HI!!! Back With Chapter Three!!! All Feedback Welcome đ
HI!!! Back with chapter three!!! All feedback welcome đ
tw: mentions of death, murder, depressive symptoms
Ch. 3
May sat at her desk, her head weighing heavy in her hands. She didnât need to look towards the paintings and sculptures adorning the walls and mantle; every inch of this room was known to her like the back of her own hand. She spent hours upon hours here, possibly entire lifetimes. After her father fell, the duchy of Ilucia rallied around her, looking to the only remaining legitimate heir. They loved her fatherârevered him, almost. There was a strict way about the man when it came to keeping things running, making sure jobs were filled and trades were made. They would say he was a kind man who knew how to speak in a way that made otherâs listen. He ruled here through a combined force of love and fear, managing to balance the two in a way that allowed their family to remain influential in a time when Dukes and Duchessâs were finding their heads rolling across the wooden floor.
As she lifted her head, laying it back on the chair behind her and taking a deep breath, she found herself looking at the chair across from the desk. How many times had she sat there? How many glasses of brandy did she watch the man down? How many bruises had faded over the time since his death?
Her mind didnât travel here oftenâat least, not anymore. There was no use in thinking of all the things youâd never be able to speak of. Gripping the arm of the chair until her knuckles turned white, May found herself wondering what a man like him would have done in a situation like this.
Heâd never allow himself in a situation like this to begin with, she thought, toying with the idea of a monster prowling the halls of the manor while her father was still above ground. If only.
Thereâs something to be said of the burning urge May felt regarding her rule of the duchy. It had nothing to do with pride; she wasnât proud of what her father built, nor his father before him. The countless hours of preparing in the feminine arts and learning to be the daughter her father required of her. It was like she wasnât meant to be spoken to or asked questions but only looked at by prospective husbands to further the financial stability of the Ilucia. It was a simple life.
Simplicity was a gift May was never to receive again. The day she found herself groveling at the feet of a witch in the mud was the last time she would ever know what that word truly meant, even if she didnât know it at the time. By the Winds and Waters, though, did she know it now.
There was a lot she had to learn in quite a short period of time, her motivation pushing her with a desire she hadnât ever felt before. There was a certain weight that came with responsibility, one that she found herself becoming comfortable under. Finally, there was a purpose for her, one beside what her father had created.
But this isnât where she thought sheâd end up. There was very little about life that May understood, even after years of serving her duchy; she felt like something was still wrong. The trade was going well, bolstering the economy, creating plenty of work for all her people. The militarized approach to running the area has taken quite well over the last few months, as well, with all of her men supporting the change. There would always be the problems of ruined crops or overdue taxes, but things were well and stable, thanks to May.
But something was wrong. Something had been wrong since the day of her coronation: this pounding that never seemed to dissipate, but got quieter the less she focused on it. This screaming force begging her to follow itâs sound, only for May never to locate the source. Something was deeply wrong, and she didnât know where to start looking when it came to fixing it.
Running her hand against the smooth grain of the desk, she felt more aware of the feeling of the chair beneath her, the seat of what came before her now cradling what was once a scared little girl. Looking upon the office that had barely changed since it became hers, she found herself wondering what it all would be like if they knew; if they really knew of what had happened to him, what she had done. No matter how many times she played it again in her mind, she never stopped feeling proud of it, even when every fiber of her being was telling her that guilt was the only way forward.
She was beside herself as she slowly came to her feet, shuffling over the creaking floor towards the door. As she looked back behind her, towards the hearth she was just moments ago sitting before, she felt rage being stoked within her. Things were starting to crack in a way that everyone else could see. And what of when they started asking questions? No part of the truth would ever escape her lips. It couldnât.
She couldnât tell you how long she stood there wrestling with emotions she felt she shouldnât have, and yet as the sun started to peek over the horizon, bathing the office in shades of oranges and pinks as it shone through the window, Mayâs throat constricted and sweat started to bead on her brows. Her fists clenched at her sides, breath hitching behind her tongue as she struggled to get the words out.
Quiet squeals left her lips, the whimper she made doing nothing but embarrassing her in the empty room. It didnât matter how hard of a breath she put behind it; it didnât matter how hard she prayed or to what God. There would be no answers where she searched for them; there would be no voice when she dared to scream.
