Chapter 1 : Cut

Deep. Straight. Neat. With a calm river flowing from it. That’s how I’ve always wanted it to be.

I clearly remember my first one. I was ten, seated at my desk, mulling over my ever-disappointing world. I thought that it was the end, that it was over. And without even realizing what I had done, there it was. Barely visible, irregularly curved, somehow blurred, with a few drops arduously winding down from it. I stayed there for a while, staring at it. For the first time in a long while, it was finally quiet inside of my head. What a delightful and peaceful feeling that was. I still dream of experiencing it again whenever I close my eyes. The next day, that horrible cacophony of nightmares resumed inside of my head. And I soon learned that no matter how many I made, the whirlwind of jarring voices always returned, sooner and sooner, like the high tide on a sleeper that forgot himself on the beach. And every time I made one, it was deeper, straighter, neater, and took longer to dry out. Still, my hands were always too shaky, my mind too irresolute: it was never like the one I dreamed of.

But I could feel it, today was the day. It began as bad as it could: I woke up late. I had forgotten to set my alarm clock at the right time again. I stumbled out of bed, put on yesterday’s clothes, took my phone, keys, wallet, and went to work. I spent the commute praying that I wouldn’t stumble upon my boss on the way to my office. But I did. He told me I was late for the second time this week, and I got unceremoniously fired. I didn’t even bother picking up my stuff. I went straight home and lied down on my bed fully clothed, too tired to do anything else. After some time, I got a phone call, in which an annoyingly calm and crystal-clear voice told me that I had not paid my latest internet bill and risked being cut off from the network. I think I hung up without even letting her finish her speech. I didn’t care at all. That’s when I realized: on the bright side, this was a perfect day. Every cloud does have a silver lining, I thought, smiling. But I wasn’t going to rush it. Oh no, I was going to enjoy it, I thought, and my smile widened in a grin. I got up and took out of the cupboard the vacuum I bought when I moved in, and that I had never used. If I ever used it once, now was the time. Everything had to be perfect. I opened the window, cleaned the floor spotlessly, threw every little piece of garbage that had piled up in my room in the garbage can outside, and stored away all the useful stuff in the empty dresser I had bought for this exact purpose. I even took the time to organize the administrative documents and put them all in several neat folders at the side of my desk. I didn’t think I had put anything in folders since middle-school. I wondered how many grown-ups did that regularly. I would guess not a lot, but I really had no way to be sure.

I took in a breath of fresh air and delighted in the act. Everything felt as immaculate as a newborn. A little foretaste of what my mind will be like in a few moments, I thought, content. I sat down on my knees, in the middle of my room, and lit the candle in front of me. There had to be a candle, as there was nothing better for heartfelt celebrations, like this was. I pushed it far enough from me, so that I wouldn’t get burned. That would ruin everything, after all. Then, I picked up the porcelain knife I had placed at my side. It was as white as hospital wall. A very fitting color for its job. Neat, clean, like it was supposed to be. I put my left forearm on my knees, with the palm of my hand towards the ceiling. There were so many white curves there, but every single one of them was irregular, blotched in one way or another, like a child’s first attempt at drawing. But fortunately, I had had the presence of mind to leave a patch of skin unblemished for the occasion. It was the best one, right there, in the middle of the wrist. I would make a beautiful one, this time. A line the likes of which may only be seen on the best of the renaissance paintings. I knew I could pull it off. I’ve had more practice that I could remember, after all. I visualized how the knife would cut the skin, played it slowly in my head, and decided on a precise gesture. I aligned my knife with my wrist, pulled it up, focused, and brought it down in a straight, unhesitating motion. I felt a sting, immediately followed by numbness, which was a good sign. I put the knife on the floor and took a look at the cut. I smiled. It was the cut of my dreams. Finally! I kept staring at it in great relish, fascinated, unaffected by the pain that was creeping up or by the coldness in my veins, as I slowly drifted to unconsciousness.

I awoke to a scream. Did someone find me too early, I wondered? That didn’t make any sense, though. Who would come and look for me? Did someone see me through my window? I felt exhausted and every muscle in my body was screaming in pain, as though I had been taken apart and glued back together by some mad scientist. Everything had been so perfect; I had been so sure it was the end. Well, leave it to me to mar an exceptionally good death, I thought. I wasn’t wanting to open my eyes and see the ceiling of the ER staring back at me, yet again. Although this time, judging by how bad I felt, I should at least have given my merciless surgeons a run for their money, I told myself, as my lips curved into a tentative smirk through the pain. Another scream shattered my ears, sending my lips back into a rictus of pain. It was raspy, unreasonably loud and eerie, like the squeal of a pig realizing he’s next in line to get its throat cut. Yet another scream sent my teeth chattering. It was an awful amount of screeching for an ER, I thought, trying to imagine what could cause such a cacophony. Perhaps someone realized how evil these bastards named doctors were and decided to rid the world of them. Well, they had it coming, I rejoiced.

