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Trauma | | Change
#1
2113: The month of Sae

I think this was the day that I finally woke up. Where I started to develop a thing the adults call 'consciousness'. I looked to the left and to the right to find the things that my memory could bring me to remember, and the only thing I found was the empty white walls with butchered toys and straw figurines with no heads, each with marks. I remember how I played with them and acted as if they were my brothers and sisters, and one day they no longer were.

My small hands used to play with them often when I was alone, and it was often playing family with them because I only ever knew my handlers and the keepers of the orphanage. As such, my interactions with the others in the orphanage were minimal. I can recall it well in the main hall with that horrible smell of sloping and rotten pork, but that was all that we had to eat. Either that, or we went hungry for the evening.

My stomach was always in knots because I chose to eat what the adults called 'shit'. And 'shit' was all that was afforded.

And I would only wish that I could eat something more than that.

Some days, I would refuse to eat'shit' so that I could avoid the pains that came with hunger and somehow move on to the next day. But I find the next day harder to play with those figurines and toys and fall into and out of a horrible daze. I slept most days when the smell was too bad. And on the days that it felt tolerable, I ate it.

It never sat with me well.
And it probably never will.

2114: The month of Ios

I don't believe I ever saw what it was like outside. When the adults spoke of it, they always said things about the demons and the Atrellyans, about who went missing in the night and who was recovered but changed. When things got worse, I stopped listening. To imagine such a thing never sat well with me. I often dreamed about what the outside was like, but inside was always the same thing.

Demonic wolves attacked and ate people. Darkness that covered the skies. The blood of both the good and the bad painted everything a horrible color and made the stench worse.

All of this made it sound scary.
I would never want to go outside.

That was until the rich man's came in and told stories—a new thing at the orphanage. They told stories of heroes who fought against the darkness. About the many stars in the sky. About the sun that shined every morning. All of these things brought a smile to my face that soon dispersed into a frown. I knew I would never see the 'outside.' I knew that I was stuck there.

And I am jealous of them—the good and the bad.
They're able to see the things that I can't.
What I'll never see.

2115: The month of Uner

I remember waking up one day from what I thought was a dream. The horrible hands that touched me, marked me, and told me that I was nothing grabbed hold of me, drowning me, dragging me, and roping me into a state of never-ending torment. It spoke words that I would never want to be heard by anyone else.

Their actions against me, they said, weren't personal; I never believed them. Their words were made with disdain and anger, of a sorrow toward something else, and reflected upon me. The abuse that they put me through, the horrible strikes against my person, both physically and spiritually—it all felt personal. As if I were the reason for their torture. As if I were the cause of their lower state of life.

No one believed me when I said that it felt real and that a piece of me was gone forever. No one trusted me when they saw my wrists swollen, my cheeks blackened, and cuts underneath my eyes.


I never wanted to go outside. Now I just wish that I never woke up from a dream. A good dream. If not decent, yet the hands invaded them even then. I want to get out of here. I need to leave.

2116: The month of Leo

Changes.

That was what the stars spoke of: change—something that would come for others but specifically for me in my birth month. Because I always admired the ones that wanted change and aspired for it—the ones that risked their own lives for it. Jokul, Ezra, Lirael, and Ysayl. I remember these people on books and papers when I am able to sneak out of my own room. I remember the joys of them and wanting to be like them.

I also found something else while reading these books—a specific set of cards that had images of the mighty god. The redeemer, the forgiver, was the one who fought to make the realms as balanced as possible. I used to hear the sermons of how their priests did such on transceiver that the 'care' takers had, but it was always minor. It wasn't until I was able to read those precious books that I started learning more about him and the ways he moved. I wanted to be like him. And that was what brought change.

I started to pray to him, hoping that he would hear my prayers. The dreams went away. The nightmares ceased. The people who left me with swollen wrists and cuts vanished. I called it a miracle. I felt safe once again.

I never believed in miracles until that day. And that was when I started pondering the question.

2117: The month of Hiero

If this is freedom, then it is bittersweet; either I was blessed by the mighty god of Aphros or by my own prayers. I was able to be saved from this place to somewhere far, far away. Into a city of gold. With a man that will teach me things that I need to teach, but I can't trust him. Not now, not ever.

But his generosity freed me. I have seen the sun that they spoke of. Of the darkness that comes at night. I have seen the numerous, countless animals, both the violent and the harmless. I have seen coin. I have seen what people actually looked like. I've seen what a 'church' looked like. I have seen it all.

And it was beautiful.
Thank you, Athelios; thank you.
But I still feel so empty.
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#2
In the depths of unreality, in a small home that, at the behest of it all, belonged to the previous generations of Equisol, sat the snow-haired princess with a pen in her left, writing away her thoughts. Some notes were written sloppily while other notes were some of her finer works, but the legitimacy of such a claim rested on the eyes of the beholder. But the biggest piece of writing was a scattering of thoughts -ranging from suicidal, to loss, to growth, to glory. Yet it was never in her name, but to others.