~
The sun was bright, bouncing from each full leaf and meeting the ground with a kiss. The birds sang along with the babbling rhythm of the brook, lulling May into a calmness she hadnât felt for too long. Someone so young wasnât meant to bear the things she wore, and yet she wore them nonetheless.
âDo you think theyâd ever let me come to the manor?â Oryn quipped, tossing a stone from the bank off into the river, watching the waves swallow it.
May sat a bit straighter, looking towards her. âThe Witches?â she scoffed. âAbsolutely not.â She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, struggling to hold it in.
Oryn sighed, shoulders sinking low. âIt was a stupid question,â they said, picking up another small stone.
May scooted a bit closer to her friend, taking off her shoes and letting her feet dip into the river. âYou arenât missing much, anyway.â
They nod, taking a moment to think before speaking again, voice heavy with something May couldnât quite place. âI wonât know that until I see for myself. Besides, you talk so much of your brother, Iâd like to meet him, eventually.â
May found herself laughing. âMy brother? You and him⌠youâre different,â she smiled, meeting Orynâs gaze. âI donât think he would⌠well, I donât know. I wonât say youâll never meet him, but Iâll never take him here. Heâd never come.â
Oryn nodded. They didnât take offense; the way they lived here with the Witches wasnât something that everybody would understand. Maureen told them that time and time again.
âWould he want to kill them?â Oryn asked, cocking her head the way sheâs seen May do when she asks a question with a nonchalant air.
Mayâs brows furrowed as she turned her gaze down, watching her feet in the water. âProbably,â she said, âPeople donât really know the Witches.â
âWhat do they call them again? Out in town.â
âHags,â May said, meeting Orynâs gaze again. âBut theyâre not.â
âI know.â And she did know that. Truly.
âTheyâre good. Good women, good people.â
âI know,â Oryn said, their voice ringing clearer with conviction. âDo you?â
May caught herself staring off into wherever the river went, down towards the horizon and off into some land somewhere that she didnât know, off to an ocean sheâd never see. âI trust them.â she finally said, looking for something sheâd never find.
âBut your brother wouldnât,â Oryn stated.
âNo, he wouldnât. But itâs because he doesnât know them. He is⌠strict in his convictions. I doubt heâd let himself.â She sighed. âPeople are afraid of things they donât know.â
Oryn nodded, letting their hand sit softly atop Mayâs. May let a content smile splay on her lips, still staring off into nothing and everything.
âHe was thinking of leaving, actually,â May said, letting herself speak about something sheâd been holding in for a while. She took her feet out of the river, the cold water making her feet numb for a moment, grass and mud sticking to them as she tucked them under herself and turned to face Oryn.
âLeaving?â Oryn turned, too, meeting Mayâs serious gaze.
âOryn,â May started, âDo you know what war is?â
~
There was a distrust in Mayâs men. It wasnât against her, necessarily, but against what they knew she didnât say. Standing behind her and glorifying her name was something none of them had ever thought of twice. But Alec, feeling a new sense of bewilderment, found himself asking more questions than he had answers to.
The dank cellar was full from floor to ceiling with books bigger than heâd ever seen. As he made his way from one row to the next, he saw words he didnât recognize bound by skin in colors heâd never seen. He didnât know specifically what May wanted him to search for besides some sort of mention of a monster like the one they saw that night
âNo,â Alec said to himself, âNot monster. That man,â he mumbled, letting his fingers trail along the spines of the tomes, leaving a line amidst the dust in his wake. There was knowledge hiding here that no one knew, and the boy didnât know how heâd go about finding it. He wasnât even sure what it was.
He was young to handle any guilt, but not so young that he didnât understand it. He thought of death more often than not in these passing days, wondering how responsible he should feel and whose fault it was and what he could have done differently, if anything at all. He didnât think heâd find any answers for any of those questions here, but the others⌠maybe.
He didnât sleep the following night, nor the night after that. It was harder to sleep when heâd close his eyes and see that thing hiding in the darkness, ready to rip another door from its hinges. First, it scared him. He knew his father hated that he harbored so much fear, but his mother made sure he knew that he was still just a boy; it was more than normal, but expected. A boy didnât become a man overnightâhe wouldnât be able to conquer those fears from a meagre month in the militia. You donât just grow up, all at once.
