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“It all started with my mother.” Demoinai said, placing her sword in the black scabbard that hung from her back. “She cursed me with these scars. She would beat me and smack me… She loved beating me with a club… It left larger bruises.
“It was around the age of five that I remembered the torture. At least I think it was five… maybe younger. She would shove me into a box; waiting for me to scream and beg for my release. Of course I gave in, but I spent hours fighting against her, not allowing her the victory she wanted. She never would release me. She forced me to stay in that crate for nights… Cold… naked… hungry… rats were my only company.”
A man sat across the room in a black velvet chair. Expensive for the time, but left in the abandoned church of which they sat. Coten, was the name he went by, and was his given name. “Why were you naked?” He asked reluctantly.
“I wasn’t allowed clothing. Or food, often. But seeing as food was a necessity, I was granted it once every 2 days, along with water. Only pain was allowed, and I received that against my will.” Demoinai crouched to the ground and stared at the wooden floor. A small tear dripped from her eye. “Why did you ask me here Coten? Why is my childhood any importance to you?”
Coten stared into her eyes. The hint of a frown appeared on his face. He knew that the tale pained her, and knew that he really didn’t need to hear it, but his curiosity controlled him to. “My curiosity forced me to. You, being a prophet, are important to the future. Any future, especially mine. You, in prophecy, are my killer.”
Demoinai’s raptor-like scowl forced them to widen in fear, and pain. Shocked at the suddenly spoken news. Her heart probably stopped for a second at the terror.
“I can’t! I have no want or need to kill you! Your pointless war has no effect on me, or my home! You are safe from harm from me.” She stood up and held her stare. Her eyes returned to the normal scowl of hers. Her defense, however, did not stop her from feeling helpless.
“Your father, also a prophet, wrote the strange prophecy. ‘The dark daughter of a fair skinned mother shall rise, and the eternal light should fade,’ in prophecy, fade means die, and rise means overcome.” Coten spoke calmly, but his face became grim for the time.
Demoinai paused for a second, thinking about the words of the prophecy. Trying to find the fault that most prophecy holds. “But… should is more a chance then actuality. It hardly ever has the same outcome as spoken.”
Coten closed his eyes, and smiled widely. The topic of prophecy was stressful, but played a big role in the story. He knew it before he came to her. “It does not matter now, go on with the story.” He said bowed his head and listened for her words.
Demoinai walked to the window and stared down at the dusty, full streets below. She loved the activity the city showed. Beggars and tramps stood on corners, selling themselves, or begging for money. Men and women alike walked the streets as equals, seeking to buy, or sell goods at the bazaar down the street. Horses and carts blazed the streets, delivering messages or supplies to businesses across the city. It was a ponderous site with a tale of its own in another place and time.
“Alright… the rats bit over my body every night. Bringing me unintentional pain at the cost of their own feeding. I didn’t want to sacrifice my body for them, but they forced that upon me. The only other choice was to attempt to leave, and get beaten by my mother. Which choice would you have made?” Demoinai unintentionally asked. Not really wanting an answer. “It didn’t hurt too much, and their bites and scratches was only enough to draw blood. It was more annoying then painful. I hated it!” Her face twisted in pain from the torturous memory.
“My sister, however, eased the pain in her few appearances. I loved the sight of her pure beauty that was often hidden behind the veil of corrupt religion. I only went on with the pain because of her sight, and probably why my mother allowed her around.
“She left me food when my mother was not around. Her excuse was that it was what the good spirits wanted her to do. It was always that excuse, and never any other. Although, in my heart, I knew that she loved me. She wanted to be the one to provide for me and allow me to live.
“Were my mother around, I would not be around to speak. She would have murdered her and me for allowing me food. I was not allowed anything but bread and water. Nothing else.
“She doesn’t live, however…” Demoinai’s face turned sorrowful. The hint of a tear fell across her face, reflecting in the sunlight of the outside coming into the dark room.
Coten sat still, his face slumped on his fist. His elbows were on his knees as he pondered the situation of the story. He did not speak, nor did he feel the need to.
“She died ten years ago… very tragic… but let me speak of my mother some more.” Demoinai turned and sat on the window seal. The light reflected onto her skin, revealing the hidden perfection of her face.
“The most memorable day was the day she attempted a knife on me. It was the day she tried to feel me, and tried to love me. But she could not. She touched me hand and got burnt. It started with a soft rub down my palm, but upon touching the center of the palm, her hand ignited in pain. No flame, but seemed to burn her. Smoke of the burning, melting flesh arose from her hand. She shrieked in terror and agony. She pulled her hand away as fast as she could, but could not help but stare at the still melting burn.
