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The flame of the candle danced upon the waxy stage, painting shadows that would join in harmony with the small flame. The library carried a warm hue that only flames could paint. A multitude of books adorned the shelves, and there, in the center of the study was Kollotta De'Anara, reading in an undertone books of arcane lore.
Kollotta worked to no end this day, as she did many other days, to deliver herself and her sister from the legacy of mistakes left to them by their father. A mistake which cursed their very souls to an eternal struggle of righteousness or corruption. This curse tainted her sister most, her only family, the sole being in the universe she held the greatest affection for.
"Kollotta, can you ever forgive me for damning you to this life?"
Her father's words to her remained with her still, long after his passing. Had her father not have found love for her, she herself, would likely be a blight upon the world, as was intended by the pact he made. This pact, to corrupt others to folley, to bring them into darkness where they would bolster the strength of that which craves the power. However, it was possible for those who have sinned to find redemption. Kollotta believed this with all of her heart, and she wouldn't stop until she could find the hope for herself and her sister that she and her father worked towards for most of her life.
She could not be idle in her quest, for the moment her mind had clearness, the taint of her blood would take over, driving her toward darkness. The moment she would listen, it would consume her and forge for itself a vessel of unholy waters. Such a harsh legacy for any to bear, but one Kollotta was bent on removing. And the secret, she believed, was in the weave itself that could shape and change reality itself at the whims of it's wielder, as long as that one had within them the knowledge to accomplish it. This is why Kollotta was here in the study pouring over information, research, possibilities.
"Of course I can forgive you, father."
Accross the rooftops, streets, and surface of Sundren, there existed her twin. A testimony to the consumption that awaited her if she dallied. Jeshana was her name, consumed day by day with the taint left to her. Rather than struggle, as her sister did, she dulled her mind with substances meant to ease pain. If she had no thought then there would be no sin, this has become her sin, and a poison to her being.
Jeshana lay upon the floor, staring at the ceiling above her. The cold stone, a comfort to her as she sweat profusely under the influence of the Thayan poisons. Her salvation was not in her grasp. Nor did she give consideration to hope. Her blood whispering to her always to take for herself, destroy, murder and maim. The temptation to follow this path was great, but for her sister, she would struggle. Her sister, who to her, was the only being in the ever reaching span of the universe that she cared for. But she could not strive in books or temples seeking redemption. The blood would call to her in whispers, but her ears would be deafened by liquor and toxin. Her legacy would give to her visions of death and misfortune, but her eyes would be dimmed by inebriation. She did not indulge for enjoyment, nor did she partake for the essence of euphoria. She consumed to reach a state where she was alive, but barely living. An unmoving vessel would be useless to the potter who would forge it.
Jeshana lay staring at the ceiling, but seeing nothing of the architecture. She lay awaiting the ends that would come to her, whether in darkness or within a chance from the struggles of her sister, she would lay in wait. Her heart was heavy with guilt, and longing for death only pushed forth the blood's rage to continue on, no she must live, live as little as she possibly could.
"Jeshana, can you ever forgive me for damning you to this life?"
Jeshana's father spent his days tutoring his prised daughter, Kollotta. Paying little attention to the other offspring who had only the unloving hand of fate to guide her. Her father was no one perfect, but imperfect or perfect, he was her world, a world that knowingly or unknowingly rejected her, and this left her without a guide.
"You beg me for forgiveness father, but you do not care what my answer would be. Find your forgiveness in Kollotta and leave me to my life."
Had he but realized he had two daughters, perhaps she would not be the blight she is. Had he but taken time to walk with her, she would not be alone.
This was the sisters' birthright, a legacy of turmoil.
Kollotta worked to no end this day, as she did many other days, to deliver herself and her sister from the legacy of mistakes left to them by their father. A mistake which cursed their very souls to an eternal struggle of righteousness or corruption. This curse tainted her sister most, her only family, the sole being in the universe she held the greatest affection for.
"Kollotta, can you ever forgive me for damning you to this life?"
Her father's words to her remained with her still, long after his passing. Had her father not have found love for her, she herself, would likely be a blight upon the world, as was intended by the pact he made. This pact, to corrupt others to folley, to bring them into darkness where they would bolster the strength of that which craves the power. However, it was possible for those who have sinned to find redemption. Kollotta believed this with all of her heart, and she wouldn't stop until she could find the hope for herself and her sister that she and her father worked towards for most of her life.
She could not be idle in her quest, for the moment her mind had clearness, the taint of her blood would take over, driving her toward darkness. The moment she would listen, it would consume her and forge for itself a vessel of unholy waters. Such a harsh legacy for any to bear, but one Kollotta was bent on removing. And the secret, she believed, was in the weave itself that could shape and change reality itself at the whims of it's wielder, as long as that one had within them the knowledge to accomplish it. This is why Kollotta was here in the study pouring over information, research, possibilities.
"Of course I can forgive you, father."
Accross the rooftops, streets, and surface of Sundren, there existed her twin. A testimony to the consumption that awaited her if she dallied. Jeshana was her name, consumed day by day with the taint left to her. Rather than struggle, as her sister did, she dulled her mind with substances meant to ease pain. If she had no thought then there would be no sin, this has become her sin, and a poison to her being.
Jeshana lay upon the floor, staring at the ceiling above her. The cold stone, a comfort to her as she sweat profusely under the influence of the Thayan poisons. Her salvation was not in her grasp. Nor did she give consideration to hope. Her blood whispering to her always to take for herself, destroy, murder and maim. The temptation to follow this path was great, but for her sister, she would struggle. Her sister, who to her, was the only being in the ever reaching span of the universe that she cared for. But she could not strive in books or temples seeking redemption. The blood would call to her in whispers, but her ears would be deafened by liquor and toxin. Her legacy would give to her visions of death and misfortune, but her eyes would be dimmed by inebriation. She did not indulge for enjoyment, nor did she partake for the essence of euphoria. She consumed to reach a state where she was alive, but barely living. An unmoving vessel would be useless to the potter who would forge it.
Jeshana lay staring at the ceiling, but seeing nothing of the architecture. She lay awaiting the ends that would come to her, whether in darkness or within a chance from the struggles of her sister, she would lay in wait. Her heart was heavy with guilt, and longing for death only pushed forth the blood's rage to continue on, no she must live, live as little as she possibly could.
"Jeshana, can you ever forgive me for damning you to this life?"
Jeshana's father spent his days tutoring his prised daughter, Kollotta. Paying little attention to the other offspring who had only the unloving hand of fate to guide her. Her father was no one perfect, but imperfect or perfect, he was her world, a world that knowingly or unknowingly rejected her, and this left her without a guide.
"You beg me for forgiveness father, but you do not care what my answer would be. Find your forgiveness in Kollotta and leave me to my life."
Had he but realized he had two daughters, perhaps she would not be the blight she is. Had he but taken time to walk with her, she would not be alone.
This was the sisters' birthright, a legacy of turmoil.
