10-04-2024, 10:14 AM
The Songbird walks into the countryside in the middle of the night, the stars shine and trinkle down their rays of light, enlighting the road she must go. As she paths the dirt and the gras, she listens to the wind of nature and the blessings of change until she finds herself where she began --home; the orphanage.
Yet time changes things, he always does, at least on the outside. The rundown building was no longer in a state of disarray. The windows, previously tinted with yellow and filth, was replaced with murals and images of the Warden. The gothic black and white displays beautifully as the walls that, at one point, was dressed with graffiti and scum, now shine treacherously as a new ray of change. The front door, however, remained the same white with specks of black stars decorating it.
"Here," she said coldly to no one, "is where everything began."
The talons touches the long, black handle. A hesitant twist to the right. A pause and a sharp breath. All the memories played back to her all at once, every meal and face. Every isolating moment, especially the nights with *his face*. But he was no longer around, or so she believed. She killed him. Yet, at the same time, didn't. He was always there around the creeks and corners, waiting for the moment to pop up again. Always making sure that everything is set in place for his eventual return. His deep voice and cracked laughter --the sound of evil for the Radiant one. The large hands that guided and touched her. The fingers that manipulated her like the snake that manipulated man --fingering her mind before washing her out to what he believed is reality.
No, she thought. That isn't reality anymore. I changed.
But did she?
She takes her first step and the cracking floor meets her. The interior didn't change, time ignored it. Shit and scum filled her nostrils and put her mind back into that small, insignificant body that people expected and forced change.
Another step, and the images of that night creeps into her mind and stayed there without paying a dime to the landlord --at least, not without a threat. The cobwebs shower the corners, and the steam pipes release that hazy mist into the atmosphere, temporarily clouding her vision. It was only when she pivots to the right, where the main dining room sits, that her eyes open to that terrible red light and a face that drags morale and morals down to hel is met.
"It can't be," she said. "You're dead."
"Dead to the world," he said evenly, fixing his glasses and his silver dreadlocks, curled together and up. "But not dead to you. Sit. You've been gone for so long that I forgot that you changed for the worst."
The Songbird curled her talons, bit her cheek, and complied. The stool was always unfavorable.
"You know, normally when an orphan leaves an abusive home, they don't come back. They usually burn the place down and move on."
Silence is returned.
"But I suppose some victims come back to the abuser."
"I came here for my own reasons," she said, evenly with a narrow gaze.
"To remember the training, or the starvation, or the adults?"
"Neither."
"The sleepless nights?"
She hissed sharply. "I always have sleepless nights; I have a husband for that now. No thanks to you."
"Then why would you come back here? You've already killed me. You put the tanto right through my jugular like the assassin that Athelios wanted. Then you made sure to... What was it again?" He snaps his fingers. "That's right, made sure that everyone else that couldn't move on, *did*."
Once again, silence is the melody returned. The Keepers' somber eyes looks anywhere else but to the visage in front of her. The piece of the story she didn't speak of, of the tragic night where she didn't just take one life, but many, the broken and the defeated. She later then burned the memory and moved on, but some ghosts always remained.
Finally, the woman speaks. "To kill you one last time. But not in anger or fear, or revenge, or, gods forbid, pleasure."
"Then?" The apparition responds, "How do you plan to kill me?"
"By doing what I wouldn't do, if I still followed him." Forgiveness.
But is it possible to forgive someone after so long?
Yet time changes things, he always does, at least on the outside. The rundown building was no longer in a state of disarray. The windows, previously tinted with yellow and filth, was replaced with murals and images of the Warden. The gothic black and white displays beautifully as the walls that, at one point, was dressed with graffiti and scum, now shine treacherously as a new ray of change. The front door, however, remained the same white with specks of black stars decorating it.
"Here," she said coldly to no one, "is where everything began."
The talons touches the long, black handle. A hesitant twist to the right. A pause and a sharp breath. All the memories played back to her all at once, every meal and face. Every isolating moment, especially the nights with *his face*. But he was no longer around, or so she believed. She killed him. Yet, at the same time, didn't. He was always there around the creeks and corners, waiting for the moment to pop up again. Always making sure that everything is set in place for his eventual return. His deep voice and cracked laughter --the sound of evil for the Radiant one. The large hands that guided and touched her. The fingers that manipulated her like the snake that manipulated man --fingering her mind before washing her out to what he believed is reality.
No, she thought. That isn't reality anymore. I changed.
But did she?
She takes her first step and the cracking floor meets her. The interior didn't change, time ignored it. Shit and scum filled her nostrils and put her mind back into that small, insignificant body that people expected and forced change.
Another step, and the images of that night creeps into her mind and stayed there without paying a dime to the landlord --at least, not without a threat. The cobwebs shower the corners, and the steam pipes release that hazy mist into the atmosphere, temporarily clouding her vision. It was only when she pivots to the right, where the main dining room sits, that her eyes open to that terrible red light and a face that drags morale and morals down to hel is met.
"It can't be," she said. "You're dead."
"Dead to the world," he said evenly, fixing his glasses and his silver dreadlocks, curled together and up. "But not dead to you. Sit. You've been gone for so long that I forgot that you changed for the worst."
The Songbird curled her talons, bit her cheek, and complied. The stool was always unfavorable.
"You know, normally when an orphan leaves an abusive home, they don't come back. They usually burn the place down and move on."
Silence is returned.
"But I suppose some victims come back to the abuser."
"I came here for my own reasons," she said, evenly with a narrow gaze.
"To remember the training, or the starvation, or the adults?"
"Neither."
"The sleepless nights?"
She hissed sharply. "I always have sleepless nights; I have a husband for that now. No thanks to you."
"Then why would you come back here? You've already killed me. You put the tanto right through my jugular like the assassin that Athelios wanted. Then you made sure to... What was it again?" He snaps his fingers. "That's right, made sure that everyone else that couldn't move on, *did*."
Once again, silence is the melody returned. The Keepers' somber eyes looks anywhere else but to the visage in front of her. The piece of the story she didn't speak of, of the tragic night where she didn't just take one life, but many, the broken and the defeated. She later then burned the memory and moved on, but some ghosts always remained.
Finally, the woman speaks. "To kill you one last time. But not in anger or fear, or revenge, or, gods forbid, pleasure."
"Then?" The apparition responds, "How do you plan to kill me?"
"By doing what I wouldn't do, if I still followed him." Forgiveness.
But is it possible to forgive someone after so long?