Innocents

Chapter Three

Aveline

My face is stained with the tears that pour from my eyes, tinted pink from the salty flow of water that runs through the crease of my nose. Looking up, I force the liquid falling from my eyes to stop. It only causes my eyes to fill, blurring my vision. The tall trees aboves me, blur into splotches of green and brown amid the grey sky. I close my eyelids, rolling my lips together. Pain ripples back and forth through my head. I don't know if it is from the crying or from my emotional pain. I don't even know where the pain comes from or what hurts the most. Blood seeps out of the side of my fisted hands, scarlet red liquid against the husky brown dirt. The mud mingles with the liquid caking my hands in a thin layer of the mahogany mixture. The harsh wounds accounting from the numerous times that I slammed my fists down on the rough forest floor, just wishing myself to just disappear. Wishing the fate I held wasn't mine. Wishing he was alive. Wishing he was dead.

I drag my palms back to my side as the scraped and bleeding skin stings against the uneven rows of dirt in between the circuits of roots underneath me. I pull my scuffed up palms into my chest. The bloody mud streaks uneven rows down my clean white t-shirt as I cradle my finger to the fabric to subdue the rush of scarlet blood. I lean against the trunk of a tree, my head falling against the rough hickory bark. I tuck my knees into my chest, making myself as small as I can, feeling all too exposed to the cool morning air and just an oversized t-shirt and leggings to clothe my body. My bare feet are red and raw from the absence of shoes. At least that pain was bearable. The rocks and twigs stab into my skin like rocky gravel underneath the soft skin of my feet. I blink away the last of my cries. The tears fall in droplets, catching in the corners of my lips, and seeps into my mouth. My stomach churns and my heart feels numb. Unable to cry or be angry any more and completely exhausted from the effort it took to cross the Irial and then to find my attempts useless, I let the emotion leave my body. It leaves my body devoid of feeling, numb. No love, no pain. No fear, no anger. No tears, no smiles. No Avayah, no chance at beating my inevitable fate.

"I can't do it," I whisper in the breeze, hoping that it would carry it to the ears of Avayah, although I know it is impossible. She's too far gone, "I'm sorry." I was already giving up when the true war hadn't even begun yet. Accepting my fate had always been something I excelled at. How could I not, with what was held over my head? The destiny that was on my shoulders? But I never once gave in. Never. Maybe I could accept the potential future. It was what I did, regroup and move forward. I was weak, accepting the worst of situations. But how could the strong ones give in like that? I have never been strong. I have always been inadequate, accepting my fate and only giving in when I saw no end. But strength was something Avayah understood, yet even she couldn't stop the wheels of fate. Even she couldn't resist the pull of the darkness. Aneira took her away from me. And now Ava has fallen into her deceit, fulfilling her part of the story. Her contribution to the destiny we all had to face. So how could I possibly prevent my destiny from overriding my plans to stay strong, when I am only a manipulated pawn in the eternal game of Viers. I am not strong like Ava. I don't stand a chance in fighting the curse that looms over my head.

Footsteps in the distance interrupt the dark path I started my thoughts on. My ears narrow at the sound because of my heightened sense. The crackling of twigs and brush of leaves rumbles off my eardrums as if it was right next to me, only a few hundred feet off from my location. As if on instinct for survival, I scramble to stand, pulling myself out of my broken heap. My heart races, people are coming.

I close my eyes focusing on a new energy rushing towards my fingertips. I let the energy consume me. My fingers dancing in the air, formulating the energy around me to do my will. My scars begin to disappear, slowly vanishing like wiping off of dirt from your dusty skin. The raised flesh burns as the skin changes to hide the visible marks of my weakness. Magic ripples down my arms changing the appearance of my body. The t-shirt and leggings mutate into black ripped jeans and a clean grey tank top. The blood marks vanish from my shirt and the torn open skin on the side of my palms knits together. Blue vans encase my feet, covering my swollen, raw toes. An army green cargo jacket appears on shoulder, blocking out the cold and hiding the goosebumps that train down my arms. My tangled hair is pulled into a more presentable ponytail, smoothing out the stray bumps and static. I brush my fingers across my eyelids and simple makeup gleams on my face. In a matter of a minute, the once broken mess of myself formulates to conceal all my pain. The magic rushes in my veins like adrenaline, but something more. Something like sparks bursting in a crackling fire at the end of my nerves.