Smoke filled the woods of the Wood Elves, making it hard for her to breathe. The trees that were made into their homes were filled with fierce flames. The screams of horror were so loud, she couldn't hear herself think.
Kythaela, whom was only five years old, had longish platinum white hair, eyes as black as coal, and was currently soaked in smoke-infused sweat and tears. As she sat, tied up, facing her parents, who had guns were pointed to their heads, she cried, begging for mercy. Two shots were fired and she was splattered in her parents blood.
Kythaela, now nineteen years old, woke from the nightmare of her past. Her rags that were claimed to be clothing was now drenched and stick to her skin from her sweat. The rags were a bit big on her, however, they did their job. She wore a big, ripped shirt and short that were one size too big on her. She had to tie the shorts in a knot to keep them on. She wore cuffs with very long chains on her wrists and ankles. Her shoes were nothing near shoes. They were old cloth rags sewn into the shape of a shoe. No shoes fit her. She was small for an elven woman her age. She stood at five foot even. A female elf her age would typically be, at least, six foot nine.
As she sat up from what seemed to be her bed, her head felt light. She put her hand to her head. "Oh yeah, that's right," she thought to herself. Her hair was horribly cut with a knife by the humans whenever she grew it out. There were patches of it still there and the rest was as though it was shaven. Scars were littered all over her body, but more of them were on her back from the whippings she had gotten. She wore an eye patch over one eye because she had gotten a fairly recent scar so deep, the eye went blind.
When she looked out her door hole, she saw that dawn was just about to break. She walked out the door hole and the morning breeze cooled her sweat so much she shivered.
As she stood there shivering, she heard the clanging of armor walking towards her. She quickly ran back into her hut, laid down on her bed, and pretended to sleep. The armored footsteps stopped in front of her door hole.
"Kythaela?" a male voice asked, "Kythaela, it's me, Alan." The male voice walks in as Kythaela sits up to greet him.
The male was a human named Alan Reyes. He had shaggy jet black hair with sapphire blue eyes. He was one of the kingdom guards who kept the slave in the kingdom in order. He was covered, head to toe, with busted-up, steel armor.
"Hello Ally. How are you?" Kythaela asks, sitting up in her bed. "Do not call me that so loudly. Anyways, shouldn't I be asking you how you are doing? You are the one who is a slave. How is your eye? Does it still hurt?" he replied.
"It is numb now but other than that it is fine. But I want to know how you have been. I saw your commander yelling at you yesterday. Then he hit you across the face. He had armor on his hands so it must have hurt. Is your cheek okay?" she asks.
"You worry so much about me. You should be more worried about yourself. What would I do if something happened to you? I would be hopeless. Stop worrying about me so much. Okay? Please do this for me."
"I am a slave. If I die, that's natural. Most slaves don't make it very far after their sixteenth birthday. I have made it three years now. I think I am fine. Let me see your face."
He sits down close to her and leans his face towards her. She brushes his long hair out of his face to reveal a huge bruise.
"Oh my gods, Ally. Your cheek is bruised horribly. And it is huge. What in the name of the afterlife got your commander to hit you so horribly?" she asked worryingly.
Alan then took out a loaf of bread from the satchel he had brought with him.
"I stole this for you. I knew if you had done it, you'd get whipped. But if I had done it, I would get harshly scolded and hit. It did not hurt as much as you would think. Please take it."
YOU ARE READING
Fallen Apart
FantasyThis is a story I created for my Creative Writing class! I hope you all enjoy it! :D