“For minutes she sat there… weeping for her skin to be clean and pure again… For her life to be perfect as it was before my existence. I was a curse, and in the smoke of the burn the last of her love for me disappeared.
“She dragged me to the kitchen… pulling me fast and away from the wooden cage. Showing strength I knew she had, she threw me onto the counter. My mother groped through the knife rack, finding the sharpest, yet smallest knife she could find. Only deep enough to get through my hand. It was how she wanted it: so I could not use or lift that hand again.” Demoinai stared down at her right hand… the silver-grey cloth that covered it wrapped firmly around it. However, her other hand held the same wraps.
“She stabbed a hand through that hand?” Coten said, with caution. His face was indifferent, as to mask his purpose.
“Yes, but that is not why I wear the cloth. I wear the cloth to keep anyone from harm, and am quite proud to say I have not used my ability to harm another person in years.” She turned her head back to the light, and continued to stare to the sky.
“My mother is dead. My sister murdered her, although I am quite proud of the deed. It happened in the morning after she stabbed a knife through my hand. My sister walked to mother’s room without warning. All I heard were screams and curses from my mother’s mouth, and laughter from my sister. Laughing at the terror of my mother. I enjoyed it, my sister did as well.
“My mother came limping into the room. It could not be seen, but my mother’s leg was half destroyed and covered in blood. The moonlight showed the reflection of blood, but not enough to tell it was blood. I knew she deserved it.
“She walked to the door. My sister behind her, as the door flew open the knife slide through my mothers neck and out the front. And at that, I fell unconscious.”
They sat until nightfall, alone in the dark room. Sorrow and depression filled the room, and was increased by the dark, dusty walls. The outside streets were cleared and only beggars and muggers walked the streets… watching each other in caution and anticipation for a fight.
Coten could only stare, and even that he could not continuing doing. He felt sympathy for Demoinai’s tortured life, and afraid for her unknown future. Demoinai continued to quietly sob, staring down at the street thieves and beggars, keeping her silent and unnoticeable. Her sorrow was indeed unnoticed, but her pain was not. Her face was slowly easing, but not correctly in form to hide her emotion.
Continuing silence… after hours of sorrow she could not help but keep her mouth shut. Her pain eased and her sobs were over. She however, did not like to speak. Her own private thoughts were all she wanted, and thus were hers.
“So what did you and your sister do?” Coten asked suddenly. He was suddenly standing next to her. She could have sworn that just a second ago he was still sitting.
They stared down at the streets together. They watched the beggars and Cutthroats fight each other until they ran out of energy to fight any longer. In just an instant they continued to wander the streets and continue their average course.
“Oh! Uhh… well, we lived a normal life. She could not heal my wounds, but she did buy me clothes. She dressed me in her old clothes until she had the opportunity to go to the seamstress. Once there, I got measured and outfitted. The colors were my choice, and so were the clothes. I however needed special made clothes. I don’t really remember why either…” Demoinai suddenly started talking. Her words came out like a flood without an end, but stopped suddenly as she pondered the past.
“I usually wore red. Dark red mostly. It seemed to fit, but I occasionally wore dark blue, grey and black. The light seemed to have disappeared from me in the years of torture I felt. But one day, I saw a color that seemed fit for me. That color, was pink.” Demoinai went on, a soft smile wondered onto her face. Coten could not tell wither it was false, or real, but it had a strange infection of joy about it. “It was well over a month since I had the freedoms I was granted, and began wandering on my own. My sister gave me tasks to do every once in a while as she was busy all the time. I often did them without error, and thus granted a small bonus to spend for myself.
“The day I saw it, I was going to the seamstress again. She smiled at me as she handed me the robe my sister ordered. It was a blue robe, very bright blue. She said something, but it did not reach my ears. I was too concentrated on the pink shirt in the background being washed and finished in a tub of very strange dye. I don’t think I ever saw a pink like it since then.” The smile left her face as she went on.
“She said it was expensive and I probably could not afford it. It was mostly given to royal figures whom enjoyed pink while not always in a dress. Especially that shade. However, nobody ever was going to come pink it up, it was made just for test. They gave it to me, no price.
“The silk was soft and smooth against my skin. The contrast between my face and the dye was undeniably great. I felt happiness in its purest form for once. However, I was damned for the materialistic joy I felt. The priest, the town, my sister… they all damned me that day. ‘It was for the greater good’ the priest said as an excuse to tear the shirt from my back and toss it onto the burning stake. I felt as though all the happiness and greatness of the world was being destroyed in that shirt. And the seamstress, who watched, felt it also.” Silence filled the room, and Demoinai again cried, quietly and hopelessly.
