Part 5.
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He gripped my arm tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh. I kicked and screamed, helplessly, as he dragged me into the basement. It was dark, cold, and damp. I soon gave up screaming as we reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the darkness. Tears streamed down my face in terror as he threw me onto a crate. I trembled with fear, reaching out for anything on the crate to steady myself, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Shut up!” yelled Clyde.
The back of his hand slammed across my face. He lit a lantern that sat on one of the crates in the basement. The dim light lit the room, but it was still too dark to see anything well. I felt blood trickle out from the side of my mouth, slowly dripping down my chin. I hardly even felt the pain through the terror that filled my body.
“You and your sister…why don’t you both want to stay? Why must you both try to deny me such blessings?”
He slammed his palms onto the crate to the sides of my head. “I never wanted to do this, but I cannot lose something yet again. I give and I give, but never get anything in return. Well, no more. I am tired of being taken advantage of. You will begin by giving me thanks for my generosity.”
I tried desperately to writhe away as Clyde attempted to force his lips onto mine.
“No! Stop! What are you doing?!” I cried as I managed to slip out from under him.
Clyde caught my arm before I could reach the stairs. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, throwing me back onto the crate.
He pinned my arms down against the crate over my head until I grew tired from the hopeless struggle. He released his hold on my arms and began tearing my clothes. I pushed out at him weakly, kicking and screaming for the help that would never come. A surge of pain brought my cries for help to an end as he hit me across the face.
“Shut up!” he yelled, pulling out his knife and holding it to my throat. “No one is going to hear you. The harder you make this, the more painful it will be, understand?”
What have I done to deserve this? At that moment, I knew not what to fear more, life or death. I sobbed uncontrollably. Clyde trailed his knife down away from my throat, dragging the blade down my torso and to my legs. He tore what little clothing remained with his knife and brought it back up to my chest, licking his lips with unblinking, wide open, eyes.
I stared at him, terrified. “W—what are you doing?”
His eyes focused on his blade hovering over my chest, as if possessed. He lowered the blade tip below my right collarbone, and punctured the skin. A thin trail of blood soon dripped down my body as I begged him to stop. Clyde slowly dragged the blade down the side of my right breast, creating a long incision. Every bit of movement made the pain worse as he continued to cut me for what felt like an eternity. Slowly he would drag his knife through my skin as I clenched the crate in agony. Suddenly, he retracted his knife and grinned maniacally at the cut he created. For a brief moment, I had thought he had his fill of sadism that night, but I was wrong.
By what I could only assume to be noon, he left me lying on the damp wooden floor. The light from the small lantern died out and left me in the darkness. I cried for hours until I passed out from exhaustion, as blood trailed from my mouth, chest, and between my legs. Everything that had happened felt like some horrible nightmare, one of which the end could not come soon enough.
Day and night no longer had meaning to me. Darkness and anguish filled every waking moment. During the day, it would be cool and humid, and at night, it would be damp and freezing. Sometimes it would be so cold at night that I wouldn’t be able to stop shivering, and, as much as I hated to admit it, sometimes yearned for Clyde’s nightly perversions just so I wouldn’t freeze to death.
Day after day, I would lie in the basement, staring into the darkness. Day after day, I was always left there to be used whenever he pleased. Every time he descended those stairs, tears would well up in my eyes, as he would find some new devious way to satisfy his sadism. And every night, after he’s had his fill, he would end with another addition to the scar on my chest. The way he would grin hideously with delight every time he carved away at my torso with his knife haunted my mind. At times, he would even lick the blood that seeped from my wounds.
A few weeks after Clyde had first imprisoned me, the carving on my chest began to form a familiar picture. That night I managed to undo the band fastened around his arm while he was lost in his lustful actions. I quickly examined the band before he realized I had taken it off, which resulted in a small beating. Lying there in ache, the image of his family emblem—what would be the final product of the markings scarred onto my body—clouded my mind. I felt as though whatever little bit of life and self-worth that remained in me died out with the light from the lantern.
