-Fiona-
When we are born it feels like a step into heaven; those city lights greeting us from far away, a million. Miles between them, watching dying stars descending to earth and alive the spirits of each of us. The tragedy spins further when I land onto the soft gras. A sweet memory, if only time had the same idea. My feet hurry over the land, quick to find a shadowy alley, teen feet from the beds of the dead, trees showing them the way. I hide behind one of them, watching the angels water the plants on their beds; the sun is out, bringing live to those who had no reason to in their previous. The sunlight is decieving, allowing for hope, creating a scenario where the dead find comfort, where they can dance over meadows, hugging their loved ones; I didn't need this lie. I would be much more comfortable in rain, when the water falling down looks like nature is crying. At least this was an honest approach to the merciless live of these humans. I turn over to capture a raindrop, cold running down my throat, leaving me alive, somewhat grateful, as that meant that the winter would be over soon and the ceremony begin. If father let me go. I doubt he will, but the arrival of the guests would leave me enough time to dive into the crowd. From the big window panes I always was able to see the parade, the colors shining on a clear sky; the permantent rain seemingly made of gold dust, angels caring their blessings over the new souls. That is when the sound of a rusteling breeze around sends shivers down my spine. A young girl appears from the shadows, walks to one of the graves and lays flowers onto the stone before grabbing one of her books out of the bag hanging around her dress. Solis, open the portal. A sudden awarness morphs through me. I know her. The queens daughter, the one who cares for the forgotten. I see her again, and immitadely know who she was: The girl who died the day I lost my memory.
My mind wanders to the times she'd stare holes in my back from the corner, as if she'd stare holes in my back from the corner, as if she knew about me. I wonder if she still does? She would stare, cursing me for everything I robbed her. And everyday I'd fall for what I witnessed; If I'll die I want her to cary me to heaven if this will be my last goodbye before becoming a soul. I want her to care for me, being touched, listening to her reading me stories; please Father, let her return.
Your magic might help. If you don't do it for the queen than save this angel. I painted her statue so I can see her everyday when I wake up; Maybe she would see herself on that graveyard, knowing she's beautiful; and if not, so she shall be reminded. Years have passed, centuries, spirits walking in and out of the tenebris, but I've never seen her not caring. I will name her... sunlight, I whisper, her name flashing before my eyes. She bends down to their leaves, the last ones before winter would break down over us; Would she care then for them? Would I see her next spring? I lure behind the tree, afraid to even tell her about the poem I've written in my hands. Her touch must feel like a warm light on skin; turning mine pale, freezing from the cold wind, colder. But souls can't feel anything. She's gone.
The sun casts remote rays upon the shiny object, the first out of seven. I run towards the source.
-Aria-
Few rays enter the walls from the catacombs. Am I really here? I must be dreaming again. The cold air flickers, the lights out; visible. That place must've meant home.
Where have you been?
I've been sleeping. Where are you?
Free us...In that moment I am almost certain to have heard this before. Something is there, hiding, waiting for my approach. I won't. You might be safe from her anger, but not from me. I find myself in a wide room, shadows hiding any living beings. I am an easy target; a rabbit, fast, innocent and helpless. The chamber would appear infinite, if my body wouldn't start moving the moment I beat my fears, waiting to feast on me. Then, I decided to run.
Free us...a quiet mutter following me. Their forms take after angels, but their heads are missing. A black hole, making everything else disapear, tounges designed to lick off unease; when I look closer I make out chains, golden in the fading sunlight. No, they can't do harm.
Be not afraid...please.
These were the voices in the tower I heard, only that now, I heard them everywhere. They appear distant, causing me to stumble under their weight. What do they want from me? What went wrong? /Demons, whose tears are not blood but tears wept long ago/in memory of their friends, the dark catacombs of the curch. I have read about this place, studied it's past, and maybe been there too...
I walk down the aisle, as I imagined that place when I visited with mother. We sat onto the stools, her the bible in her hands and me watching her. But now, I walk down the empty lane. The smell of a fire in the distance filled the room. Smoke, carrying visions of a burning pile, clouded in greys; rust fell from the stained glass, impossible to escape.
A suden urge to hide behind a pillar and watch what happens overcomes me as the voice lingers somewhere behind, exposing my back to the hard bricks and making me stumble against a stool.
We're here...just come closer...
The closer I come, the louder they turn, death starring back at them, eyes widened on the steps. Peasants. The wind must cary their voices into the building, hovering before the closed heavy entrance. The loudest of them yelling to break the door so that they can repay god. I stand still, again, unable to move only peer at the serene place. It must belong to a man in his mid-fourties, white beard and a robe.
Get the exorcist, he calls, there might be already demons inside. Demons? But I'm alone! The smoke has gotten more, I am still unable to move, freezing in place until I pass out. Before I can close my eyes, four creatures surround me. First I think this must be the men from the area about to kill me for standing in the fire, probably thinking I caused it, when I notice their voice unisono. Just like in my dreams, then their wings catch my attention.
Free us...
He wants us...kill him...
Who are you?, I want to sream, but as I open my mouth, a high pitch hoarses out of me. My lungs squeeze at the rust, ash covering sight. I on the ground, laying in filth, mucles densing trying to get up. I must've been here since few hours and not heard the noise. I must've been dying; my corpse would've ended up here too, maybe head on a stick or worse. Why do I care? I would've been dead anyway. Would they put up flowers? No, the ashes would imprision me with the other angels-
YOU ARE READING
The Seven Curses | Book One of the 'soulbound' trilogy
Mystery / Thriller*cover made with penguinbook-generator* Nineteen-year-old Aria has always loved mysteries. With her mom's death she finds an old treasure. Or did the treasure find her? Without any knowledge, but the one on humans history, she's forced to uncover i...
