The buildings of the city were slender and glassy, almost ethereal. Though they clearly radiated golden, glorious light, cyan and mauve shades were reflected against their edges like carefully cut diamonds. Yet no matter how brightly the rays shone, the sparkling environment seemed dim, like a long forgotten, dusted painting. An emerald mirage trembled on the sky, slowly consumed by the black.
It was like myriads of mirrors, a kaleidoscope of reflections in the empty city. They were disturbed by soft cracks, springing from black vines, as if rotten, that were spiraling around the buildings. Though their grasp appeared loose, thorns were pressed against the glass, as if threatening the image of perfection. The light there twinkled, soft blades of it struggling to pierce the haunting surroundings in vain.
Though a sense of wrongness painted the mythical city, it never once became apparent to the lulled girl as she followed her guide. The eternal radiance's antithesis rose from the ground, an amethyst cloud slithering through the structures. Light and shadow coexisted exquisitely as well as rather glaringly, yet the fairytale had cast its spell.
Never did the Twisted Reflection abandon Celysiel's hand, adjusting to her slow pace. Their pale fingers were interweaved, whisps of the mist dancing around them as if securing an unbreakable bond. She was still holding the cage, the young elf knew as much for she had tried to steal a last glimpse of its prisoner before being captivated by the city, yet now it seemed like a blur. Perhaps it was not there, perhaps it never had been. After all, what was non-existence if not loss of memory in its entirety?
"Is this it?" she whispered breathlessly. "Am I truly here?"
The Twisted Reflection's smile was gentle, overly so. She nodded under the hollow humming of distant, absent even winds, the very sound of silence. "All stories must eventually come to an end." she uttered softly.
Celysiel looked at her hesitantly under the blinding radiance of the diamond buildings. "Is it a happy one?"
The cracked skin winced a little, umbral motes fluttering at the edges. "Would there otherwise be a point in it?"
Relief was not a warm feeling as it settled in the apprentice, yet it was kind enough to pull her deeper into this waking slumber. With sinking shoulders, she regarded the city anew, mesmerized by the sparkling walls.
"Where is everyone?" the girl asked, tilting her head to the side. Alabaster locks grazed the pale dress, the skirt of which collected the dark mist. It tugged and it clung to the fabric, as if attempting to devour it.
Instead of an instant reply, the Twisted Reflection raised her hand, shadows oozing from every part of her as if it was a silken shawl, cradling her like a fond lover. At the tips of her fingers, just as if they could eliminate the distance so to reach for it, a tall, slender structure shone, shining brightly in silver brilliance. Gilded reflections shivered against the polished walls, which led all the way to a pointy dome. Just below it, a wide window was cut on the glass, yet it was too far away to steal a glimpse of the interior.
"The Tower." she announced, her voice leaking grandeur. "It is where the ultimate truth awaits. Perhaps in the way, you shall find those you seek. Perhaps they will come to you. After all, is this not the City of Lights?"
"How do they tell my story?"
The amethyst cloud settling upon the streets did not vaporize the deeper the two women stepped into the city, as if springing from their very destination. Celysiel was oblivious to it. The splendour of the city was too enthralling, each thought withering away the more she gave herself to it. The Twisted Reflection had not released her hand, their fingers locked together as if made for each other.
"Have you heard the story of the girl whose hands turned everything she touched into ash?"
The apprentice shook her head. Though long forgotten, the cage rattled. It was never heard. "It does not sound like a story with a happy ending."
A benevolent smile claimed the broken entity's onyx lips. One that did not belong. Long tresses of white were shaken by an absent breeze, as if magnetized by their destination. "Do not be silly." she uttered. "All stories have a happy ending."
Something twinkled at the corner of the street. There the vines encompassed one of the glassy buildings entirely, yet there was little they were capable of in order to smother its glow. Thorns grazed against the cracking glass, but fragility fought against its oppressor rather strongly. Yet over the morbid decay of the floral touch, starlight glimmered, a ribbon descending from vacant skies. Like an argent path it descended upon a lone stem, painting it with the illusion of a hundred azure petals, wilting as much as blooming. Such was the beauty of the rose that it transcended time and possibility alike - and still, there it was, thirsting to be marveled. Thus marveled it had to be.
Were the flower of stellar radiance a flame and the elf it called to a moth, the scene would have been no different. Celysiel strayed from her path, a hand outstretched to reach it. Even this deviation however did not release her hand from that of the Twisted Reflection, who hounded the girl's steps like a shadow, a whisper overshoulder. And if the prisoner of the cage was still there to protest, such was never registered. To the blind, the world beyond did not exist.