And one of them was addressed the the family of the late King of Fortune, Marfons Emeraldi: The Spark.


___

Forever. Who would want to ever do that?

Who could ever wake up one day, through the tragic life of Meranthe, and declare, 'I want this forever?'

Often, I pondered the idea of being eternal myself, waltzing through the eternity of the isle forever.  And the only thing that I see is the suffering of others, both alive and dead, the oppression of those that worship Enarr, and the fools that follow every word of Ualdir in his temper. And it all comes back to me the single question:

Who would want to live forever?

The fool. That is the answer.

The fool would never be able to comprehend a boom because they are incapable of grasping at the final page with pregnant breath, and finally embracing the beautifully end with joy and a nod to a life-changing story.

They would rather hold on the second to last paragraph and picture thosands of words covering the page so that it can never end.

They fear the end. If not because they are fools, then it was because of fear -a relatable, sorrowful thing that all of humanity share.

Except Marfons.

His actions for his people are to be taken with the highest of honors. For within his actions, he was able to provide an answer for humanity what writers and scholars asked many times in their research -what does it mean to embrace the end?

It means to embrace things with a smile and a flame that never wicks out and dies, but burns brighter in the next generation after a period of stillness.

To burn twice as fierce after and burn first the one who tries to destroy it then the ones that come after in the ultimate case of purification.

At least, that is what I believe.

I seen that fire once and how it transfered, from Ysayl to her children -and maybe even myself once she instructed me to do such. Often I wonder if I ever lived up to that prestigious flame, but I know that his children did.

Perseus, Meri, Ada, Thesus -all of them that my mind can remember all have that inkling; a flame that can burn nations to dust and institute their own beliefs into them, marking them in their rightful embers.

Perhaps this is what forever that so many foola hope for -something that is in the spirit rather than the flesh or the dead that walks. But the ever burning spirit that guides those who that it marked towars greatness.

Rest easy, Marfons, for though the body is dead and burried, your spark remains in those you fathered, the wife that you loved, and the kingdom they will inherit. And if it will bring you joy, as you watch over them.

Rest, knowing that nothing that you've done was in vain.

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#3
Deep in the realm of Unreality lied a simple home with a work desk, papers and fliers used to fill this desk until one day it was cleaned and organized. All the suicidal notes that were at the forefront was torn to shreds and burned. All of the jumbled thoughts that crowded the desk were thrown into the bin and emptied on to the nothing.

A clean slate. Something that anyone would want. And something the writer was able to achieve.

A paper entitled, "Hope", took the forefront of the desk, followed by a myriad of images of songbirds and doves. These doves had particular notes that chirped from the beaks of these doves. And on them lied two names, Azalea and Koretheia.

And underneath it all: Reborn.

"Hope never died, only born a new."
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#4
You did it. In the midst of everything that could've happened, all of the fanfare and all the hopeless thoughts, you did it. You brought her back. Arcadia is in a set of a new spring, and it is slightly in part of your own actions. Even your old enemies became her guardian. And you became a Keeper of Koretheia, the biggest promotion that anyone in your skillset can achieve.

... but you look lost. The color in your eyes have faded. Your face remains as straight as a ruler and there is a new edge to you that I can't quite capture.

What is wrong?
Asked the world.

The elegant songbird pivots on to her heel as she walks through the fields of Gloomlight. The song of the world rustling against her head wings. The vibrant eyes, temporarily, lost their colors.


"She's back, isn't she? I have set out to do all that I wanted to do. Thomas has elevated beyond the norm and is setting things right that the old Oracles were afraid to do. Diallos is saving his beloved. And my other siblings are living in harmony. Truly, everything that I said will happen, has happen. But..."

"But, what?"

She drags out her cigarette, just like she used to in her old body. A single flint of mana brushes against the edge as she inhales. A brief smoke. "What comes when everything you set out to do has been achieved? What new sky must I touch? What new sea needs to be explored? What is there that the sun has not touched, that I must touch for it?"

She turns to nature, then to the stars, and ponders the question. But the only thing that comes out of her mouth, followed by the smoke, was a whisper, "What comes next?"
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#5
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?
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#6
He loved them all the same. But you were his most precious child. You were the one that was willing to walk into him and tell him he was wrong, even if it brought you pain. All the times that he abused your mental and push you away was to make you better. All the suffering he gave to you, was for you.

You, his precious son.

Is it not common for a father to push his son? Or a mother to make her daughter accel? Or for a bird to push their children off the nest for them to one day fly or fall? You were that small bird that was casted out of the nest for talking back, because you were ready; because out of the others that wanted to stay in the shadow, you stood in the light. You were his thundering clouds that opened up the sun.

Out of all the countless children, from both failed marriages and departed loves, you were the ever growing spark that ascended above his statutes. So allow the rain to pour from your eyes today, my wonderful husband. For tomorrow demands their king. And I demand my Lord of lords to come down from his chariot of clouds to lead them.

For your tears are as sweet as honey.
Yet your smile brightens the horizon.
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