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Lusken is a cold city in the winter. We were only eight, maybe seven at most except for Chloe, our protector, she was 13, our saint in the alley. It reminds me now that even in an gutter a rose can still grow.
Some are born to privlilge, while others are born with nothing. We lived in the alleys and took refuge in the "sink". No one goes there unless they want to die young. Even the currupt Lusken guard stay away.
How I hated this cruel world, I cursed my mother for giving birth to me and then abandoning me, and I resented Chloe for raising me. Yet I couldnt even cry out in anger, I was a runt. In silence I let myself down, and Chloe took care of us still.
Rumor is that she was mute at birth, she didnt even cry. After the age of five, the human girl was thrown to the cruel Lusken streets by her disapointed aristocrat family.
We all knew she was gifted, even for a human mute. The myths of all great cultures tell of monsters lurking in the debths of the subconsious, she was born with such a curse, able to create what she wanted threw projected illusions.
She always had the same inky black wings in her illusions, maybe she desired the same freedom we all did. We all gathered on the roof of the tailors shoppe, we crammed against each other to watch ever other day, she was our hero, our older sister, our savoir.
She danced threw blades and around lawfull hands with angelic fluidness, like a ballerina that knew the script ahead of time, she arrogantly danced threw the swords grasp, giving us a show, we oprhans laughed and clapped at the roof of the tailor shoppe to watch, cheering on our hero. Our Saint.
Her illusion, unheard of, for a sorceress, even if it was just an illusion, those inky black wings spread like a raven, confusing the guards, dancing for us, we clapped for our savoir. It was beautiful
Then the most horrible thing happened.
All of the children looked away. I should have aswell. It was horrific, I can still see it when I close my eyes.
Our savoir, our hero was taken away, just a stumble against a single alley rock, the illusion broken, she lost her balance, the blades landed from the guards as if they all wanted to be the first to lay the fatal blow.
My mouth hung open and tears welled in my eyes, but I never made a sound, hidden and watching.
No one dared to speak a word. We all felt the same.
I hated for Chloe for so long, her beauty, her grace, agility, I was a nothing but a runt and she still cared for us. Even in the gutter, a rose can grow.
Im sorry Chloe, but I can only stumble forward, Im so graceless that way.
We starved for weeks after that.
(opinions or replys appreciated)
Some are born to privlilge, while others are born with nothing. We lived in the alleys and took refuge in the "sink". No one goes there unless they want to die young. Even the currupt Lusken guard stay away.
How I hated this cruel world, I cursed my mother for giving birth to me and then abandoning me, and I resented Chloe for raising me. Yet I couldnt even cry out in anger, I was a runt. In silence I let myself down, and Chloe took care of us still.
Rumor is that she was mute at birth, she didnt even cry. After the age of five, the human girl was thrown to the cruel Lusken streets by her disapointed aristocrat family.
We all knew she was gifted, even for a human mute. The myths of all great cultures tell of monsters lurking in the debths of the subconsious, she was born with such a curse, able to create what she wanted threw projected illusions.
She always had the same inky black wings in her illusions, maybe she desired the same freedom we all did. We all gathered on the roof of the tailors shoppe, we crammed against each other to watch ever other day, she was our hero, our older sister, our savoir.
She danced threw blades and around lawfull hands with angelic fluidness, like a ballerina that knew the script ahead of time, she arrogantly danced threw the swords grasp, giving us a show, we oprhans laughed and clapped at the roof of the tailor shoppe to watch, cheering on our hero. Our Saint.
Her illusion, unheard of, for a sorceress, even if it was just an illusion, those inky black wings spread like a raven, confusing the guards, dancing for us, we clapped for our savoir. It was beautiful
Then the most horrible thing happened.
All of the children looked away. I should have aswell. It was horrific, I can still see it when I close my eyes.
Our savoir, our hero was taken away, just a stumble against a single alley rock, the illusion broken, she lost her balance, the blades landed from the guards as if they all wanted to be the first to lay the fatal blow.
My mouth hung open and tears welled in my eyes, but I never made a sound, hidden and watching.
No one dared to speak a word. We all felt the same.
I hated for Chloe for so long, her beauty, her grace, agility, I was a nothing but a runt and she still cared for us. Even in the gutter, a rose can grow.
Im sorry Chloe, but I can only stumble forward, Im so graceless that way.
We starved for weeks after that.
(opinions or replys appreciated)