The fear turned into something else, though; the other thing his father told him never to harbor. Curiosity. Heâd been on enough hunts with his brothers to know what beasts lurk in the shadows, and this certainly isnât one that theyâve ever heard of. It didnât matter how long he wracked his brain of the stories of great hunts and beast slayers, there was nothing about this thing that could point to its origin. The scouts of the area have an extensive list of any and all beasts that theyâve been able to track and hunt locally, making sure to dispatch of any of the less⌠safe species. But this wasnât a beast. It was a man.
When the Duchess had made her announcement to the staff of a prolonged guest taking up stead in one of the unused rooms, there was a stifle of what could only be excitement amongst her men. There hadnât been a single visitor to the manor since sheâd become the standing Duchess.
There were very few who opposed her. Although not in direct opposition, Alecâs father wasnât one to take his dismissal lightly. May shed her fatherâs cohort quickly, making it her first proper action when she became standing Duchess. They all thought sheâd come crawling back to the group of old men, looking for some sort of guidance in what to do next and how to help her people. Their anger was mellow at first, masked by their grief for their former duke and, not too long thereafter, his proper heir.
Alec didnât find much of anything on that first day in the archives. He looked from one book to another, trying to find the ones that would talk more about beasts and monsters and where they come from. Everything he found terrified him, but none as much as he originally had. His thoughts ran rampant with the things the Duchess could be planning or where she could have picked up someone like him in the first place. Why, of all the things she could doâof all the men she could recruitâwould she go searching for something like that?
She must be planning something. Something big.
He concluded that whatever it was, it must be something worth more than the lives of all the men she could lose trying to tame it.
-
âIâve no idea what the fuck to do,â May mumbled, her foot bouncing with anticipation as she starred upon the idol, sat shiny and untouched upon a shelf nothing else would ever grace. She didnât pray often, and never in the way she was supposed to. There was meant to be a certain etiquette to prayer; quiet and unadorned speech, modest robes, offerings, the list could go on and on. Most people of Mayâs generation and those that followed disregarded more and more of the rules and regulations with each passing year, finding themselves making their own relationships with Gods that many barely knew, if ever making a relationship with any of them at all. Mayâs father was a man of appearances, hiring gardeners and masons and carpenters to add constant flourishes to his gardens and shrines. After his death, her brother slowly forgot about all the groundskeepers and by the time May was the standing heir, they were all dismissed.
She found herself sitting in front of a shrine shrouded with natural growth. The thick branches of the bushes held themselves tight against the rotting wooden ornamentations, the stone platform and shelves encrusted with years of mildew and moss. The thick pool of algae swam atop what used to be a fountain that sprayed scented mist, eating whatever fell amongst the scum. She found a beauty in the disheveled look; admired the strength of nature reclaiming something that was once so carefully manicured.
She crouched over a wooden stump that was so old it had started to petrify here in the shade, hands clasped tight and brows furrowed. She looked towards the idol, lessons of the Great Winds flashing through her mind. Her father made sure she was schooled properly, even if only to make her a good potential suitor. Although the masculine arts were out of her reach until she found herself the standing Duchess, May liked to think that, in another life, she may have been a true scholar. Not here, though. Not now.
As she gazed up towards the polished clay vase, she wondered if something made in a manâs imageâin a manâs handsâcould ever truly be a vessel for communicating with the Gods. All the questions in such nature started occurring not long after her motherâs death, but with the beatings she received when she voiced them, she thought it best to push them far from her mind. Now, though, the doubt and uneasiness of not being an honest believer started to nag at her.
This was stupid, she thought, remembering the times she prayed for first her motherâs soul, and then her fatherâs. She didnât bother to pray for her brotherâsâshe sullied his soul far beyond repair. There was nothing prayer could have done for him.
She sat up straighter, sucking in a deep breath and setting her feet firmly on the ground. She tried with everything in her to think hard enough of something that would help her, something to steer her in a direction that would tell her what to do with Oryn. What to do about the trail of death that seemed to follow them; the responsibility and guilt not weighing on her the way she knew it should. She bought them here. She is the one who has her menâs blood on her hands. So why did she feel so relieved?
