God of Thought and Chaos

Prologue

Daifa had always been able to hear the voices in her mothers head. She was five when her mother Darwyn, realized this, and she told her not to tell anyone. In their town of Brevard, her mother was known for her apparent insanity and though she tried to ignore the voices they often seemed to provoked her, causing her to answer out loud or physically react out of frustration. The people of Brevard stared at her mostly out of fear, some out of disgust. They stared at the small daughter walking beside her in pity.

The truth was, Daifa's mother didn't hear voices. She only heard one voice and she could see the person who spoke. So could Daifa, though he rarely paid her any attention and her mother forbade her from speaking to or looking at him. He wasn't always around, but when he was he would appear from seemingly nowhere and whisper his cruelties into her mother's ear.

Today, he suddenly appeared as she walked with her mother through the town market. He slings an arm around her mother's shoulders which visibly stiffen. She continues to look ahead, ignoring him and pinching her lips tight. She casts nervous looks about the crowd of people around them and Daifa feels her mothers large thin fingers tighten around hers.

"There you are!" He says cheerily in a loud voice that should have disturbed the sullen people walking by. He even casts a quick wink down young Daifa who blushes. She quickly looks away from him, but not before she notices that today he is wearing an elaborate all white ensemble threaded through with gold stitching and laced embroidery. Despite their damp surroundings his clothes are perfectly clean. She fantasizes for a moment that if anyone could see them together they might think he was her father and they were a wealthy family. But as she gazes at the crowd around her she knows they cannot see him, for if they could the poor people of Brevard would certainty gawk at his inhuman beauty and opulence. Though they must sense him somehow because they move around him instead of running into him.

"So nice to see you out and about getting some fresh air." He continues taking a deep inhale of the dusty spring air around them then turning his nose up in disgust. Brevard smells like stale water and rotted wood. It's always raining and even the vast surrounding forest can't filter out the damp smell of town and waste. "Where are we off to?" He tightens his arm around her mother causing a flinch. A simple question but experience has taught Daifa that he expects his questions answered.

Darwyn looks around nervously at the people standing closest to them but before she can open her mouth Daifa replies. "We need black cotton for my new school dress." Her mother cuts her a sharp look of fear and warning. She'd broken her rule not to talk to him. He ignores her mothers destress and instead takes a step forward and crouches down to six year old Daifa's height, giving her his full special attention. His storm green eyes look deeply into hers and the wind blows a few strands of his white hair out of his face.

"Black cotton? How boring." He tsks in a dramatic voice she knows most grownups reserve just for her benefit. "Is that what all the other girls will be wearing?" She glances up at her mother for permission to answer and Darwen gives her a tight nod.

"No. But it's more practical than linen or prints." She answers while taking the rare opportunity to study his beautiful face. He is a demon, her mother says, the only one she has ever seen. She wonders momentarily what kind of magic he has, before remembering his ability to appear to her mother while remaining invisible to everyone else.

"Practical. Your mother told you this." it isn't a question and he rolls his eyes in an annoyed glare up to her mother. "Your mother always wore the prettiest dresses."

Confused, Daifa looks up to her mother in her simple gray cotton dress and frazzled hair. She doesn't meet her daughter's questioning gaze and instead glares hatred into his pale green eyes. He stands and begins to steer Daifa in the direction of one of the market tents where the prettiest fabrics are displayed. The merchant woman watches them approach with careful derision, Daifa silently reminds herself that the tall woman cannot see the lavishly dressed man guiding them in her direction.