First: The Siren's Daughter, Part 1 (v1)
Previous: The Siren's Daughter, Part 4 (v1)
Next: The Siren's Daughter, Part 6 (v1)
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Siren's Daughter, Part 5 (v1)
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Siren's Daughter, Part 4 (v1)
Part 4. At this rate, there'll probably be 6-8 more parts.
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It’s been nearly three years since Mom passed away. It seemed unreal to me. Every day when I woke up, I always expected to see her making breakfast for us. It always felt as though there were a hole in my life, one I could never really accept. However, Cassie always stayed strong. She always gave me a smile that raised my spirits and made me forget about the troubles in life. Even though we were both really close to Mom, I never saw Cassie cry about her death. She always told me that we needed to be strong and make Mom proud of us.
After Mom’s death, we continued living in the house. Cassie found a job so we could keep the house and to take care of me. I wanted to help her, but she kept insisting she was fine. Every day, she would work from morning until late at night. I remember every day after school I would try to stay up until she came back home, but usually she’d come back so late I’d fall asleep before then. After she worked for several months she would sometimes not even come back home until the next morning, and would only have time to check on me before she went back to work.
But then one day Cassie didn’t even come back to check on me. One day soon became two, then three, then a week. I knew something was wrong so I went out and tried to look for her, but I didn’t even know who to ask. Day and night, I would look for her. Everywhere I went, I would ask people if they saw her, but no one knew where she was. For weeks, I searched for her, but was never able to find her.
I lived off the streets in the city, picking up whatever food I could find to keep my energy up so I could continue looking for Cassie. Regrettably, I had to steal food on occasion from the street venders. It’s not that I wanted to; it’s just that there were times when I was too hungry. Then there was one time when I was caught stealing bread. Clyde, one of the soldiers, was off duty and nearby. He saw me a vender catch me stealing, so he quickly covered for me by paying for the bread and saying I was with him. He offered me supper after. I normally wouldn’t have accepted, but hunger overwhelmed me.
Over dinner, Clyde talked with me. He said he knew I was Cassie’s sister because I looked a lot like her. He told me how much he adored her, how beautiful she was, and how she always made him smile. After supper, Clyde offered for me to stay at his house for a bit so I wouldn’t have to live out in the streets. I was hesitant at first, but he seemed to know my sister so I decided to accept his offer. For three days, I recovered in his home before continuing my search for my sister. He would talk to me every time he was home, asking more about me, and telling me about himself. But my days of relaxation soon came to an end.
It was the morning I decided to resume my search. After waking up, I descended the stairs and saw Clyde making breakfast in the kitchen.
He smiled at me. “Good morning.”
“G-good morning.”
“Have a seat, breakfast is almost ready.” He gestured to the table.
I sat down and averted my eyes. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me.”
“Anything for Cassie’s little sister.” He set our plates on the table and sat down across from me. He smiled at me periodically while we ate in an awkward silence.
“I feel a lot better now. I think I’m going to start looking for my sister again,” I announced as I finished my last bite.
He stopped eating. A serious look struck his face. “Why don’t you just stay here? You’ve been through a lot. I can look for her for you.”
I got up and headed toward the door, eager to continue my search. “I have to find her.”
Clyde approached me as I reached the door, irritated. “That’s it? You’re going to leave just like that, after I’ve given you a place to sleep, and food to eat?”
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a burden for you anymore.”
He stepped within a foot from me. “You know, you’re a lot like your sister. She too suddenly tried to leave. It’s rude to just leave like that, especially without even properly thanking your host.”
“I’m sorry. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me—” I turned the doorknob in a panic and tried to open the door.
First: The Siren's Daughter, Part 1 (v1)
Previous: The Siren's Daughter, Part 3 (v1)
Next: The Siren's Daughter, Part 5 (v1)
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Siren's Daughter, Part 3 (v1)
Part 3 is here. Vote on the poll!
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She nodded hesitantly, never taking her eyes off the house. The door creaked loudly as we entered. Although looters had stripped the house, the shattered vase, the broken glass cabinet, the trails of blood...they were all still there. The event I had witnessed in this very room would forever scar my mind. The screams and cries haunted the air, sending chills down my spine. I couldn't even imagine the anguish that Razelin was going through.
