Exile |The Darkling|

Chapter 5: Chances

Examining the stag's bone that had been cauterized into the back of your hand, you were reminded of the life before.

How painful those years had been.

The camp located east of the fold was rumbling with the early morning arrival of Alina Starkov. Those who hadn't been lucky enough to sneak a glance at the girl over a month prior were flocking like a herd of sheep to the tent she had been sequestered to.

The young girl felt like a prisoner.

Or, at least, what she thought being a prisoner was.

Alina was visited by three people during the hours before launch. First, Genya. She thought Genya to be a loyal friend, someone she had trusted with her struggles adapting to life as a Saint, and more importantly, the only person she believed to understand her kinship with Mal—and her affections for the General. Genya deceived her (albeit in her best interests) but she was still given a choice. The fire-haired girl could have chosen a different path, one of truth and freedom, except she was too comfortable in her royal life to risk it.

The first conversation had gone swimmingly poor.

The second person who had visited Alina that morning was Aleksander. He played Alina like the naive girl she was; eating at her weaknesses to pawn her off for some 'higher goal.' Even as she stared into his black eyes while he pleaded with her to understand, Alina declared she would never be a piece in his larger game. But there was a draw to the man. The eternal man who built an entire life around her discovery for his own good and how he led her to believe he worshiped the ground she walked on.

Alina wanted to love him, and she did. It would be her shortcoming. Alina thought she could fix a man who convinced her he wanted to change—to be good.

The girl did love him. In a sick and twisted way she would always be reminded of when his darkness prevented any thought of rationality from breaking through.

When the morning turned to afternoon and the sun began to fall in the sky, the moon's shadow greeted the camp with a realization that there was one visit yet to be made. Alina would have rather walked through the fold alone than be stuck in her tent with you.

But there she was; watching as you observed the antler that maimed your smooth hand.

The girl shifted in her seat. Suddenly self-conscious about the remnants of the stag that protruded out of her collarbones. It was hideous, macabre in a horror unimaginable. The worst aspect of the ordeal was that it didn't hurt. There was no pain, like it was a piece of her that was always missing.

The reflection that stared back at her was not the girl she remembered when she arrived at the camp. Alina Starkov, mapmaker, was gone forever; replaced by a Saint she didn't recognize. A mutilated girl who knew nothing of the history before her. The naive Sun Summoner whose destiny was tied with two people she utterly despised.

One who had taken a seat in a chair across from her; sitting with a casual cruelty so far beyond her intelligence that Alina couldn't read your face. Alina remembered Baghra's claims. Although the old woman was far from saintly herself, Alina wanted to believe that you had once been good. That it was all a mistake and you were trapped in a life you didn't want. Alina wished to the heavens that somewhere deep inside your soul, you had done searching to return to the light.

When your eyes met hers, she knew that would never happen.

"I am positive Baghra told you the most flattering stories of me while she helped you escape. Did she tell you of the time I sewed a dress to a tablecloth? Or when I forgot to lock the paddock of goats and they ran away in the middle of the night?"