Silence— a lifeless void, that embraced the darkness, and suffocated the warmth of life. Priscilla found herself enveloped in it, she 'awoke' in that abyssal pit, devoid of light or colour. Her body felt weightless, a feather in a soft breeze being pushed along with no destination in sight. She lifted herself up, the pain was gone, a figment of her imagination. She looked at her barely visible hands in the dark, her burnt flesh— gone. Confusion struck her hard as she gazed around. Darkness— ever-present darkness, shapes shifted overhead, mountainous and large— straining her eyes she could just barely make out the landmasses floating like clouds above her head.
She looked down, but there was nothing— no land beneath her feet, no grassy pasture to call her own. Her feet seemingly hovered there, pressed against the void that she stood on. 'Where am I?' she thought as she floated there. She began to move, to wander the space that she found herself in, but she quickly found that her senses seemed detached— alienated from her form. Just as the cloud floats unbeknownst to it, so too did she. The emptiness— an infinite, an incomprehensible abyss that she was thrust into, terrifying as it should have been, but instead to Priscilla it was something different. It was— relief. It was— freedom. The incessant harassment, abuse, and pain, they were all gone finally. She smiled, or at least she felt like she was smiling. It was impossible for her to tell.
''It's a bit lonely and dark... but it isn't too bad!'' she tried to say optimistically, but her voice barely drifted from her lips before fading into the void. Silence— you can never cheat its eternal embrace.
As she drifted through this endless void, time flew past her seemingly without end. Her detached thoughts swam in stages, sometimes happiness and relief filled her with hope. Other times the sadness and despair of death consumed her. But more often the grief and indignation burned inside her. The anger swelled inside her, the situation she found herself fueled it with no end in sight. She cursed her powerlessness, she wanted to scream and shout, but the void rejected her wants.
One day she reminisced, she saw the day that her 'father' found her, it was also the day her mother had passed on to the beyond. There she lay at Priscilla's feet, cold and petrified— the illness took her without warning. She always was there for the girl, protecting and nurturing her with endless love— something rare for the slums. And now she was gone. Priscilla sat huddled in a corner, trembling from the biting winter's chill. Her belly growled as she nibbled on scraps of bread that her mother had pilfered from the backside of a restaurant's waste barrel. Tears raced down her rosy face as she sat there, lost and broken.
There was nothing Priscilla could do— she was just a child of six, her mother always warned her to be careful. Never attract too much attention, and do everything to not get sold off or enslaved— she wracked her little head off, how to survive... then she heard a loud knock on her slumhouse. Priscilla flattened into the corner, pressing herself into it warily, a large man walked in uninvited. His eyes were chilling and cold. Even young as she was, Priscilla recognized his garments as noble attire. It wasn't common in the slums, but sometimes they would appear with their agendas seeking someone— or something.
The man gazed down at the woman, a surge of warmth reflected in his gaze. Before he walked closer to the small girl huddled in the corner.
''Child, come with me.'' the man said softly as he reached out to the girl.
Priscilla eyed him warily, she tried to press herself further back into the corner, she was a wounded beast— if she had fangs to bare, she would have bared them. The man sighed helplessly as he looked at the small child. ''Girl, I am your father. I won't hurt you— your mother is gone, so you must come with me. Instead of dying here, why not take a chance?'' he asked her with a slight smile.
In that moment her wariness somehow melted away, something ticked inside her and she felt a warmth not unlike the warmth she felt with her mother. She reached out her hand still a bit reluctant, but she took her chance. The man held her small hand in his large, and ruffled her hair softly before taking her away. The girl who had nothing, suddenly had everything she could ever ask for. She lived her life happily as if it were a perfect fairy tale. They taught her culture and arts, the way of nobility and words. As she grew and developed the beauty and elegance she inherited from her mother bloomed daily, striking awe and admiration in all who witnessed it. Everything was perfect... it should've been perfect. Then why— why had things turned out as such?
The man she called father began to fade from her life— he grew distant, a ghost of his past self who was always present, and showering her with affections. On her sixteenth birthday as the festivities unfolded, the man didn't deem it appropriate to even show up for his daughter. Because of it rumours started to stir, the bored nobles had all the time in the world, which they loved to waste on idle chatter and gossip. Priscilla's position quickly became a joke, as those who were below her began to undermine her status and mock her. Worst of all— not long after her father showed up with a woman barely in her mid-twenties. Showering her with adoration as he called her 'Lady Nightshade' with such fervor, like a dog drooling for a treat. He followed her religiously, as his daughter fell into forgotten obscurity. He approached her only once after, telling her that Lady Nightshade was to be her mother.
