Cordelia’s arm. It wasn’t a deep cut, yet its pain was enough to startle her and make her release her weapon, the shears flying through the air before landing on the grass. Then, with his free hand, he landed a quick jab at Cordelia’s stomach, her whole body recoiling backward, before dropping to the ground.
His knife had gotten to lick the girl’s blood. However, it still craved for more, not being satisfied until it drained the life out of her. It was to sate that thirst, then, that he raised his knife yet again, its edge soon to plunge downward into Cordelia.
And at that moment, blood was indeed spilled.
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The green that shaped the garden’s color was tainted by an outburst of red. The grass became red, as did the nearby lilies, which were spectating the entire fight. Only the sky kept its hue, albeit the way Elena looked at it would probably change forever.
In fact, she could not see anything the same way as before.
Not when her eyes were forever spoiled by the blood she had just spilled.
Both she and the assassin took turns assaulting their opponent’s body. She’d drawn the first blood, using the dropped shears to dig deep into his back, catching him by surprise. Without even seeing the identity of his attacker, he quickly turned around and retaliated, throwing an instant slash with his knife that wasn’t aimed at anything in particular. She stepped backward to dodge; her stomach was caught in the attack, and it began pouring out blood.
When his red eyes caught sight of Elena, they began to boil with anger, and his mouth became filled with profanities. “You damn bitch! You faked your death!” he yelled, his eyes bursting with such bloodlust they appeared ready to pop-out.
“Is that… how you speak to… urgh, to a lady?” Elena said. It would’ve been a more biting clap back, were it not for the fluidity of her speech being affected by the pain that stemmed from her torso.
It hurt. It really, really hurt. But it wasn’t a big wound, and even if it were, death was but a minor setback. Thus, she grinned through the pain and readied to face the man head-on, despite her lack of battle prowess.
He, meanwhile, held the knife forward. He furrowed his brows in an attempt to intimidate, however his grip on the weapon was loose, betraying his intended image. This was meant as a way of controlling the space before him, telling his opponent that were they to step too close, they’d bear the might of his weapon.
It came as a shock, then, when Elena charged at him, bursting forward with a soaring roar, fearing not for the death that was written on his weapon’s edge.
His knife traveled its expected route, landing on the girl’s shoulder. But albeit it possessed the might to bring death, such a small tool lacked the force needed to stop a suicidal fool’s march.
Elena performed a stab with those large scissors, both blades traveling the air before burrowing into the man’s chest.
“ARGH… WHY, WHY GODDESS, WHY…
His screech of pain had such a penetrating sound, it could shatter the spirit of all with the misfortune of hearing it. It was no ordinary cry, no. It was evident just from listening that it carried his regrets, his despair at knowing this pain was punishment for his own sins.
In the chaotic scramble, the man flailed his arm and stabbed Elena’s chin, perhaps an attempt to take her down with him. By contrast to him, she didn’t so much as scream, instead simply enduring the pain with eyes both as fervent as they were cold.
The two remained within breathing distance, connected by the blades that were piercing their bodies.
“What the hell…are you?”
He, who feared death, stared into the depths of Elena’s eyes, eyes that lacked that same fear. Elena’s face would not change even as his knife sunk deeper and deeper inside her head.
“Wh…aaaaaa…ttt…yyyy…”
The man began to stammer, as if his mind was breaking from what his eyes were telling it.
But it made sense. It was only normal for a mortal brain like his to crumble, bearing witness to such a being.
A being that exceeded death, and stood despite it. An unnatural existence, that held no fear of death.
It was putrid. It was terrifying. It was beyond what his mere, mortal words could explain.
Anger. Sorrow. Dread. All those emotions visibly swirled through his eyes, as his death leaned closer and closer. His body flopped wildly, like a fish on land, a fruitless attempt to scare death away.
One by one, every one of those human emotions began to disappear. The anger that once flooded his eyes began to slowly vanish. His sorrow stopped having meaning. And his dread over what awaited him in the beyond… it could no longer exist.
All of those pesky, varied emotions blended into one at his moment of demise.
All that remained within his soul… was peace.
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“Elena, I need to treat you right now.”
That voice.
“I’ll remove the knife from your skin.”