Sheâs not unused to blood. Her own, her menâs, her familyâs⌠But those all carried a weight to them that she could feel; one that kept her in a state of hostility, never knowing whose death sheâd be responsible for next. There was a numbness that came with it, the last several years serving to alienate her subjects from her more and more. It wasnât the way she was supposed to think. The value of life is something she used to cherish; something the Waters and Winds were supposed to help spread throughout mankind, if we would accept them into our lives. Feeling the guilt and pain was all a part of the Natural Way, molding themâthe meagre supplicants of their Godsâinto a warrior that was fit to battle the Natural Chaos that the world had to offer. There was a balance to be maintained.
Her prayer was bitter and full of a vain desire to understand oneselfâa prayer the Gods most likely wouldnât answer. And yet as she held the idol in her gaze, the sun glinting off the glaze of the vase, she felt like she had finally admitted something long overdue.
She closed her eyes, letting the few rays of sun sneaking through the overgrowth caress her skin, before grabbing a pebble from the long-forgotten footpath beside her and hurling it at the vase, the stone hitting the ceramic with a satisfying clunk as it split and shattered to pieces. Whatever birds were lounging in the nearby bushes and trees took that as their cue to depart, leaving her feeling alone in a forgotten shrine that no longer had a purpose.
She stood, stretching her arms and taking a few more big, deep breaths. Good throw. She knew she wasnât going to find any answers here. Hell, she wasnât going to find any answers anywhere. She had that little boyâwhat was his name? Alex? Alvin? ârummaging through what must be years and years' worth of tall tales and nonsense. She knew he wouldnât find anything useful, but she needed to make all of her men feel as though they were doing something that was. The last thing she needed was a reason for her men to fall apart and start rallying against her. It was up to her to give them purpose, no matter how unimportant it truly was in the end.
May started making her way down the stone steps and back towards the manor, her shoes hitting the ground with purpose. He needs to learn.
Oryn had spent the past week sulking in their room, blinds drawn, and door locked. As May walked from one side of the manor grounds to the other, it was determination fueled by anger that flooded her veins. There was too much being hidden, not enough known. She found herself thinking back to her first brush with death. She understood what it meant long before her mother died⌠a childhood cat, maybe? Or was it her grandfather? She didnât remember. When was Orynâs?
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hello sir/madam. your son is so transmasc . can i kiss him with tongue
Back with Chapter 7! How are we feeling about the balance between povs's and flashbacks? Trying to balance the emotional integrity of the scenes and worldbuilding can be difficult.
The aftermath of the surprise siege is upon them, May and her men needing to prepare for what comes next.
tw: mentions of death, bodily horror and harm, murder, war, blood
Ch. 7
It took what remained of Mayâs men another hour to clear the courtyard of all attackers, and another few hours after that to properly barricade the main square of the small town surrounding the manor. There was a line of destruction straight through the middle of the once beautiful yard, showing where the other troops had marched through to get to the Manorâto Oryn.
Scouts were sent out into town to assess the damage and bring as many townsmen into the barricade as they could. Although most men of the duchy were already wielding weapons under Mayâs command, any that couldnât still find themselves wanting to serve her in any way that they could. The entire population was loyal to Mayâs blood, not a single one of them turning down the chance to defend their homes when asked.
As May paced back and forth in front of the main gate to the courtyard and watched her men scurrying back and forth to make sure everything was set before they were attacked againâwhich they most definitely would be considering the slaughter wrought today. The only thought raging through her pained head about Oryn and their safety and whether or not this attack could potentially have anything to do with them.
Itâs obvious, she thought. They wouldnât have gotten into the attic⌠they were tracking him, listening to me. This had everything to do with Oryn.
Demetrius came limping towards her, still a hulking form despite his burns and other miscellaneous injuries.
âThe barricade is sufficiently guarded and secure, my Lady. Scouts are being directed to their designated areas as we speak,â he said through a hoarse throat, hacking up a glob of ash-stained phlegm, the bit of blood staining the dirt beneath them.
May shook her head, worry plaguing her. âI canât afford to lose my Chief General, Demetrius. You need medical attention. Go,â she commanded, looking him up and down with scrutiny.
He held her gaze longer than usual; he never liked letting her know how much pressure he held. And yet, just this once, he let his eyes meet hers.
May shuffled where she stood, crossing her arms. âThat wasnât you, was it?â
âNo,â he only let the shock play on his face for a moment. âBut that wasnât you, either, I surmise.â
Word travels fast. Itâd been a half a day since May had skewered one of her own men, the blood that served her own staining her blade. How many know? Does he? It was a question that had never crossed her mind before: how much would it take for her men to betray her?