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It suddenly occurred to me that I was lying on a hard and grainy surface, and not the soft thickness of a mattress. Was I… not in a hospital bed? But where could I be, then? Without leaving me any time to gather my thoughts, a hand grabbed my arm, and dragged me across the coarse ground. A searing pain shot up my back, and my eyes flew open. The silhouette of a young girl with dark hair and fancy clothes stood out against an azure sky. She was staring at me from above, with the stern expression of a mother catching her child behaving badly. A Chanel bag was hanging from her free hand.

“So… faking unconsciousness next to trolls?”, she asked, in a sharp and disapproving tone. “I’ll end up babysitting all of you if you keep messing up like this,” she added after a contemptuous scoff. She briefly looked to my right, and I followed her glance. There, in front of a crumbling building, stood a bizarrely textured monster, with its sharp and irregular borders somehow constantly changing. My jaw dropped at the odd and incongruous horror. Its face was covered by a white mask whose only opening was a crudely cut mouth, behind which an impressive set of pointy teeth were aligned in a sadistic smile. Apart from the mask, the monster was black as ink, with unnaturally long arms and legs that looked far too thin to support its more developed torso. Another screech resounded to my left, and to my horror, I saw two other creatures walking towards me. They all seemed out of place, as if a mediocre artist full of bitterness had opened rifts in reality and stuffed into them its badly drawn nightmares. The way they moved, in a glaringly disjointed and inhuman manner, made my blood run cold.

The fancily dressed girl grabbed my shoulder and pulled me up with an iron grip. She lifted a finger to my right jaw and turned my face towards her. A perfectly faked smile bloomed on her face.

“You’d better start running, baby, or I’m leaving you here, alone. I’m not sticking around to see what comes next.”

She turned around and started awkwardly running herself, with her stiletto shoes banging against the pavement, and her Chanel bag swaying back and forth. It almost made for a comical picture, were there not, a few feet away, three horrors screeching like jigsaws cutting through steel. Staying here and dying to these monstrosities would definitely be a messy and ugly affair. No, not the death I’d like, at all, I pondered. And thus, I launched myself after her as quickly as I could.

We were in a in abandoned city, that much was certain. The architecture reminded me of my first trip to Europe, during which I got to visit France, Italy, and Spain. None of the buildings were more than four or five stories high, and most of them seemed made out of large blocks of white stone that gave them a dignified and ancient look. But the blinding sun did nothing to cover their dilapidated state. Some of them looked so wobbly that it was a wonder the echo of our steps didn’t bring down an avalanche of stones over our head. I tried my best to follow the girl, and by the time we stopped, I was shaking from exhaustion. The unmistakable smell of the sea had slowly seeped through the air as we were running, and I could now hear the waves in the background. In front of us stood an imposing cathedral, which, in contrast to every other building, was in an impeccable state. Almost noone around, but still enough to worship gods, I mused. Bringing down my eyes on my rescuer, I caught her staring at me with an unreadable expression. Surprisingly, she didn’t look as if she had had to break a sweat. An uncomfortable silence settled while I was catching my breath.

“So what brings a servant of the Water God, and moreover a defenseless one like you, so far from the shore? Care to tell me?”, she asked, with a a condescending tone yet again.

“I’m sorry, what?”, I replied, nonplussed, still gasping for breath. “A Water God? Well, I heard many people bullshitting about a God, trust me, but a Water god… That’s a first.”

I saw her eyes widen imperceptibly in surprise. “I knew it. After all these years…Finally…” She stopped, composing herself again. “Ah, but I forget my manners. Cressida Blancfeu, servant of the Fire Godess,” she said, while holding out her hand. I shook it tentatively, while trying to assess how much of a nutjob she actually was. “Leopoldine”, I answered laconically.

“Oh, don’t worry”, she carried on, while putting a hand over my arm. “I know you must have a lot of questions, but Kevin will give you the speech. He’s the head of your group.”

“And what group is that?”

She smiled, and I thought I saw a flicker of pity on her face.

“The group of all the servants of Water God. Uncharted Waters!”

“What kind of stupid name is that?”

“Well, Kevin named it. He’ll explain, I guess. Although, between us, do be careful not to buy too much into everything he says. He’s… a little bit of a lunatic,” she murmured, while pushing the cathedral door open. “Welcome to the Sunburnt Pearl.”