I looked back at Razelin. She slowly crept into the room, stepping lightly behind me. She looked around nervously, clinging to herself as her body trembled uncontrollably. The cries must have been deafening to her. Her breathing hastened. Her hands gripped her pendant tightly. "Devin, please. I changed my mind. Let’s go home."
Here eyes were glossed over and full of fear. The way she cowered against the wall, the way her eyes darted around unblinking… it crushed my heart. Having agreed to put her through such fear and pain...was I a terrible person? Did I do the wrong thing? No, she had to push through the storm. She had to face her fears. She had to face her past.
I looked at her sympathetically. "I know this must be difficult for you, but you must learn to face your fears."
She didn't complain. She didn't nod. She did nothing—nothing but stare at the bloodstained floor. She stared and stared. She didn't even seem to breathe. After a long moment's hesitation, she began following me through the house.
The blood on the floor and walls brought back horrendous memories, memories of which could only have been worse for young Razelin. As I looked at the sprays of blood that littered the room, I noticed more blood near the stairway. Curiosity overwhelmed me. I wanted to learn what exactly happened in that house. She reluctantly followed me as I ascended the stairs, tightly wrapping her cloak around herself. We reached the guest bedroom. The full-length mirror taunted her from across the room. Razelin, drawn to the mirror, became lost in her own reflection. Even though the image of a sweet fourteen-year-old girl stared back at her, I knew she saw something different, something more horrifying. She saw not the girl that looked into the mirror, but a shadow of the past.
It was at that moment that Razelin had finally faced her past. It was at that moment when my wish had finally come true, to learn the truth about what happened in that house a year ago. She finally decided to tell me what had happened to her. Her story...her memories...they left me speechless, confused, and frustrated. I know I wished to learn the truth, but I soon came to regret it. Her story, the one story I longed to hear, was soon the one story I longed to forget. Razelin averted her eyes and drew in a heavy breath, as she began to tell me her story.
First: The Siren's Daughter, Part 1 (v1)
Previous: The Siren's Daughter, Part 2 (v1)
Next: The Siren's Daughter, Part 4 (v1)
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Siren's Daughter, Part 2 (v1)
Here's part two.
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I stepped over the short trimmed grass and packed dirt. It was strange; cemeteries always seemed to change a person’s mood. Simply walking between the graves often left one solemn and reminiscing, even if they were blind with rage when they first arrived. Yet, every time I walked through a cemetery, I couldn’t help but feel guilt and regret.
I found myself walking to the same spot I walked to every time I visited that cemetery. At least once a week I would visit their graves with Razelin and we would pay our respects in silence, sometimes for an hour. When I saw her kneeling in front of her sister’s grave, I realized what troubled her. I draped her cloak around her and knelt down beside her.
She wrapped herself in her cloak as a cold breeze blew past, never taking her eyes off her mother and sister’s grave. The inscription on her sister’s tombstone stabbed at me like a dozen knives.
1094 N.E. – 1114 N.E.
“It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”
She nodded. “I remember when Mom used to teach us how to dance.”
“The three of you used to perform for us when I visited with your father. I looked forward to it every time,” I reminisced.
“We really did love to dance. Even after mom died, my sister and I would dance when she wasn’t working. She would also tell me all of the interesting stories she heard from travelers she met.”
She shuddered suddenly, gripping the silver pendant that dangled around her neck, her cloak pulled tightly against her body. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s my fault…If she didn’t have to take care of me, then—”
I wanted to hold her and comfort her, as I’ve wanted to many times before. Every time I saw her cry, every time I saw her sad, I wanted to comfort her, but I never could…not after what I witnessed in that house. Doing so would only bring her discomfort and make her more distant than she already was. Knowing not what to do, I tried to comfort her with words. “Neither you, nor your sister, asked to be put into that position.”
“I know…it’s just, if she didn’t have to worry about me, then she wouldn’t have had to work so much. Then maybe… maybe it wouldn’t have happened…”
I forced a stern tone. “Don’t blame yourself, Razelin. Neither of your parents would blame you for the things that have happened, nor your sister. And I know they wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, either.”