Demetrius towered over her, and yet his presence was that of a scared child. âDo you think it was him?â he murmured.
May took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. âI do. But I donât think he knows.â
Demetrius shook his head. âHow can he not know?â
A small group of scouts was seen scurrying through the growing crowds, the townsfolk clearing the way with loud shouts and demands of clearing the way.
~
Maureen paced the length of the cabin, her long hair flowing softly behind her in a graceful waft. Elisa sat upon the cushioned stool with her back as straight as a board, following Maureen back and forth. Starla was merely prepping the afternoon tea, humming a soft song to herself.
Oryn sat beside Starla on the soft wooden counter. It always smelled so lovely when Starla was the one to make the tea. Oryn could never figure out what made hers different from the other two; it just tasted better.
They could all but see the haze of tension cascading over the room. It was terrifying in a way that made their hair stand on end. Oryn couldnât think of a time when any of them ever expressed so much fear before. Well, once. But that was another matter entirely, nothing like this.
âWhen he arrives,â Maureen mumbled, âwe need to have a plan. We need to be ready to strike before he decides to do anything drastic andââ
âHe wonât,â Elisa interrupted. She slowly stood up, stretching her neck and back. âIt wonât come to that. However, I do think a plan needs to be set, just in case.â Her hard eyes met Maureenâs, something unspoken being shared between them.
Oryn all but jumped in their seat as Starla stopped her humming and spoke up. âYouâre both so cynical,â she chided, sighed as she grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. âHeâs the one that left him with us. If anything, heâs the only other living thing on the face of this good land that shares our goals.â She started to set the small table with their finest placemats.
âBut what ifââ
âYou shouldnât expectââ
Starla shot them both a glance, the fire roaring in the mantle behind Maureen dulling under her gaze. âWe are more than capable of handling ourselves. How much do you think the poor old man truly knows of us? Of our capabilities? Whatever you assume of him, stop. Heâll be here sooner rather than later and the last thing I want is for him to feel as if heâs unwelcome. We need to discuss what comes next. And Oryn,â she said, turning to them. âDonât ask too many questions. In fact, ask none at all.â
It was rare of Starlaâof the three of themâto set her boundaries with such brute force, letting her powerful senses overtake her and express themselves. They decided to listen.
She continued to set the table and arrange the baked goods and tea, letting Oryn have a small taste of the honey and sugar. As Maureen and Elisa sat down at the table to wait, their gazes towards one another never broke. The air was electric with their fear.
There was a knock at the door.
The forest was silent with anticipation.
Maureen and Elisa stood from their seats. Starla opened the door.
The man who stood there was old and frail, the white wisps of hair on his head matching the scraggly beard flowing down his chests. The gray robes were modest and seemingly understated for someone of his status.
âHello, High Councilor,â Starla said, smiling with pride and bowing just slightly to show her respect.
âPlease,â Jonas said, âNo need for such formalities.â As he returned her smile, Oryn saw a heaviness in his eyes. He reached an arm around Starlaâs shoulder, Starla leaning in and hugging him.
âItâs good to see you. You look well,â he said, pulling away to take a look at her.
Her smile softened as she looked him over, a different weight heavy in her own gaze. âAs do you. Please, come sit,â she said, beckoning to the set table full of pastries and tea. Maureen and Elisa both curtly nodded their heads as they waved towards the man, sitting after doing so and starting to fill their own plates. Oryn took that as the queue to fill their own.
They sat for a few moments in silence as they ate and drank, Oryn delighting in the fact that they were being allowed so many treats. They didnât notice the odd glances and long stares from the four adults at the table with them.
âYou look well, child,â Jonas said, setting his napkin down on his emptied plate, letting his cup sit idly on its saucer.
Oryn looked from Maureen to Elisa to Starla, each of them glaring into his soul with their own piercing gaze as if they were each willing what words to come out of their mouth.
âIâm sorry,â Oryn said, making eye contact with the man as they swallowed the last of their pastry. âBut I donât think I know you.â
Jonas nodded, leaning deeper into his chair. He took a long, deep breath. âHow much have these lovely ladies told you about how you came to be here?â
Orynâs brows furrowed in confusion as they once again looked from one witch to the next. Now, though, the three of them each avoided their gaze, squirming in their seats.