'Mother?' Priscilla thought— how could that be? Did this man forget the day they met, did he forget the woman who lay there at his feet— dead. That was her mother, the woman who raised and nurtured her. Despite all the hardships— she had never given in or abandoned her, she never disappeared for days and months neglecting her, eyeing her with cold indifference. Was this man joking with her? Her mother worked herself ill because of Priscilla, because she wanted to give her daughter everything. He knew this, yet why? How could a man change so much?
Priscilla remained there— alone with her thoughts. The darkness was an endless scape, shrouded in that eternal silence, but worse was the time— ethereal and formless, detached from what she knew of time. Had a second passed— or a year? She couldn't know— but if she did, she might have given in to despair. Time was fleeting, like the clouds in the sky. One moment you see them— and the next they're gone. So too was time— gone without a trace.
Far into the depths of that dark abyss an unnoticeable gaze scanned through countless miles of the void. It could penetrate the darkness and the void, as it set its sight on that lonesome girl. Her non-corporeal figure swirled endlessly in a shroud of fog, as it drifted through the darkness.
''What a fierce determination, for such a young tormented soul.'' its soft voice trembled the void around it with a strange power, it was confined just as Priscilla's voice had been, yet it warped the space around it. Expanding and stretching it— a small achievement, but it was a vivid display of freedom that anyone would dream of in the abyss.
''What is your story, child? What caused you to have such apprehensions towards death, such strong attachments to the world, fueled by such powerful emotions?'' the ethereal voice wondered, as its gaze swirled with luster, penetrating through eternity and the shadows of creation as it dug into the long-forgotten depths of the river of time.
Stolen novel; please report.
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A woman's choked sobs mingled with the pattering of rain, as she knelt at the door of an old crone's slumhouse. She begged in a hushed tone— she needed her, but the woman had a temper. She couldn't risk offending her, but she had to try. For hours she stayed there, her protruding belly held carefully despite her forehead being pressed against the dirt. The woman was desperate, the biting cold of that wintery night made her tremble fiercely, despite it she remained stationed there long into the night.
''Ya don't give up, do ya? Ya trying to freeze to death?'' an old voice croaked out from the closed door. It creaked open revealing a leather-skinned old crone, her flesh speckled in black dots and patches of purple and green. Possibly from drugs, poison, or violence. ''Ya know I don't service no one anymore, Marana.'' the woman spat.
''Please, Madam. My child kicks with vital force, the Star beckons to her and she responds! I lack the strength to bring her out into the world— I need you, Madam! I beg you, help me deliver my babe.'' the woman begged as she knelt there pitiful and powerless. A true slumrat with no hope— but even slumrats sometimes wanted the best for their child.
The old crone stared down with a hint of pity, ''ya crazy wench... I swear!'' she sighed. ''If ya die don't blame it on these old bones, ya hear me?'' she spat helplessly, before reaching out to help the woman up.
''No, Madam! I would never blame you!'' the woman revealed a bright smile as she lifted her bowed head. Her face was caked in the dirt and grime of the slums— a necessity one was taught at an early age, especially for women. But despite it, one could see the inherent beauty that lay underneath. ''Madam, she's really a strong one! You'll see... she's a fighter, she'll find a way— she'll escape the grasp of the Empire. I'm sure of it!''
''Ya... ya damn... ai.'' the woman sighed unsure of what to even say. She had tried to avoid the people of the slums for a long time now, they were all scum to her, but seeing such an optimistic fool even for her was a novel experience which she found difficult to handle.
''Fine... get in, will ya. Ya must be close if ya felt the need to come find me.'' the old crone lead the woman inside, slamming the door shut loudly behind her.
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A year passed— the crack of dawn struck like lightning as a woman weaved through the city. A scavenger of the night as she sifted through the detritus of the city's nightlife, collecting every edible scrap she could find. Nested on her back was a small child, bundled in a warm cloth that wrapped around her. Its tiny hands pressed against the woman's back as its rosy face peeked out from the bundle, ever so slightly. The weary woman carried on day-after-day, scavenging for scraps in the the outer districts for hours each morning, before returning back to the slums.