When Celysiel's fingertips eventually reached but in small distance to the rose, a sigh escaped her lips. The awe of a child burnt within otherwise blank eyes, as if the slumber had been broken but for a moment. Alas, it would only be for a dream, a false hope. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" she whispered to her guide.
No response came, only a chill from the swirling mists around the two women. Ever oblivious to it, the girl tilted her head to the side. Ears twitched as if -or were they truly?- blessed by the delightful hymn of the stars, even though none shone overhead. Her digits reached for the stem, carefully positioned to snap it gently.
And the image faded into a wave of ash.
As if melting, the grey dust was poured downwards, though none of it remained on the apprentice's skin. Her palm turned, fingers curling in surprise as if trying to clutch the motes to which the starlight rose had surrendered, only to find them swept away by the errant wind. Though the desire to follow them with her gaze may have crossed her mind, her body never obeyed. And eventually it was forgotten, a detail lost amidst the glory of the fairytale city.
In front of her, the vines shifted like snakes, slowly retreating from the centre of the building which they veiled. Pulled to the corners, they revealed nothing but a door that granted no promise of the interior, only a blurry reflection of one white-haired woman, not two. Yet the Twisted Reflection squeezed Celysiel's hand, a small assurance. She reached for the door, but it creaked and opened without the touch being achieved.
Light was poured into the dark chamber, causing the further vines within to twitch in worry, retract and then claim their former positions. Revelation did not offer mercy, but the sight of a wretched woman embracing her head into a corner. No crown adorned her short, red hair, for it rested on the ground broken, the purple gems otherwise slotted within the sockets scattered and shattered into tiny fragments. Her verdant eyes were wide in an expression of horror, lips moving, raving, without however making a single sound.
No matter how deeply she dug to seek the feeling of urgency within her, Celysiel could not. Into the numbness, guilt embraced her tenderly, easing in rather peacefully. "Vealynn."
The uttered name seemed to please the Twisted Reflection. Rising on her toes, she rested her chin upon the apprentice's chin, head tilted into hers until their hair were intertwined, impossible to tell one's rich locks from those of the other.
"The girl of the story" she began anew, "was ever drawn to lost causes. Foolishly so. What is broken cannot be fixed. It only further withers. It clings to hope and suffers greatly when expectations are not met."
Celysiel did not respond. No matter how much her eyes kept staring at Vealynn's broken body, something was pinning her into the spot in which she remained, as if an invisible wall that her senses could barely perceive allowed her to go no further. Only an incoherent whisper shook her ear, fleeting and lost in the wind.
"Hope is not a mercy, but an evil. Those who plant it are often fools, promising what they cannot offer. And then there are those who later realise, thus they twist the seed into a string, toying with their victim and taking all they can until they are but a conduit of misery." the Twisted Reflection eventually declared, raising her head and stepping back to tug the girl away. "The fate of Vealynn Silverdawn's is no other's fault, no other's regret. Yours alone."
The vines settled upon the opening of the door as Celysiel was removed from it, ever led by her eerie companion's will. The maw was covered, creeping shadows rushing to envelop the corner of the bright city which had just been revealed. The women returned to the empty streets, setting for the Tower, their ever-shining star.
More flowers greeted them surrounding the magnificent fountain, though those were of precious stone, as much as anything else in the hollow city. The palette of golden shades however had abandoned them for the sake of finer ones. Azure and ruby, violet and ginger, they ignored the dusky cloud trying to obscure them, rising at the corners of the creation they were meant to adorn. Like a vale almost, one of endless beauty and razor sharp petals.
The fountain's flow was weaved through crystaline water, specks of glitter trembling at its edges. The gurgling stream sang a tune of tranquility, a tender lullaby. Behind them, the Tower's shape was growing. It was not far now. And still, the Twisted Reflection's steps halted, forcing Celysiel into a pause as well. She looked at the girl, expression never changing.
"Do you know" the Twisted Reflection's voice echoed to break the silence, "why the boy never made it to the City of Lights?"
Celysiel shook her head. If a touch of her life before was to be born, it was that burning, that longing the question had cast in her life since the tale had first reached her.
"For he was tethered." came the response. "Ensalved to a life before, a life he could not cast into the abyss, not truly. But you faced no trouble in doing so, did you?"
The Void-warped woman gestured to the dazzling fountain, where the other's attention was soon drawn. Celysiel squinted, before blinking in surprise. She had failed to notice the black vines before. Even here they were present, wrapped around the main body of the statue adorning the square. A statue made of flesh. Two elves were features in it, male and female, their backs turned to each other even if their heads were leaning against their companion's form. They were indeed nothing alike, for if the man's pallid colours were like snow, the ginger, tan woman in the green dress promised a splash of colour. Their fingers were entwined beneath their blank expressions, vacant stares fixated on the two wanderers.