They knew an opportunity when they saw one.
âNot enough,â they mumbled, their own gaze darkening as something deep within them said it wouldnât be smart to ask.
Jonas nodded yet again, maintaining his gaze with them. The witches sat silently in their seats.
âYour mother,â Jonas started, tapping a finger on the table, âshe died.â
Oryn nodded. âYes. And thatâs why the three of them take care of me,â they said, gesturing towards where they sat.
âThatâs right,â he sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward as his gaze grew deeper. âIâm the man that got you here. To make sure someone could take care of you.â
Oryn nodded, not understanding the behavior of the witches; what could possibly be so nerve-wracking about an old man with a soft spot for a motherless baby?
âMy mother,â Orynâs curiosity had gotten the better of her. âYou knew her then?â their voice was innocent, yearning.
Jonas smiled widely, finally breaking her gaze. âI did,â he said, a small frown creeping to his face. âI knew her well.â
âWhat was she like?â
The three witchesâ necks all but snapped as their heads swiveled and their gazes met Orynâs. It must have been one of the questions she wasnât allowed to ask.
They were all silent again for a moment, a solitary tear brimming in his eyes and running down Jonasâs cheek. âShe was wonderful,â he muttered more to himself, âand dedicated and beautiful. It was a shame she had to pass so young.â
The relief was palpable, everyoneâs shoulders relaxing and sighs being let out.
âOryn,â Starla said, a forced smile splayed on her lips and an edge behind her voice. âGo outside and play. We have important work we have to do with Jonas today.â Her eyes flicked to the door.
Oryn sighed, looking one last time at each member of the table before hopping off of their stool, grabbing a final pastry, and heading out the door.
Jonas shivered, his gaze becoming cold and hard as his fist slammed down on the table. âWhat is that?â
âHe grows fast,â Maureen mumbled, âmuch faster than a human.â
âHis appetiteâŚâ Elisa whispered.
Starla shook her head at them all, meeting Jonasâs gaze. âThatâs a young boy,â she said, her voice firm and back straight. âA young boy who has been loved and provided for, even when the things we must provide are challenging and⌠unethical.â
Jonas closed his eyes, resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. âIt hasnât even been a full five years,â he muttered to himself, âand heâs seemingly twice that age.â He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Starlaâs. âDonât you forget what he did to her. Do you understand me?â He stood from his seat, walking towards the window that overlooked the yard where Oryn had gone out to play. âThat boy⌠that thing⌠the things heâs capable ofâŚâ he trailed off.
âYou think we donât know that?â Maureen snapped, twiddling her fingers in her lap. âYou think we havenât taken the utmost care in nurturing something your people think is the devil?â She scoffed, getting out of her own seat and standing next to Jonas, following his gaze out the window towards Oryn.
Starla stood as well, starting to clean the mess of the table. The daggers in her voice were sharp. âMy good High Councilor, donât you forget who have been the ones raising him all this time; the ones fighting to understand his nature, his abilities, hisâŚâ she trailed off, stacking cups in the wash-bin. âThe things weâve had to witness. And the worst of it is the fact that he has no idea what heâs capable of.â
This is the best idea in the history of film.
bothering him
grandpa & his slimy widowed bf love loses
some of my medieval inspired sdv posters :)
LOSING MY MIND !!!!!!! @skidotto just keeps making absolutley INSANE character art for my lovely oc's. This is May!! EVERYONE TELL HIM HOW COOL HIS ART IS R A H
suzanne collins is such a genius... the cultural phenomenon of her series leading to the hanging tree house remixes, mockingjay being milked for two (bad) movies, the capitol-inspired makeup palettes, the halloween costumes, the explosion of the market for dystopia, the butchering of her characters and removal of disabilities, disfiguration, and racial tension + representation to sell more tickets, the extra gale scenes to fuel discourse, and the audience showing up to cinemas to watch what was pretty honestly marketed to them (the jacob vs edwardification of the symbolic love story and also to watch children fight to the death) it's just so ridiculously ironic i would say you can't write this shit, but she did write about it... in The Hunger Games published 2008
I'm back đ
Here's chapter one! The prologue has been heavily edited, up to chapter five lightly edited. So please be nice with all the grammatical errors if you find them! (Also feel free to point them out; I've obviously missed them as of this far lol, much appreciated!) Thinking of maybe doing a character post regarding the main characters you meet here, Oryn and May.
tw: mentions of death and funerals/burial, grief, blood
â˘
â˘
â˘
Our dearest Oryn,
Our faith is strong. Knowing itâs unorthodox means nothing; our souls donât fear the plaguing nags of Chaos any longer. You canât harbor any doubts as to where we will go once our souls leave our bodies: know they will all find their homes with the Gods. You neednât waste your breath praying for us.