“I don’t think my sister wanted to destroy it. She believed that a man or women had the right to be happy in which ever way they chose. Wither is through materialism or spirituality, happiness could only be found to what the seeker chooses to be happy with. They also said it was evil. How could it be evil? It was an object, not a person or creation of evil. Evil destroys, not create. Evil is only evil if you make it evil yourself.” Demoinai gazed at the stars for a second, and then looked back at the horribly depressing room that she did not help.
“After that, I spent my time alone. My sister and I lived together, yet rarely talked. Occasionally a priest or two would come by, and they would question me. They seemed to suspect what, by then, I knew was true.
“I was a prophet. Not a traditional one, like you say my father was, but a prophet in the sense that I directly saw the event in my mind, and knew it was going to happen. Never knew when, how, or wither it was really the person I saw in it. I only knew the fate of what was supposed to be, not wither freewill would intervene. I knew I was one since the day my shirt burned. I knew I would be crying before the stake that held my shirt, I knew I would want to toss myself into the flames with it, I knew I would never forgive the person who ordered it destroyed! The high priestess, in my mind, was to die. I knew, in my head, that she would die from my blade. Nobody would stop me without perishing before my blade first. And certainly nobody who stood in my way would live. It was how it was for the rest of my life, until the opportunity came along.
“I, however, was also going to die. It only took time until the event came. She had declined position of high priestess if the current high priestess fell ill or died. Only an hour after, eight or nine priests came to our home, burnt it down, and attempted my murder.” She burst into tears at the thought of what was happening. She could no longer hold it to silence. It was how it was.
“They killed her! Beat, burned, raped, and stabbed her! It was undeniably horrible! It was evil by my standards and not by the church that didn’t approve of a damned shirt! I knew, then, they deserved no less then death. Anything less then death was petty. I was on a hunt, after I ran, ashamed.”
Coten watched her carefully. Her posture was straight and admirable, but her face was pained and sad. A wave of depression came over him. He was enfeebled by the gloomy room, darkened further by Demoinai’s face.
“Prophecy and freewill are closely linked to my story. You know much about prophecy, no? Well, as a prophet myself, I know vast knowledge of it. You only scratch the surface of what terms and meanings are. Freewill is prophecies enemy and destroyer. Its how it is.” Demoinai spoke, finally about prophecy. She hated it, almost as much as Coten did. She knew well he did.
“I know, I do not expect to know as much as an ex-prophet. Go on.” Coten said, smiling in attempt to lighten her mood.
“I’ll just go on with the story…” Her face was filled with doubt. “I ran into a company of dark elves. They accepted me, and took me into their kind. For a good two years I trained with them and their armors. I wear a thin plate of dark elven plate underneath my shirt always.
“I was taught avoidance and perfection of movement while in their numbers. In heavy or cloth armors. They started me in average clothes. It was simple enough. I hardly ever got him, and hardly ever was slow.
“Once we got to leathers, however, it got harder. The hardened leather I wore was not the most flexible thing I wore. It often didn’t function right and I got sliced open. Although the clerics were able to heal me quickly, it was still painful. Until I mastered movement in hard leather, I was unfit for other armors.
“Although once I did master it, it was a bit easier. Chain and scale moved to whichever movement I chose. Although I often hated the chain slapping my sides if I moved too quickly, or dived to the side. It was quite comfortable. It fit along my body well enough to make me wish to wear it all the time.
“Plate armor was hell. I could not move at all, if at all. My body felt compressed at first. And the metal couldn’t flex at all. It was all about knowing how the joints moved, and how it worked. The real problem was when they sliced through the metal. Not only did I get cut open, but the metal held my wound open at all times. It took a little over an hour to repair my wound, and get me outfitted for another round of practice.
“I don’t think I would have ever learned to move in the plates were not for the challenge I made to my instructor. He stood dodging and slicing many combatants. Taking them down one by one as they struck at him with no success. He was parrying and dodging like I never seen. I had to try, and thus just dived at him blindly with my sword out, striking at him fast.
“For over two hours we fought. Dodging and parrying with intent to teach each other. When He finally fell, I was the succeeder, and thus rewarded with a medal for having the greatest ability in the entire kingdom.” Demoinai sat on the window seal, staring at the floor, thinking about the tiny bit of happiness she still held.
“I have seen you on the field, you are indeed deserving of the medal.” Coten Smiled. He tried his best to show that she was indeed to be proud of it.