And they were dripping blood.
Its stain marred the pristine waters as they overflew, leaking over the flowers as if feeding them, sustaining them. The liquid of life only deepened their colour. As it danced upon the edge of the sharp petals, it vapourized, a red cloud soon to join the endless mist of shadow.
Dyandria and Riordan Ashfury's heads were turned towards their daughter, but the dead could not see, only the living. Celysiel's lips parted, but the cry she so desperately wished to unleash was never uttered. The serenity of the City of Lights would not let her, not as the Twisted Reflection squeezed her hand gently.
"What do you think would be their opinion of their daughter if they knew all you have become?" she asked, mockery lurking at the corners of her lips. "But do not worry." The Twisted Reflection's fingers, as if never having held a cage, rose to the apprentice's neck, tracing downwards, as if tugging something that was not there. Something that should have, an elusive memory.
The waters gurgled and all emotion died. Peace was all to be known, ill and wrong.
"I have set you free."
This time, blood made its appearance rather early. Its metallic taste lingered in the atmosphere like a morbid warning, before the two women reached the base of the wondrous Tower. A distant, monstrous sound was heard from beyond, moist and tearing. Like flesh being torn apart, a beast gnawing, biting, ravaging.
Two cold digits were set upon the apprentice's chin, coaxing it upwards gracefully. "Do you not agree" she questioned calmly, "that all stories have a meaning?"
Celysiel nodded, though the sickening scent brought a sense of discomfort that even the city could not tame. "What is the meaning of this one?" she asked. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, a low drum - was it truly hers?
"Why do you not ask him?" came the suggestion. "He knows it all too well, for his very own is forged by it."
The Twisted Reflection tipped her head towards the Tower, towards the very source of the vile smell. What greeted the girl was a grand stage encased by gilded parapets. Pillars rose at the corners, gathering ivory drapes which were bound by vines as the scene, as if of a play, unraveled under beaming spotlight born from the vacant heavens. A table was set upon the stage, grand with lavish delights, goods to make even the richest of elves green with envy. In the very centre of it sat the Farstrider, the blood foretold streaming over his armour and features alike. The array of blades and arrows sheathed into his hunched back was maddening, a cloak of damnation and hurt digging deep into his flesh.
Irtheas Adhemar devoured the food for which he reached like a beast, yet every time it was slotted between his teeth, it would turn into ash, denying him the chance to sate his hunger. He aimed and repeated deliriously, but his fate would not change. The loop kept him bound; with every new attempt he made, another projectile was born from the nothingness to aim for his back. He spasmed and struggled to straighten his posture, trapped, unrelenting.
For the first time during their trip, something genuine softened the Twisted Reflection's grin, a token of respect perhaps, though it was damned to fade into the beauty of the city that absorbed it all. Holding Celysiel's hand still, she pulled her closer to the stage, never minding the horror that her guest was meant to suffer out of the image.
"The Wolf." she announced and marveled. "Chained in his bloody feast, yet his hunger will never be sated. For every achievement is hollow and every arrow on his back hastens his demise." Her lips widened, unholy amusement radiating from her. "He fought and lost. Now all that is left is that war, until the end which he so dearly seeks comes for him. He will fall and it will be by his hand. Do not seek to save him. His futility is his companion. But his futility is not yours."
Celysiel shook her head for the first time, unable to accept the design set before her. Her body spasmed as she tried to extend her hand forward, but an unbreakable will pinned her in stillness, not allowing her to rush to the Captain's side.
"It is not yours." she repeated. "His regret will not burden you, only his loss."
"What is mine?" the oblivious apprentice asked, feeling an ache at her chest. Something was missing from there, something important. But what? "What is mine?"
The Void-warped reflection stepped close, her lips barely grazing the ear of the one meant to be real. But what was reality in a fairytale's ending? A soft whisper echoed amidst the humming of the faraway abyss.
"The Tower."
As if obeying a call, large, glassy doors creaked behind the stage. A slit of radiant light, blinding, scorching and splendid greeted them from within, only growing the more the opening of the gate widened. What lay beyond was impossible to tell. Yet where one power dwelled, the opposite manifested; the shadowy mists poured from the doors freely, absorbing everything at their wake. In that moment, the City of Lights burnt as brightly as the shadows thickened.
Again the beautiful numbness came, set upon the young elf's mind like a shield against all sorrows. This undeniable force carried her steps past the man so dear to her for the sake of what lay in the city's heart. The light devoured the two women, claiming them as its own. And behind them, the doors shut, never letting them see how the vines crushed all, leaving nothing but blazing rays and fractured shards behind.
Commentaires