Knowing you, this cabin will soon find itself empty. The home we built together will be barren. Itâs okayâyou can go. We trust you. But remember who you are. Remember who we raised you to be. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, remember what we taught you. Youâre too smart for the world, so be prepared for the way theyâll treat you. It wonât be kind. But donât let that discourage you. Know that here, in the forest, there is always our home waiting for you to return. Let it be your haven.
There are no others like you. You know what the world does to the things itâs never seen. Donât go looking for answers in places where none will be found, even when it all becomes too enticing. That lure, that pull at your soul, itâs Natural Chaos slowly wrapping you in its snare. Donât let it.
Youâve been loved, and in turn loved us. If youâre going to take anything into the world with you, let it be that.
Maureen, Elisa, Starla
â
Ch. 1
It seemed like mere moments, yet the two of them sat there for hours. As the sun bathed the sky in its hues of oranges and reds and purples and pinks, they sat in front of the three fresh graves in silence. Oryn turned the unlit torch over in their hands. The forest wasnât mourning; it was empty. The life that the three of them had built here didnât stop with Oryn or what they gave May; they kept the forest here full of purpose. Without them, it was like every living being knew that Oryn wouldnât stay, so they didnât need to, either. Once they left, theyâd have nothing to protect anymore.
May wanted to give Oryn all the time they needed but didnât know how time worked for them. She didnât know how time worked for any of them; everything she seemed to learn about the three women they were about to bury only unearthed more questions that she never had the nerve to ask.
As the sun made its final dip over the horizon, Oryn stood, lighting the torch. May didnât have the chance to stand before they dropped it in the first graveâMaureenâs.
The flames roared to life, like they knew they were releasing a soul to the Waters and Winds. Lighting two more torches, Elisa and Starla joined her.
May shuffled where she stood, clearing her throat. âDid they want us to perform any⌠rites? Or say any prayers?â
Oryn took their time to respond, making sure May understood their conviction. As a solitary tear ran down their cheek, they barked, âNo.â
âYou need time,â May nodded.
âNo,â Oryn said. âLet them burn and fill in the graves. Then, we go.â
They stood their long after dusk, letting the flames turn to ash before filling the graves they sat in. Amongst the flowers and herbs and fruit trees would be three women who defiled every god in the name of building a home.
The silence surrounding them wasnât one that bode dread; it was like the subtle breath of your lover lying next to you as you slept. The forest was letting them sleep in peace.
As May untied her horse from the post near the hut that was both Orynâs home and prison, she could hear the wood sigh with relief.
They took their time leaving the forest, knowing they wouldnât be back any time soon. The footpaths seemed to bleed into the plant life surrounding them, slowly rotting the roots and bushes into dust. It was a slow decay, the trees slowly dropping their leaves and petrifying within the few hours of travel it took for them to reach the forestsâ edge.
âYou should know,â Oryn said, clearing their throat as the steed took itsâ final step from the forest into the field, âI donât sleep well.â
As the crackle of the final trees solidifying rang behind them, May turned over her shoulder. âAnd by that you mean?â
âI talk sometimes,â they started, âand other times Iâve broken a few things.â
âIn your sleep?â May asked, Oryn nodding a bit. âShould be fine. Youâll be on the other end of the manor so Iâm sure itâll be no bother. And thereâs not much in the room to break, anyway. Iâll let the guards know not to worry if they hear you mumbling.â
âGuards?â
âJust a few,â May started. âThey patrol the manor at night. Since I started commanding the New GuardâŚâ she trailed off, her jaw tightening. âItâs just better to be safe.â
Oryn nodded, taking the two flasks from the small bag they carried. âWe should drink these before we make it into town,â they said, reaching their worn hand over Mayâs shoulder and handing her one.