She'd feed her baby and put her to sleep, before making her way to a slumhouse that hid an addiction bar within. Drugs, booze, women, and gambling were prominent. The vices of the slums on full display as those desperately craving them came to indulge. She was fortunate— the Matron allowed her to clean, instead of being a 'serving woman'. It wasn't all easy however— as she had to do the work of multiple, but still— it was better than the alternative. Her elbows were deep in the washbasin as she worked ceaselessly scrubbing the greased up dishes that were endlessly brought back from the patrons gluttonous indulgence. After hours of slaving away, she'd leave with a mere two solv each day, a pitiful amount— she'd need fifty days just to save up a single gild, but it was enough— for her only goal was bringing up her child.
Another two years passed— in the woman's slumhouse the pitter-patter of small feet echoed as a small girl ran around, happily chasing after a Cressel butterfly. Her giddy laughter spread contagiously as she hopped around. The girl was energetic and full of life and vibrancy, a foreign and strange concept to the otherwise dull and depressing slums. Normal folk tried to survive, they survived not to live, but they only lived to survive another day. The girl however was different— she instinctively lived, instead of focusing merely on survival. It may have been a part of her nature, but it was also due to her mother's upbringing, filled with positivity and love. The woman worked without complaint, any job that people ignored or neglected she'd happily take, if it meant her daughter could live happily. The girl was fed, clothed and educated. All the time and energy the woman could muster— she'd spend on the girl. She wanted her to be a bright star in the world— she deserved to be alive and happy.
Three more years passed in a heartbeat— the once giddy slumhouse was filled with the sound of sobbing cries. The small girl hugged the woman as she lay on a mat on the floor. Her pale complexion and hollow eyes a sad contrast of the beautiful woman she once was. She coughed painfully as a trail of blood ran down the side of her mouth. The child held her tightly, resting her moist eyes against the woman's chest. She feared letting go, as if letting go meant the woman would disappear from her life. Coughing continued to thud against the inner walls, the woman mustered all the strength that she could, stroking the child's head— her weak touch, powerless. Tears continued rolling down the girl's face, feeling her mother's cold weak hand.
''Don't cry, my child. The fortune of the stars illuminates you.'' the woman touched her hand to the girl's chest, resting it against her beating heart. ''You're destined for happiness, my child.'' she said softly to the girl. ''The stars— they're beautiful and distant, powerful and cold. They give us light, they give us life, and now— they call me to their embrace. I don't wish to leave you, my child. But I must...''
''No, mommy!! You can't leave me... what will I do without you?'' the girl asked in a whimper, tears still streaming down her face.
''There there, my child.'' she patted her head lovingly, using the little strength she still had. ''It will be difficult... I know. You must go and find granny, keep growing and leave this Empire. Promise me this, my child.'' she forced out through coughs.
''No, mommy!! I'm not going anywhere!'' she refused stubbornly. ''I'll be with you forever!''
''Don't be stubborn, my child. Promise your mother!'' the woman said firmly, a bloody cough erupting from her body from the strain.
The girl sniffled helplessly, her puffy eyes eager to burst into tears again. ''I'll be good, mommy... I promise. So please... don't leave me...'' the sniffles continued as the tears began to flow again.
The woman's hand fell beside Priscilla, she wanted to say more, but she felt her void leaving her. She felt the strength in her body— her vitality, all fading into the sky. The silence was loud as the girl held onto the woman. She cried out— bawled until her voice was hoarse. It spread through the road, reaching many in the area. Their kindness on display as nobody came to see what happened. For them, not selling her in her time of pain— was the ultimate kindness they'd give the child. The slums were not a place of warmth nor kindness, and no one would go to a crying child to help them. They didn't know what happened— and they didn't care. It might have been a trap, or someone might have died. Both were common in the area— so why should they be the ones to test the waters?
Several days later the girl sat there huddled in that cold room, listless and devoid of joy. She promised her mother to go— to find granny, but she felt so empty. She was so young, her instincts weren't as sharp as an adults, even if she knew what she had to do, the brokenness in her heart overpowered the logic of it. Her mother still lay there motionless in front of her, the biting cold snapping at her body— preserving parts of it in an eternal embrace. It was at that moment that the man came in, like a guiding star of destiny he came into her life. Amidst the darkness, a single solitary ray of starshine that illuminated her path. It blinded the girl and gave her a sense of acceptance— in the process it made her forget her last promise.