Cursed: Immortal

Chapter 12: Marks of Weakness

"I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe."

London

By William Blake

~Scarlet~

In many ways, our skins could tell a story we would rather hide. Within ourselves, we may change, but those marks stay forever. The bite from the fury so many decades ago is a good example. The puckered circle in my leg would be another.

Now I'm not saying that everything I've ever done was particularly wise to endeavour upon, most of the time, whatever it was happened for a reason. Or just complete stupidity at the time and a made-up reason later on; I never said I was sensible continuously. We all grow and learn and become the wise beings the current generation think us to be.

Mistakes, and scars, led me to the path I am on now, whether I want to be here or not. In that particular situation, angering a centaur was one of my many, extensive, mistakes. If it hadn't been obvious by now, my attempt at telling these stories is a failure.

Now, to accurately describe the situation, I'm going to have to go back a few thousand years. I was about a century old, tenacious and ridiculously confident in my own abilities. Isn't that how all my stories begin, me being stupid and winding up half-dead or severely injured?

***

As I ran down the lane from Marcus' palace, I heaved a huge sigh of relief as I got further and further away. The ridiculously constricting red dress had been changed into a pair of black breeches and a green gossamer shirt, courtesy of my mother. My broadsword hung on its support across my back, hitting me in the thigh as I ran.

As the trees grew ever near, my strides grew in haste. The green leaves called to me, as did the bark, void of fey, though still comforting. Coming abruptly to a halt on the edge, I bowed to the trees, as was fairy custom, before heading into their enveloping silence. It never pays to make an enemy of a forest.

Leaning against a rather large, silvery tree, I breathed deeply until I slid down with my knees pulled to my chest. At the time, I'd been spending a few years in my father's domain, as his supposed heir, learning about his people and their various talents.

The boredom had become overwhelming, as well as the presence of my younger half-sister. Sapphira was, and is, a pain in the rear end. Mermaids, and their vile children, were infamous for it, after all. She followed me around like a lost puppy; eager to learn everything she could about her older sister with the ability to control all the elements, and other things.

Sadly, no one understood then, or now, that my powers did not stem from just my father, but also my mother. Granted, my pyrokinesis (humans come up with such wonderful words) and cryokinesis were my own, it was my more mental abilities which allowed me to control the others so completely.

Of course, I could never tell anyone this, Morgana had sworn me to secrecy after I made the discovery. And a promise upon the throne of the fey was one that could not be broken until death. Needless to say, I couldn't get out of it even if I wanted to.

My stay in the Elemental realms had become tedious, with constant lessons on various topics. I could not venture outside without a guard, or twelve. My upbringing as a fey made me keenly aware of how restricting it was not to be able to interact with the natural realm. You'd think Elementals would get this too, but no, they were unsympathetic. In their minds, Marcus was meant to raise me, as he was the male.