The Moon is a card of illusion and deception and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.
--
Do you believe lies? Are you one to consider the truth? Or do you hide underneath a mask of deception, the bounds of which are endless?
You don't seriously believe I perished in that fire, do you?
--
My name is Jasmine De Ville. Yes, I'm Mordred's little sister, much to my dismay. Please know that whatever lie he told you about my being small and helpless is not true. I never needed his assistance in my life. Trust me, he's just as abrasive as he always has been, no matter what he thinks.
My death was simply not true. I didn't die. Sure, the soldier fatally wounded me. But I survived. I picked myself up from the ashes like I always do, and crawled my way out of the ashen remains of a town I could never call home, yet the only place I knew. My wretched, battered, and bleeding body dragged itself to a neighbouring village, where many a concerned eye passed me over. And yet, none thought to help me as I lay baking in the sun like a dying fish, covered in soot, stumbling and bleeding a splotchy trail of crimson roses petals , stark and bright against the tanned cobblestone path, no one stopping to help me or ask me where I came from.
My inky hair stuck to my grave face, my eyes wide and staring helplessly at the people who walked past me, disgusted and horrified at the monster I'd become, brooding in the shade and collapsing against any wall I could, trying to catch my breath, yelling for help, but the noise was just followed by gargling whimpers as the ash still settling in my swollen throat grinded against each other. I coughed and retched, on my knees in the middle of an abandoned alleyway as the people passed me by.
--
I woke up in a dark place, my throat tasting like blood and mint, and my body burning as if I'd been dipped into a vat of rubbing alcohol, and scrubbed with steel wool until my skin was peeling off. I tried to sit up, to reach out an arm and feel around me, but found I couldn't move anything but my eyes. I just laid there, wasted and useless, as my body succumbed to unconsciousness, where bright blue eyes and red hair haunted my dreams, giggling and running around as I tried to run after him with both of my legs broken.
--
The second time I woke up, I shot up, covered in sweat and panting, looking around frantically. I was in a hospital room, alone. It smelled like alcohol residue and death in there. I hyperventilated, the white walls and flickering lights buzzing a hole through my skull, pushing and shoving me out of my consciousness until I stared at myself from the third perspective, merely a ghost watching a black haired girl run her fingers through her now short hair, tugging at it, green eyes flickering side to side as her chest heaved in tandem to heartbeats, pushing, pulling, and then as if someone had shot me in the head and I'd died, I snapped out of it. My breathing slowed, and my grip on my hair softened as I registered the doctor standing in the doorway, a white mug smashed to pieces against the dirty linoleum floor, coffee running through the grout lines. She stared at me, and I stared back in utter terror.
"W-who are you?" I rasped, stammering and stuttering through my words until they formed a solid enough sentence.
She shook her head, as if she was shaking out clinging demons from her scalp.
"I'm Eugene Dare." She responded. I blinked, tears starting down her cheeks, and shrunk up against the pillow.
"Please don't hurt me." I pleaded. A confused look painted her features. "Why would I? I'm here to make sure you don't die. That would be rather counterproductive, don't you agree?" She asked, leaning down to pick up the pieces of the mug off the floor. I stared at her, wordless.
