Dead Rose.
- Reads 184
- Votes 10
- Parts 11
Ongoing5h 40m
Last published Sat, Jun 27, 2015
I was running. Strangely incredibly fast. I didn’t know why…. I never grew tired. As I heard the thundering paws it just pushed me farther. To run, like a stag leaping through the forest. I felt numb as my heart pounded I felt little blood in my veins. I didn’t understand. All I woke up too is the sound of blood curdling howls, in a midnight forest. That’s all I remembered, ever since I’ve been running. Where were my memories? How was I born, who am I…more like what am I?
What was this craving? This bitter taste was in my mouth. What is this fear I feel towards those monsters….those large wolves!? I felt my ears perking up hearing the wolfish cries through the dark night. The moon shining upon me as if I was its target. All I heard was the cries…“GET THE THRON. DON’T LET HER PEIRCE THE ROSE SOCIETY WE CAN’T LET HER GET TO THE ENTRANCE!”‘Entrance?’ I thought worriedly. ‘Society?’ UMPH! I tripped on a large piece of a fallen branch. The branch was like a bully, wanting me to fall. I moaned as I fell on my side. My leg getting scrapped by the branch as I fell. The blood slowly dripped from my leg, I was deeply wounded.
‘Blood…is the essence the life substance be careful.’ I grabbed my temples overwhelmed it was like something was speaking to me. Inside my mind. I was so confused. Who am I, what am I? Why am I out here??
Aleera remembers nothing of her past. Even worse, she is found by a mysterious people underground up above wolves guard them. Things called gatherers claim to know her but she remembers nothing. As everything unravels she realizes what she was but who she was becoming with these people. She isn't one of them anymore, but she isn't a thorn, a beastly creature. What then is she exactly?
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She was not born an angel. She was made into one. The church called it salvation, though she and the others knew better. They were experiments-children forced to carry the blood of something greater, something divine or perhaps monstrous. The priests never revealed whose blood it was, only that it belonged to a "god." She never saw that god, never even knew its name. But she felt it in her veins every day-burning, reshaping, devouring what was once human inside her. From the ritual came her wings: vast and terrible, twelve feet of shadowed feathers stretching behind her, with smaller, flame-lined wings sprouting at her feet. With them, she flew faster than arrows and struck harder than any sword. Fire itself bent to her will, rising and falling with her breath, a weapon she alone commanded. For years she fought in the war of men. Cities burned, armies fell, and still the blood in her veins demanded more. But no power, not even hers, could shield her from loss. Three of her companions-those who had shared the same cursed experiment-were gone, their bodies left behind on the battlefield. She buried them in ash and flame, and with that, she could fight no longer. She turned her back on the church, on the endless slaughter, and wandered into lands untouched by war. For a brief moment, she believed she could escape the cycle. Yet fate was not so kind. The world around her shifted-time, space, reality itself bending. In an instant, the smoke and ruins of men's wars were gone, replaced by a land of jagged mountains, black forests, and skies haunted by creatures she had never seen. Here, the battles were not waged between kings and soldiers, but against things far more primal. Monsters. And though she had left the battlefield behind, destiny had not left her.
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