She continued staring at her sister’s grave, caressing her silver pendant. Her eyes glistened a sweet but hollow beauty. Her face was oddly haunting, bringing words of her father’s to mind. "After I became your father’s apprentice, I was ordered to arrest a man for slave trading. When I found him, he was with his two children. A son and daughter, no older than eight. When I told him the charges he faced, he tried to attack me in front of his own children. I had no choice but to defend myself, and I ended up killing him.”
Razelin looked at me puzzled as I continued. “His children’s cries…their faces…they haunted me every night. That was when your father told me, ‘The world is a painful place, but you did a good thing. While you may have brought his family sadness, you saved dozens, if not hundreds, of potential victims to his slave trade. Our job is to make this Empire the best we can for people. It’s a hard role to play, one with many sorrows, but someone must bear that weight on their shoulders. Fear and anguish only breaks a person if they let it. So stay strong.’”
She lowered her gaze in silence, contemplating her father’s words. The wind gently lifted her smooth light brown hair.
“I may not know what happened, but you can’t let it ruin your life. Accept your past and let it make you stronger.”
Her eyes slowly found me. Anxiety crept over me when I looked into her grave expression. After a moment, she averted her eyes, whispering weakly, almost inaudibly. “Can you take me there…?”
I stared at her in disbelief. Ever since the day I found her there, I’ve wondered what exactly what happened in that house. I had my suspicions, but what I feared most was learning that my suspicions were correct. My body cried out at me to decline her request. Taking her to that house would undoubtedly bring back horrific memories. However, I think it was the fear of finding out the truth that frightened me the most. No, I couldn’t decline. It’s just as her father had said. If Razelin was willing to face her fears, then I had to be as well. I closed my eyes and nodded.
We walked down the paved road into the residential district. The sun descended beyond the horizon, the sky glowing a luminous red. The long shadows of the trees and houses loomed over us as the chilly winds licking our flesh. I glanced at Razelin who walked beside me, still clinging her pendant. As we grew closer to the abandoned house, she began to tremble violently. We stood in front of the threshold, staring at the faded wooden walls of the house. Dark green vines began encroaching upon the walls from its base, creeping into the battered windows.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
First: The Siren's Daughter, Part 1 (v1)
Next: The Siren's Daughter, Part 3 (v1)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
History and Lore: Rokan Naming Conventions
Here's a little bonus post I decided to write because I wanted a different naming scheme for more depth in characters. Unfortunately, with this, I just made thinking of names 33% more difficult! So please if anyone has suggestions, please please please give them. I've also decided to possibly post a part of The Siren's Daughter one per day, instead of every other like I originally planned to, just so you can all read it faster (since it's already finished now).
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Rokan's Naming Conventions:
Traditionally, Rokan follows a naming convention for their middle and surname, designed to easily distinguish which families a person had descended from. The convention for naming are as follows:
First Name -
Decided by one's parents, or legally changed only through a tedious renaming process through the government.
Last Name -
Upon marriage, the person who comes from the least prestigious or wealthy family (at the time of marriage) undertakes the last name of their more prestigious spouse. The person's, who's last name has changed, original last name then becomes their middle name, and their previous middle name is truncated to it's first letter.
Upon birth, the child inherits the last name of their most prestigious parent.
Middle Name -
Upon birth, the child receives the original last name of their less prestigious parent as their middle name.
Upon marriage, the least prestigious spouse truncates their original middle name to it's first letter, replacing it with their original last name.
Divorce -
All names are reverted back to their original names prior to the marriage.
Marriage after loss of spouse -
In the case of multiple marriages, in which the previous spouses lives had passed, if the person re-marrying had inherited their last name from their previous spouse and their new spouse is of higher prestige, the last name of the re-marrying spouse is then replaced, with no change to their middle name.
Note: All truncation is only used in documentation. They do not discard the name. When asked for one's full name, all four names must be provided.
