Dreams are a natural part of our lives. Most dream while asleep, but there are those who dream with eyes wide open. Each of my stories starts as a dream, a blurry vision of an idea that floats around my brain. Not all them are happy, some may be mea...
A woman wakes up in the ocean only to be brought out by a fisherman's net and arrested. Her memories are gone, and all she has are mysterious tattoos on her skin. Unknown to her, she isn't the only one like this.
A man loomed outside the iron bars, his eyes silver like the moon, and each had a puffy scar running through them. The woman stared at him in horror. Her eyes flicked to the guards who sat yards away locked safely behind a steel door, and even though there was a window allowing a view of her cell, they didn't seem to notice the suited stranger who stood with a yellowed-grin within arm's length of her.
"You look lost, girlie." The man's voice was drowned in honey, but the blonde woman could still hear the vinegar he tried to mask. He tilted his head when she retreated further into the stone walls which clawed her skin through her ripped dress.
"Who are you?" The words were barely audible as she spoke them, and each syllable burned like hell, a reminder that she'd nearly drowned in saltwater.
The man chuckled softly, crinkling the dark skin in the corner of his eyes. The woman looked to the guards, wishing them to rescue her from the man who sent her stomach to twist, but they refused to look in her direction.
"They're not going to come, my dear. They can't see me." Her eyes widened, and she couldn't help but look into those white spheres. "Even if they could see me, they wouldn't help you. Don't you know they want you dead?"
She shrunk further back, folding her arms deeper into her stomach, and she winced as the rope burns rubbed against the flowing fabric which clung to her body. "But why?" Tears filled her eyes, threatening to fall and she wiped them away furiously.
She didn't want to cry, she had already portrayed herself as weak to each one of the brutes who dragged her into this god-forsaken place, and she sure as hell didn't want this creature to see her crying.
The man pressed his face through the bars, gripping the bars on either side of his sunken in cheeks. "Don't you see the messages written on your skin?"
Hesitantly, she pulled her arms in front of her. Confusion swarmed her the moment she looked at the black marks covering the backs of her hands. They hadn't been there a few hours ago, but now, they were bold and dark, as if she had been born with them. The symbols looked like they belonged to a long-dead language. She didn't know what they meant, and when they first appeared, she didn't even know they were letters.
She shook her head, more distraught than the moment she had came to beneath the fury of the waves. A wail of laughter broke through her confusion and sent her back to the shadowed depths of terror. As the man continued to howl in delight, she watched him with wide brown eyes, trying to hide the goosebumps that tore across her skin.
"You're absolutely clueless girl." He grinned at her, and she shivered. "I'll tell you what the rune's say, but the rest, you must figure out on your own. It's an old proverb from a sailor who went mad at sea. He stated: 'Two will be born of the waves, so wretched that the ocean shall spit them out; they will bring the end to our island, to our world; and only by a baptism of fire will we be brought peace forevermore.'. I personally thought his prophecies were a hoax, but here you are."
She played the words over in her head until she realized. There was someone else. They'd be pulled from the ocean just like she was. Her lips twitched into a half-smile, but then she processed the second part of the prophecy.
"I'm supposed to bring the end of the world?" Her heart sank within her chest, and she averted her eyes to the floor. The words which burned her throat didn't seem right. She didn't want to watch the world burn, she didn't want to see people hurt, so why was there a prophecy which said she'd bring it?
"Not just you, girlie." She tilted her head at the stranger, and he pointed a bony finger to her arm.
She looked down with scrunched eyebrows, but they shot up her forehead as she realized more ink had leaked onto her skin. This time, it was a name composed of five elaborately curled letters: Emric.
"Who is Emric?" Her voice was hoarse and died in her throat before she could pronounce the name, but she knew she didn't have to. The stranger would know what she meant.
He shook a finger at her, making a patronizing click with his tongue. "Not so fast. I told you all that I am willing."
"Remove your filthy hands from me before I beat you to death with them!"
The woman flinched at the screaming, gruff voice that echoed through her room, even though she couldn't see the source of it due to the door. She did, however, see the guards leap from their chairs and disappear down what she knew was a hallway not visible from her cell. When she turned her attention back to the stranger, he was staring at the door as if he could see it, and maybe he could, the woman wasn't sure of anything anymore.
"That's my cue to leave, but don't worry we will meet again."
The stranger turned and winked at the woman who sat baffled. Smoke started to swirl around the mans' feet, and panic pushed the woman's heart into her throat.
"Wait!" She cried when her throat protested furiously at her sudden use of volume.
Within a haunting second, the man was gone, and the only thing left of him was the echo of his hideous laughter. Not a moment more, the door burst open. The woman stumbled to her feet as she watched the scene in front of her.
Four officers, all native to the island, struggled against the man they pushed forward. He also looked native to the island, but his clothes clung to him just as her dress did. It only took a flick of her eyes to see the seaweed hanging from his shoulders and head. Realization sunk in. This was the man whom she was to destroy the world with, and boy oh boy, did he have the fire to do so.
He struggled against the men who forced him forward like a wild animal. His dark limbs slipped out of their hands continuously, but he never remained free. They caught him time and time again, struck him with metal batons, and all she could do was watch in a silent fascination.
They threw the man in the cell with her, quick to close the cell and retreat behind their steel door. All the while, the man screamed curses at them; some the woman swore he made up. She stared at him, drinking in each and every detail as he remained lost to his rage. Her eyes traveled over his black curls, his crooked nose and dark eyes, but she didn't stop her eyes from moving until she looked to his clenched fists which gripped the bars so tight that they had turned white. Sure enough, he had tattoos snaking up his forearms, and the louder he yelled, the more appeared.
One tattoo, in particular, caught her eye. It was on the back of his hand, curled like the one on her forearm: Sona.
"Emric."
The man bristled and ceased screaming. His eyes slowly found hers, and he opened his mouth to respond. However, the woman cut him off before he even had the chance.
"I'm Sona, and we're supposed to destroy the world."
Original Inspiration:
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FINALLY! I am so sorry it took me this long to update. Honestly, it's pathetic, and if you'd like an excuse, here goes. I've not been doing the best mental-wise, but oh well. I shall survive. I hope you enjoy this story as it has been one loooong in the making. However, I think it is better suited as a book because I have lots more in store for these two lovelies. So maybe lookout for this becoming a book of mine one day. As always, feedback and criticism are welcomed! God bless and have a stupendous day!