That soothing, pleasing voice.
“Please don’t move.”
It was a selfish, maybe even lecherous, desire. But Elena wanted to be absorbed by that voice, to die by it if necessary.
The struggle her body was in was such, it overrode even her ability to think. She could not remember the way her surroundings, whatever they were, were shaped. And while her eyes were unharmed, she could not bear to open them, for to do so would mean to stare at her murderous handiwork, at the face of the man whose life she’d cut short.
Thus, Elena placed her faith, her entire self, in that voice. Her steps, faint and slow, were guided by that voice, how a sailor follows a siren’s song. Wherever it led her, Elena would go.
Besides, there was nowhere else she wanted to be.
“Elena, please, stay still…”
It was beyond description how much Elena’s soul jumped with joy each time she heard that voice. The distress it carried within its tone only served to further pleasure her, knowing how it arose from concern about her safety.
Her zombie-like walk reached Cordelia’s petite body, and without so much as a thought, Elena spread her arms, wrapping them around Cordelia’s body and pulling her into a hug, resting her chin on the young girl’s right shoulder.
“What are you—”
“Shhhhhh,” Elena silenced her, finger in mouth. “Please, don’t worry your beautiful little head over me.”
“B—beautiful?”
“Yes,” Elena said, as she softly caressed Cordelia’s head and played with her silver hair, using her hands stained with blood. “So long as you stay alive, what happens to me doesn’t matter.”
A harsh sob began to leak from Cordelia. “Why… are you treating me like this?”
Elena, who pressed her body even tighter, met those words with a wide smile and a whisper to her ears.
“Because… I can’t allow myself to lose you… the way I lost...”
The two remained in the other’s embrace, exchanging tender, passionate touches, as they both bathed in the blood that soaked Elena, fruits of the conflict that’d ended in their victory.
Long seconds of peaceful bliss passed, until the moment came, for Elena’s body to crumble to the ground.
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Long ago, there lived a girl.
She lived in a world much like the one this story takes place in, but also different in some specific, arguably inconsequential ways. A world filled with water as much as it was filled with strife and misery, where the difference between those who suffer and those who prosper could come down to mere chance.
She was a high school girl like any other. Mara was her name, and albeit gifted in terms of academics, she was sadly lacking in looks. Her teeth were long and her skin had an unappealing gray tint. She dressed modestly, cheap t-shirts and skirts that revealed a low-status to those with trained eyes.
Most who saw her would not think much of her. Others, meanwhile, would pick on her, say mean things to both her back and face. Boys, in particular, would often be the cruelest, punishing her for the unforgivable crime of being an unattractive woman.
There was one person who saw her differently, however. And one day, after school activities were done and they were about to leave, the two talked in a hidden corner near the front entrance, where no teachers could hear them.
“Please, don’t do this!”
“Elena, I’ve already decided. I’m going with him. Don’t try to stop me.”
Deep silence served as music for their conversation, which had turned increasingly emotional. Elena pressed her hand against her chest, staring with a troubled expression as her plea fell on deaf ears.
“I don’t belong here. And neither do you. At last, I’ve found someone who appreciates me. So why are you, of all people, so insistent on stopping me?”
“Because…”
Elena cast down her gaze, unable to provide a solid argument to counter Mara’s words. She had valid reasons for concern, as the man Mara was talking about was much older and lived in another city. But she knew said reasoning would do nothing to spark change in Mara, as it’d proven ineffective before.
Most importantly, Elena could not dispute her because, in part, she thought she was right. Elena, who wasn’t herself a ten in the looks department either, always yearned to be whisked away to somewhere else, somewhere far from the crummy life she led. Where she was surrounded by people who understood her, where she didn’t feel like a stranger in her own home.
So who was she to cast judgment? If she could, Elena would love to be swept off her feet, to be given an escape route from the rotten world she lived in. Why was she, then, showing such rejection to her friend’s scheme?
“...because… because I love you!”
Elena’s words struck the air with aplomb, making Mara’s eyebrows raise with shock. To Elena’s dismay, many more emotions followed said shock in rapid succession; first confusion, then sorrow, then finally disgust.
“What… what do you mean? Are you saying you’re a lesbian?” Mara asked, narrowing her brown eyes.
