The Bêginning
Check out the drawing--^ I'm no artist, but I did my best to capture my thoughts... :)
Third Plane of Dominànsê, Êfphêrvêsênsê
My laugh echoes over the roof of the cave. The sound of my swift footsteps brushes the stalactites and stalagmites like sand over skin.
“Cóme on, Lysón!” A giggle escapes me as I tug his hand behind me. “I have sómething tó shów yóu!”
His chuckle is rough as he reaches up to grab the blindfold over his eyes. “Sinêsthêià, please.” I slap his hand away. “Nó, peeking.”
The ground underneath us shifts, and, gradually, light appears around the next corner.
“Sinêsthêià.” My mother’s cold voice snaps me back. “Wydê gin lêd têm.” Look at me. My head whips up and I stare into the beautiful starry eyes of the one who will end me. My back lies against the cold metal chair and I take care to keep my arms rested precisely in my lap. I don’t speak.
My graceful mother has not changed her garb for the occasion of my downfall. The gold accents of her clothes and jewelry are perfect as ever. I tense as her voice grates though me once again, burning me with the power of her voice, yet I continue to stare her in the face as I was commanded. “Êztàmh dih gin fimà dih dê xrdàlhvylo lumsê nu têm cuà lêd loà. Àzfi’l rê’êfàlu lêd dê loà r là’à tên, uzràln loà xylà’à fu oxlêà lêd ti.” Never have I had anyone disgrace me such as you. This incident was your doing, and you will clean it up.
At her words my heart breaks, and I know she will not do the merciful thing and kill us both. I choke on suddenly stale air.
“Yóu can’t take me up there.” He resists me, but I only pull harder.
“Óf all people we can. Dón’t you see we have tó?” I insist. He reluctantly follows along. Slower at first then faster, as his enthusiasm for seeing the surface for the first time grows.
As we reach the entrance I eagerly suck in fresh air and let go of Lysón. The blindfold is instantly off, setting free his quickflowing burnished hair. The deep and dark green eyes of my savior meet mine. Then they drift quietly upward with wonder.
There is nothing else to say. I stand and proceed to the doorway reaching for Glêntwêing as I do. The blade glows blue with my rune.
“Àvlumn loà r zrtàu.” Steel your heart.
“Fimà àvlumn lêd.” I steel it.
We walk down the wide hallway. Oceanstone spreads around us as the castle opens up to let us gradually into its heart. My hand glides over the shells collected in the stone, and as we reach the door to the largest room in the palace, I wish I could return to the past.
We lie on brittle grass hand in hand. The twin suns of Êlv grace the sky above us, their dim glow illuminating just enough of the world around us. A long-petrified tree bows wearily around us and in that moment a wish flits through me. I grin slyly at Lysón, and whisper a word. “Vyfào.” Life. The grass under our bodies blooms to life and the life races up the tree like lightning. Black bark cracks as it grows and the very tips of the boughs are suddenly given burgundy leaves.
The boy next to me gasps with childish glee and I smile with chagrin that I was the one who caused such a simple, yet beautiful, emotion in him. Lysón’s dark green eyes meet my own eldritch purple and I turn on my side to fully face him.
It’s an easy thing when our lips meet.
My heart is cold. I made it so, and still I hesitate at the grand pair of doors. My eyes trace depictions of our history. A history that stretches eons. A part of me still can’t believe I broke that.
The part that will end Lysón.
I enter the room. The epic arches fly through the air like a fountain sleek and graceful. One can only wonder how they manage to hold up the magnificent roof. Every surface is littered with colored glass of all kinds. I walk over an image of Êlv, and cracks break through the ice in my heart. I stop, without looking up.
He is dead. He is dead. He is dead. Let it go. My sense of duty gathers like a storm and relief fills me when I realize my foolishness. My shoulders slump, and I walk forward once again.
The feeling that I might do something rash returns when I hear my mother’s soft steps behind me. I ignore it, and finally step in front of Lysón. He looks as beautiful as ever, and I preserve this image of him in my head. His eyes stare at me confused, and the innocence in him shows far too much. I suck in a breath and bring Glêntwêing forward. It is good he is chained and on his knees. It will make this easier. The shadows of others shift in the wings.
Lysón’s deep green eyes widen. “Sinêsthêià, yóu can’t!” He shouts. My hand whips forward instantly slapping his face. A frown slides over my face when his betrayed look hits me.
My voice is cold. “Hów dare yóu speak yóur heathen language in my presence, Êlven.” I spit on the floor and glance at the others. “Lêd fofhê gin yi êzpêltêm rêi.” It wilts in my mouth.
I see more than one familiar lit rune and I glower.
I kneel before Lysón, and there are murmurs… Let them squirm. “I love yóu.” I can’t believe it will be the first and last time I say it. “This will be quick.” I subtly grasp his hand clutching it tight.
As I stand his face hardens and I know he understands that there is no way out of this. I glance at the glass on the ceiling, and ready my sword.
“Fimà êvlàfnimofnê loà.” I whisper under my breath as I bring the sword home. My eyes linger on the deep dark green blood that Glêntwêing greedily swallows. How I wish it were my own.
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