“After I left, I wandered the forests. I was near the age twelve then. I was close to finding hints of the churches existence. Oh the proof I had of their existence I found too… They had started war amongst an elven city. Well… not just a city. More of a fortress then, but now I am the general of the city it became.
“As I was wandering, I ran into a band of archers, waiting at an outpost at hopes of stopping the church there. They attempted to attack me, but I got to them before they noticed me. I told them I was not intending harm upon them, unless they were allied with the high priestess. It was then, that I knew they were her enemy on this field.
“We ran back to the fort. They had their bows drawn on me to get me in safely. They did not trust a dark elf just yet, but knew I could be brought in secretly. And how proud I am of them allowing me freedom once we got past the guards.
“They took me to their king, where I was placed under his service. The king no longer had a home or castle. Just a fort and a house like everyone else. I was built the largest house in the city, and over time they extended it, as did the fort city.
“I was left alone for the most part. Only messengers and captains bothered me, and they only came to me for official business. My house was filled only with me, and nobody else. It reminded me of my life, and my heart. Of how empty I am without my sister and how depressed and empty I have been for the last years. I sometimes cried.
“The bows the elves used were exceptionally great, and often amazing in power. The materials they used amazed me even further. A light, weak wood was carved into the shape, and checked wither it would bend how it was needed. Then a layer of some light metal was coating it to strengthen and make it harder to bend. The arrow would be shot and launch at high velocities and still light and easy to use.
“If that’s not amazing, then the arrows are. They use a stronger wood and coat it in metal. They have them enchanted so they’d glide or fly to the target. The tips were made of the same metal as the rest of the archery equipment, along with poison.
“We, with no casualties, fought back against the hordes of priests and high elven warriors. Their bows were remarkable and accurate. The precision of each shot was awesome. I felt as equals amongst a group of people who looked up to me, thus I ran into battle with them.
“We succeeded against the church. We successfully destroyed the forces that they sent to attack. It took four years, and we did it. At long last I was free to destroy my sister’s destroyer, and thus I would.” Demoinai frowned sorrowfully. No longer did she feel pride.
“So did you?” Coten asked. His blank stare was intimidating.
“Yes… yes I did… and it was not exactly the victory I wanted.” Demoinai climbed onto the window seal and looked out. “I am sorry, but I must go.” And at that she leaped out into the rising sun of the morning.
Five years ago. The high priestess’s camp and church.
Demoinai stood before the encampment. She wore a black cloak with the hood up. She was unable to be seen by anyone unless they shone their light on her. From the distance she was at, she shot two arrows at the encampment guards, hitting them both in the neck, silencing them.
She ran in with a torch lit, spreading the flames amongst the messy groups of tents. Some soldiers cried in pain as the flames scorched their tents, clothes, and bodies. Few made it out alive, and scrambled away from the camp.
Two of the soldiers approached her. Determined to kill their comrades’ murderer. They were naked and holding spears, prepared to kill her if needed.
“Take me to your priestess.” Demoinai demanded.
“No. We would gladly die first and you before us.” The soldiers said together prepared to kill her.
“Fine. So you wish.” She drew her giant sword. The blue runes in the blade glowed brightly as she sliced through the neck of each soldier.
Demoinai marched to the giant chapel. Her blade still out and her eyes filled with anger and hatred. This was her chance to destroy her sister’s destroyer. She was set on murder.
The marble stairs leading to the giant door to the inner church looked beautiful among the night sky. For their age, they showed the beauty of hard work. The giant doors made Demoinai seem insignificant in purpose and ability. Men and women who knew what they did and did it well built them.
As she marched through the doors and looked at the many rows of benches for the church, she started to cry. The entire church was filled with what she loved most; ability.
Upon the stage was an altar. Upon it was a silvery orb, shining with different colors and shifted the colors around. It was beautiful. Demoinai did not know the nature of the orb, but knew it was beautiful enough to kill somebody.
The high priestess stood behind the altar. Her silver eyes were shining with Demoinai’s reflection. Demoinai thought she had mirrors for eyes, but it was indeed her natural eye color. She wore a white night gown that went just above her knees, but was not within vision due to a giant red cloak that covered most of her body.
Her eyes flashed red.
Demoinai walked up to the altar. She stared into the demon eyes with the realization that the high priestess was possessed this entire time. Since the age of 10 Demoinai wanted vengeance against somebody no older then her, just to find out she had been possessed?
“Demon! Leave the poor girl’s body be! She not be a child and you take her freewill! I will not stand for it!” Demoinai screamed at the possessed body.