“Huh? Umm, no, I mean…” Drips of sweating began sliding down her neck, as she realized she had no ready answer to such a simple question.
Elena’d had crushes on boys before, and none on girls. From that, it was a natural assumption that her response should be a resounding “no”. Additionally, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mara was straight, meaning no love could bloom between them.
And yet, against all her wisdom, she gambled all her faith on those words of love, which had snuck out of her lips yet were nonetheless delivered with conviction. They were powerful, meaningful words, words that Elena had spoken with all the strength that hid inside her fragile heart.
Under her own nose, a deep affection had formed inside Elena. It was only now, when the target of her passion threatened to leave, that those emotions truly took shape, becoming impossible to ignore.
It was naive, but she clung dearly to the hope that maybe, just maybe, her words would prove enough. That they’d ignite some kind of passion within Mara, and lead her to reconsider, that they’d sway her heart such that she’d change her mind, and cause her to stay.
Elena hoped her love would save her.
But it was not meant to be.
“Ugh, whatever. I… don’t have time for this. Goodbye.” A roll of eyes was the last expression Elena ever saw of Mara, as she turned around to leave through the school’s front gate. As she trudged forward, she uttered some last words; they were no longer aimed at Elena, but they would nevertheless play ceaselessly on her mind for the rest of her life. “I don’t know why I thought you might understand me.”
Left alone, Elena could do nothing beyond whispering to herself, as she drowned in a sea of tears.
“Why must you always be so stubborn…”
Elena did not hold the same kind of power over Mara’s heart that she did over hers. That much was certain. She’d have to swallow that knowledge, as she prayed that her concerns were misplaced, that everything would turn out alright.
A few months later, Mara disappeared.
Her body was never found. Her family grieved her, showing her the love they’d never shown her in life. The man she was rumored to run away with was never found or identified.
Soon, her existence became nothing more than a memory, her name spoken only in passing, when listing disappearances and femicides. A value in a statistic, nothing else.
But Elena did not forget.
Every year, marches were held in her city, in protest of sexist violence. Thousands of women gathered in droves, filling the streets with flags and signs.
And every year, she attended those marches, the memory of Mara being the wind beneath her wings. Despite lacking concrete proof, she knew it was this supposed boyfriend who’d murdered her. She could bet her life on it.
Every year, she’d learn of that year’s number of femicides. Of girls who, like Mara, lost their lives at the hands of hateful men.
And every year, without fail… the number would increase.
No matter how hard she protested, no matter how loud she screamed, nothing seemed to change.
There were so many girls out there who were in pain, and she was powerless to help any of them.
Eventually, it all began to take a toll on Elena’s mind.
Why do I even bother? There’s nothing I can do to help.
Thoughts of helplessness, thoughts of despair. The constant, unfixable state of the stubborn world overwhelmed her to such a degree that she soon stopped even trying, abandoning any attempt at activism and instead locking herself in her room. There, fantastic tales of escapism filled her days with joy, stories of young women whisked away from the cruel, crushing reality of their normal lives.
Outside, the world remained in its usual, dismal state.
But when she sunk deep into those stories… those issues seemed to vanish.
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As she dove through the endless sea of the dead, that memory haunted what remained of her soul, igniting it with a flame she wished she could’ve had during her original life. But as she molded over it, the more she arrived at an important, but unexpected conclusion.
There were very few similarities between Cordelia and Mara. The two couldn’t be more different if they tried.
They didn’t share the same color of hair, nor the same color of eyes. Mara was fairly tall for a woman, whereas Cordelia was barely taller than a teen. Cordelia was reserved, aloof, resembling a robot before a person, whereas Mara was fiery, possessing a strong temper. And of course, Cordelia possessed a mesmerizing beauty, while Mara looked about average, if seen through a generous lens.
But despite all those differences, thy shared a crucial aspect that overrode them all. One strong link that only Elena could spot, for it only existed within her mind.
They were both girls that Elena wished to save.
So long as this wish existed, Elena could not fear death. She’d face any blade, gun, or lance, because so long as a hint of sorrow flowed through Cordelia’s eyes, she could not give up.
In the name of making that girl happy… she’d overcome even death itself.