The Bane of Light

Weaver of Spirits

As we entered the chamber, I gawked at the outrageous size of the grand room. We were in a circular, domed chamber, with spiraled marble columns rising hundreds of feet in the air, looming over us so high that it made me dizzy. Even if you strained your eyes, you could hardly see the tops of them.

An impossibly large chandelier, made up of black glass and gemstones, took up most of the domed ceiling, reflecting spots of glimmering, silver moonlight all throughout the room. The spots of light landed precisely on carved faces, peaking out from a veil of shadow.

Monumental, stone, statues, nearly as tall as the marble columns, lined the circular chamber with their solemn expressions illuminated. The giants of moon-washed stone faced the center of the room, where there was a huge, black throne, made of shards of onyx glass. The shards clashed and jutted together, the sharp edges pointing upright, as though the seat was made from a collision of shifting stone. This was a throne room, I realized quickly.

Atop the throne sat a woman.

Instantly, I collapsed to my knees, the cold marble thudding into my scraped legs. Paris quickly followed in my stead, dragged down by the hand that was still holding mine. Regardless of whether or not it was his Patron God, he was still knew well enough to show respect to the gods, especially if they were right in front of him.

I made sure to press my forehead to the cool marble of the floor for several, revered seconds, before allowing my eyes to hesitantly glance upwards at her, unable to keep myself from staring.

The woman was made of night, with skin as dark as shadow, taking a near-blue hue with how deeply emerged she was in darkness. I imagined her skin almost looked a dusky shade of grey in the daylight. Her skin glimmered with each movement, dusted with intermittently blinking stars, fading in and out of sight.

She lifted her gaze to me, to reveal two, great, silver moons for eyes. Two sliver moons that eerily resembled mine, glowing so vibrantly, that I instantly shied my eyes away, finding the sight of them too intense. Too divine. With the faint glow on the floor in front of me, where my gaze had landed, I realized my eyes were glowing too. Like reunited with like.

"My dark mother" I whispered out to her devotedly, my head bowed to the ground, my entire body crumpling in subservience. Overwhelmed tears welled in my eyes, and quickly poured over my lash line. When I looked up at her, my eyes were bright and glowing, streaking my face and cheeks with silver, luminescence. My voice shook with emotion as I tried to refrain from outright sobbing on the floor in front of her. In front of my true mother. My creator.

Oh Gods. I grabbed my chest, with both my hands, as if trying to cradle my broken heart. I was terrified it would beat to a stop, overwhelmed by the sight before me. I could not stop my entire body from shaking, my mouth convoluted as I cried on the floor before her, lowering my gaze once more. I was here. I was safe

"My dark daughter" Her voice floated down from her throne, weaving between the abundance of thick magic, so melodic that it sounded as though it were made up of a harmony of voices instead of just one. It sounded unnatural. Un-human. Divine.

"Rise, child. Come to me" She called out, and I hesitantly lifted my gaze from the floor, still crying, wide-eyed as I stared up at her. My cheeks streaked wet with silver tears. I looked back uncertainly at Paris before squeezing his hand and letting him go. He remained bowed on the floor as I rose from my knees, my joints groaning with pain.

Each step I took towards my creator was euphoric. Divine. I felt myself lift up higher and higher, as I could finally breathe again, spirit whole. My limbs burned with power.  I could feel the gaze of all those around me, as they witnessed what they recognized as a monumental moment. A moment worth remembering. A moment that would be significant in history,  marking the beginning of everything, from here on forth.