antebellum [t. riddle]

prologue

october 1944

Many scholars, philosophers, and intellectuals throughout history have had consensus on few opinions, but there was one single question that if asked, they would all give the exact same answer answer.

War was by far the worst invention that humanity had constructed.

Sicaria Edwards agreed wholeheartedly.

In the present year, both the muggle and magical world were being torn to pieces by war, impacting civilians, militants, and politicians alike.

Living in the midst of global conflict was indescribable. No matter where one went or what one did, they were always painfully aware of their surroundings. If even for a moment one turned their head away from the destruction, an invisible hand would grab them by the face and force their eyes open to the death and torment. War forced people to watch as their communities were desecrated.

World War was like the vessel of the human body attacking itself. The hands were sawing off the feet while the teeth gnashed away at the flesh it could reach as people murdered other people. The nails scratched and scratched until skin and muscle were being torn away from the cartilage, but no matter how deep it shredded, it never reached the bone. War always left enough people alive to ensure that the conflict didn't die. It was a never-ending cycle of war, tense peace, tension, and then war all over again with the children of the men who didn't die in the previous battles.

And though there were survivors, there was still bloodshed.

So much blood.

Even when the deaths were humane, the stench of blood lingered in the air. It dripped from the fingertips of the exhausted earth as it delayed resting in order to think— trying to find a new way to kill itself. The bright red flashed behind eyelids as humans slept restlessly, dreaming of the nightmares that plagued them during the day. There was truly no escape.

How dare humans be afraid of the monster they created? War was already a horrible enough invention, but to be so reckless as to put it in the hands of sick, evil humans—

Humanity continued to make grave mistake after grave mistake.

Warfare, both literally and metaphorically, beat the life out of people, civilizations, and societies.

For the everyday person, there was no distraction. People were merely forced to learn how to cope with the anxiety of constantly waiting for the other shoe— or bomb, rather— to drop. People dealt with the paranoia in a multitude of different ways, but Sicaria felt that no one was in any place to judge. The next atrocity was inevitable, but knowing it was coming eventually was not a comfort to anyone.

However, there were select members of the international aristocracy that were privileged enough not to be affected by the ongoing war. They were rich enough and powerful enough on both sides to go about their days without having to state their allegiance to one side or another. To them, it was just stories in the newspaper, because, for them, nothing would fundamentally change, regardless of who the winner was.

Sicaria longed to be one of them.

The hatred she had for them was based on pure jealousy.

That is not to say that Sicaria was apathetic toward the pain of the oppressed parties. She was horrified by the state of the world and held bitter resentment toward wizards for not intervening in muggle warfare. The German military had already lost the war, for Christ's sake, but people were still dying because no one would man up and take the final blow to crumble the remains of the regime. The muggle war could be over in mere hours if wizards got off their high horses and helped those who needed to be helped instead of playing isolationist.