Spellbound

Prologue

Elvira looked to her left to see the papery white, pale face of her best friend looking back. Her's was not the only name skipped. The elite had neither called out her brother, Elek nor Fascinthia and since all the names had been called out up till Z, one of them was clearly the Clover and one the soulmate.

"I'm sure we are all aware of the sad demise of our fellow Elite. She definitely had a great contribution to making Eleptia how it is today. But, all beginnings must come to an end. Est finis omnium principium. So, lets all together bid her the farewell she very well deserves." The Elite finished.

The crowd began to speak, at first in a hush of a whisper, then growing louder by the minute. All repeating the same words - 'vobis autem loquor vale' - farewell to you we bid.

"Thank you," the second Elite spoke, causing the crowd to fall into silence, "We have picked the most appropriate candidate to take over the responsibilities of our fellow Elite."

There was a pause, one filled with silence that made Elvira shiver, then, his voice once again, saying name. It sounded new to her, the way the Elite had said it, as if she knew not, the owner of the name and yet, she knew. She knew it was her name he had called out. Twice, now for Elvira didn't respond or go up to the stage. A page from the Civics textbook came to her mind:

'The Elites are the representatives of the Society. All the decisions made by the anonymous people at the round table are implemented by them. They handle the finances and they are the only ones with the knowledge that is forbidden in Eleptia. The fictional books, the books about the history before Eleptia existed. All the works of man before Eleptia was born. The burden of an Eliite is a heavy one.'

That was all she recalled before another repetition of her name pushed her to walk up the stairs, to the stage.

The crowd cheered and applauded, draining the uneven breathing of Elvira. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and walked up the stairs, to the stage, where the two Elite stood. They engulfed her in an uncomfortable, cold embrace.

One of them stepped forward and tapped the mic, as if to silence the wild crowd. They all settled down soon enough and he spoke, "I'd like to initiate the newest Elite by requesting her to announce the name of the Clover and the soulmate for the year."

He stepped back and handed a small, off white, pale envelope to Elvira. She opened the seal and pulled out a blindingly white sheet. She looked at them, the letters joined in perfect running writing and read the name out loud. "The Clover is," she paused, looking at her best friend for the briefest of moments, "Fascinthia Gehitsone."

The frail girl stepped forward and bowed. She looked weak and fragile but Elvira knew better. Any kind of physical violence was banned in Eleptia except on instinct, for defence and yet, toughened by her brother's training, Fascinthia could throw a punch that would knock someone unconscious. Elvira blinked her eyes twice, then taking a gulp, continued, her hands trembling and the slightest crack in her voice audible clearly, amplified her the microphone, "And the soulmate is Elek Lixzaren."

The strength she had tried to feign now vanished completely and salty droplets raced each other down her cheek. She took in the gravity of the situation:

Her best friend was of magical origin and she was going to fight against her brother. And knowing Fascinthia, she would win and Elek would be left for dead.

One of the Elite stepped ahead and whispered something in her ear as she gave a vigorous nod.

"And of course," she spoke into the mic, her voice weak and showing fragility, her tears not willing to stop flowing, "Power shall bring victory. Potestas ejus fiat in."

Elvira slowly backed away from the mic and fell on her knees. Her head was spinning, her vision getting blurry and the gasp from the audience sounded distant and drowned out by the slow buzz in her head.

*****

The crowd had left and Fascinthia and Elek were being brutally dragged away. "I need to talk to Elvira. Please." Fascinthia begged the guards. "You aren't allowed to meet anyone." the guard replied gruffly, continuing to pull her away. From the corner of her eye she saw Elek standing straight and erect. His face devoid of any emotion and his eyes blank, as if lost in space. "I love him." Fascinthia thought, "He's my soulmate. All those times I went to Elvira's house, all those times we all hung out together, I was in love with him all along, in caritate. And I was supposed to find that out in another way. Not like this. It shouldn't have been like this."

She let a tear drop, then straightened herself, correcting her slouching posture and looking straight ahead, waiting patiently to bottle her feelings. They weren't going to break her. She wasn't going to let them. There was no way in hell that she would let people think of her death as a ludos, a game, a spectacle. She wasn't going to leave this world crying. She had come into this world, kicking and screaming, covered in blood. And she wasn't afraid to leave the world the same way. Whether the blood was hers or not, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She wouldn't die any other unfortunate, useless, hapless death. If she was going to die, she was going to make sure death felt at least a flicker of fear before consuming her whole.

She was pulled out of her reverie when she was shoved into a room. With windows smaller than her face and a door with multiple locks from the outside, it felt more like a prison cell than anything else. She sat down on a small chair and concentrated, her eyes closed and her mind focused on finding out what she could do. What powers she had. How they could help her fight -

She couldn't think of it. The name vanished from her line of thought. She couldn't bring herself to admit that to live, she would have to fight Elek. That she would have to kill her best friend's brother.

Fascinthia shook her head to get rid of the homicidal thoughts. Her stomach churned and the sickening smell of sterile metal made it worse. She got off the chair, to walk about and try to feel better but she just fell to her knees. No tears came, unique to her expectations but instead, she was hit by a surge of anger. She hit a harsh bow to the chair and it flew across the room, one leg snapping slightly.

"Viribus, strength." she said, her voice hoarse and dry, as if she was dehydrated and hadn't spoken in days.

She caught hold of a window bar and pulled at it with all the strength she had but in vain. The bar stayed unmoving. She sighed and looked at it, a certain fury in her eyes and passion in her heart to escape. To find a way out of the mess that was her life. And it snapped, into two clean halves, and fell to the floor.

That was it! That was definitely her power. Her magic.

Determinatio est fortissimum. Will is the strongest of all.

Fascinthia shrugged and gave a small smile, "Maybe this year," she spoke to herself, "a Clover might win after all. Maybe the determination to survive can overcome the superficial powers of the strong."

-----------------------------

Sorry for the long wait but here I am with an update! Let me know your thoughts by  mmeting them here!