The demonic laugh came from the female body. It was a strong, masculine laugh, followed by a masculine voice. “And how will you make me leave?” The demon challenged, laughing childishly.
Suddenly, the wrap on Demoinai’s injured hand came undone, and instantly she placed it on the face of the high priestess. Five seconds and the demon was gone from the body. Its spirit left quickly, screaming in agony.
Quickly, Demoinai gathered the cloth. She wrapped it around her hand then placed it in the exact place the high priestess was burned from her bare hand. Demoinai preyed it would work.
The injury left the skin of the high priestess and brought her into consciousness. Her eyes opened slowly, revealing the white and silver orbs that were her eyes.
“What happened…” she said, avoiding a question.
Demoinai stared. Unable to remove her eyes from the high priestess. What did happen? Demoinai thought to herself. She finally made it to the high priestess just to find out her hatred, anger and vengeance was misguided? This angered her further, but did not express it. She continued to stare at the high priestess, contemplating the mysterious event.
“Well? What happened?” The high priestess asked once again, impatiently.
“If I knew, you’d have that answer, but for now, lets just say you were possessed for more then 6 years now.” Demoinai said quietly, only loud enough for the priestess to hear her.
“I figured that out. I guess I sort of made a conscious effort to take control of my body again. The demon had control of my voice and body, but not my thoughts. He caused terror to the world, and it’s my entire fault!” The last sentence the high priestess said suddenly, as if she wanted to stop talking, then in final effort to understand she shouted her thought.
“Its nobodies fault but the demon, and everybody else’s problem but his. We cannot take blame for the evil he caused, only deal with it. So I did, but misguided anger and hatred lead me here.” Demoinai said, explaining the high priestess.
“Your sister! I let her get killed. The demon… the demon ordered her death through me! I’m so sorry!” The high priestess cried out.
At those words, Demoinai stood. She hid her face with a swift turn, and the cape of her cloak followed behind her. And at that, with her swift feet, she left the church.
Present Day- Demoinai’s home.
Demoinai marched across the main room and up the stairs. The perfected elven design shone brightly with the sun shining into the usually black room.
She wore a bright, hot pink shirt. The silk shining with reflections of the sun. She was alone, but she didn’t need anybody around to enjoy her pink shirt or any beauty she had. Her love for pink was once again hers.
Demoinai, although quite scared of herself and her anger, tried to create a new life. A life of simple work, need and want. The life most people want. She started a farm in the back of her large house. It produced many crops of berries and corn. Vines of grapes for wine draped off of trees. Many other seasonal plants stood around the garden, but they had yet to grow fruits or vegetables.
Only visitors she had were officers and captains sent to her to tell her of the status of the army and of messages of where the warring armies stood. Each wanted her to join her side, neither were going to have her.
She wanted peace, and she achieved peace through a peaceful matter. She had peace of mind, peace and quiet, and just peace. The entire city was not stressed besides the stress of working, which was often relieved at their home.
Demoinai enjoyed the local shops and visiting with their keepers. Occasionally she bought supplies required for living and for her garden.
Coten showed up once. And that one time was hell enough for her. Demoinai did not know how he got their, but knew that his request was for her to join in war.
“I do not need to see my men go to a hopeless cause of a moral battle fought with swords.” Demoinai spoke quickly, getting her point across.
“This war is for freedom!” Coten shouted. “The enemy does not care for peoples lives, so he sacri-“
“sacrifices them to do his bidding in a war for his own leadership?” Demoinai said. “So his moral outlook may be the choice one? You and him have one difference it seems, your logic to obtain what you want. I led my fury to the women who gave the order to slay my sister to find that in my rage, she was not the murderer. I was in blind rage to find who killed my sister and believed it was right. Many died in my cause by my sword. Why? Because I needed vengeance, I needed to see death. Others needed to suffer for the pain and anger I felt. My excuse was no good. I only was angry for five years. I got revenge. Did it mean anything? No. I wrongy accused a beautiful holy women who wished peace.
“I was left with despair and agony. I thought I would have been happy, but I wasn’t. Five years of pain finally about to end, then wham! More pain, more suffering! I don’t want to see that. I don’t want to sacrifice good people to darkness. I, and them, are happy. Lets leave it there, and that way.”
Coten stared, looking into her eyes. She worked so hard for the little she has. She had more loss then Coten could imagine and did not need more.
“Be safe Demoinai, live your well earned peace.” Then he faded.
And her world turned to a happy realm of peace. Pink representing it.
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