May slowed their horse, coming to a stop on the path in the lush field. Here, all the living things were normal, singing and chirping and fleeting from one patch of grass to another. She took the flask, holding it up to the moon to see the cloudy brown liquid inside. Taking a deep breath, she smelt something that took her back to the puddles of blood staining the manorâs floor.
Her hands started to shake, the brass ring she wore clinking against the flask. âHow many times can someone take this?â she struggled, her throat and tongue contorting as each word barely made it from her mouth.
Oryn sighed, running a hand through their braids. âI know,â they said, downing their own concoction and gagging on the aftertaste. âItâs safe. It wonât break what youâve built here.â
May sat up straighter, her free hand tightening around the reigns. âYou know?â
âI know they gave this to you before,â Oryn stated, âand I know it worked. Drink it again and itâll work now, too.â
May hesitated.
âIâm Oryn,â they started, their voice flowing freely and with a quality anyone would strain to hear. They starting listing prices for goods they didnât know anything about, naming duchyâs they didnât know existed and comparing them to men theyâve never heard of.
May wasnât concerned if it would work. The hair stood on the back of her neck as the thoughts of the broken bottle and pounding feet ran through her mind; the gold sitting in the cove dug underneath the stairs in the manor by her grandfather. There were things worth killing over.
She put the flask to her lips, letting the taste of tar slide down the back of her throat.
âGood!â Oryn chuckled, a low hum droning in Mayâs ear. She gagged on the taste and dropped the flask, Oryn reaching around her to tug the reigns. âItâs sealed now. But you know that already.â
-
The cracking of wood rendering itself to splinters rang down the hall, sending another shiver down Alecâs spine. He turned to his lieutenant, looking up at him the way small boys do.
âDutchess said not to worry,â he started, a yawn creeping from the back of his throat. âBesides,â he sighed, âwe have to stay alert for real threats.â
Glass shattered, followed by a metallic grating that could only be a nail ripping itself across the stone walls. A deep hum started creeping its way up the base of Alecâs neck.
âBut, sir,â he said, his brows furrowing. âSomethings not right.â
His lieutenant rubbed his temples before conceding, nodding at Alec and starting down the hall towards Orynâs bedchambers. Alec followed in his wake, his falchion gripped the way he was taught.
Reaching the door, Alec stepped forward when he was gestured to and slowly grabbed the knob. The soft click as he slowly started to turn the handle made a bead of sweat start dripping down his back, the low drone of humming building pressure in the back of his skull. But, after a point, the handle wouldnât budge.
âLocked,â he mumbled to himself, turning back to his superior. âWe shouââ
Alec was flung back down the hall, the shreds of door shielding his front half from whatever came barreling down onto his Lieutenant. He couldnât see it, but Alec heard the snapping and creaking of flesh tearing from bone mixed with the screams and pleas of his superior, which were cut short by a quick pop of his head. His gray brain matter hit the wood Alec was shrouding behind.
There were footsteps hitting the ground immediately heard down the hall, quickly running to the source of the commotion. As Alec trembled and tried to remember how to breathe, another manâs hand was yanking him up from the ground and pulling him back down the hall.
The beast was of no shape that any of them had ever seen. In a matter of moments, more guards were thrown back against the walls, the demonâs shrieking echoing off the stone. If anyone in the manor happened to still be asleep, they werenât now.
As one guard after another went with spear after falchion, their meaningless cuts and stabs were rendered useless. As the thick, opaque blood started seeping from the gashes, the skin would mend itself, transforming itself into something new.
The hulking mass of meat and bone would grind, creak, and snap as its limbs changed, its agonizing cries of pain accompanying the transformations. The skin would contort itself, stretching and thinning to contain everything within.
May came barreling from her quarters, untied robes messily hanging over her old nightwear, sword brandished and glowing in the dim light. With a look of determination on her faceâthe one her men always looked toâshe barked out an order and shouted the command calling the bulk of the guard to her back. As the echo of Mayâs voice started bouncing off the cold walls, a rush of wind flew through an open parapet, the torches amongst the walls hissing into darkness. The soft sigh of relief amongst the darkness turned into a quiet sobbing.
âIâveâŚâ there was a soft shuffling of skin on stone, a hiccup of a cry emanating down the hall.
horsegirl Lae'zel has begun to spread the gospel
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