Format is as follows: FirstName Par2LastName Par1LastName SpouseLastName (if they are more prestigious)
Example:
Razelin Viselle Atraea marries Lydia Mitalis Rokan --> Razelin V. Atraea Rokan, Lydia Mitalis Rokan
Razelin and Lydia have a child (don't ask how) --> Garret Atraea Rokan
Garret marries Sara Frei Styles --> Garret Atraea Rokan, Sara F. Styles Rokan
Garret and Sara have a child --> Derek Styles Rokan
Garret dies --> Sara F. Styles Rokan
Razelin and Lydia divorce --> Razelin Viselle Atraea, Lydia Mitalis Rokan
Razelin marries Sara --> Razelin Viselle Atraea, Sara F. Styles Atraea, Derek Styles Rokan (unchanged)
The Siren's Daughter, Part 1 (v1)
Here's the first part of the third short story (which is actually my very first one redone from a few years back).
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“Eliza, we’re back.”
I was caught off-guard when Eliza greeted me with a passionate kiss. She smirked at me devilishly. “Dinner is just about ready, so take a seat.”
I cleared my throat, flushed with embarrassment as I glanced back at Razelin. She trailed behind me in silence, lost in thought. Eliza, humming an upbeat song, set our plates in front of us. Her dishes were always delicious, but this time in particular looked and smelled exceptional. My mouth salivated at the sight of the stuffed pheasant breasts accompanied by an assortment of roasted vegetables. Eliza returned to the table with her own plate and a basket of buttermilk biscuits, sitting beside me.
“The food looks absolutely delicious, dear.”
“I’m glad. I spent hours making sure it would be just perfect.”
Clink. Clink.
Cutting into the pheasant, I watched Razelin poke at her plate with the same melancholic expression she had when we came home. The sweet juices of the stuffed pheasant filled my mouth as I ate a piece.
Clink. Clink.
Eliza’s cheerful mood quickly disappeared. “Is there a problem?”
Clink. Clink.
She seemed not to hear Eliza’s words as she continued poking at her plate. What could be bothering her so much? She was usually one to have a hearty appetite, and rarely did we ever get to enjoy such beautiful meal, yet she seemed to have no interest. “Razelin, what’s wrong?”
“May I be excused?”
Without even waiting for a response, she stood and headed toward the front door.
Eliza bolted up. “Where do you think you’re going? Sit back down and eat your food.”
Her words pierced the air like needles, but Razelin seemed unfazed. She continued out the door into the setting sun. I stood to go after her, but Eliza grabbed my arm. “Just let her come back on her own. Let’s not let her ruin the night for us.”
Reluctantly, I lowered myself back into my seat. It’s been months since I’ve seen Razelin so distant and depressed. Naturally, she has her mood swings once in awhile, but never so severe. Throughout the day, she appeared to be her usual focused self, but by the time we reached home…I wanted deeply to know what she was thinking. Was it a way for her to cry out for attention? No, that couldn’t be it. She never enjoyed being the center of attention.
“You’d think she would’ve learned some manners growing up, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re raised by a couple of entertainers,” said Eliza, her mouth half stuffed with food.
My face heated with anger. “Do not speak ill of her family. Her mother and sister were wonderful people.”
“I swear. All you men fall head over heels for those Perch women. It’s like they cast some spell over you, those sirens,” she snorted. “And now look at you. Even the child has you under her song. It’s like she’s eating you alive, the way you worry about her every second of the day.”
“I made a promise, Eliza. I’ve already failed him once, and I don’t intend to fail him again. The least I can do for him is care for his daughter in his stead.” I stood from the table.
She watched me with tear-stung eyes. “Wait, you’re not going to look for her, are you? You don’t even know where she went.”
I draped my silver-embroidered cloak around me, grabbed Razelin’s plain red one, and walked out into the city. Oddly enough, the distant sounds of vendors closing shop, and travelers heading into the taverns, lulled my frustrations. Two years after I became General Atraea’s apprentice, I promised him I would watch over his family if anything were to happen to him. It bothered me that Eliza, who has been with me for nine years now, half a year engaged, couldn’t understand why I had to care for Razelin. I must admit, I was afraid. I didn’t know how to be a father, and I really wanted Eliza’s hand in helping Razelin recover from all that has happened. Regardless, I had to do my best, whether she helped or not.
Next: The Siren's Daughter, Part 2 (v1)
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Ambrosia, Scene v1
A new record! I'm the kind of person who gets easily distracted, so I tend to take a long time to write something, but I managed to finish this in 41 minutes! (Yes, I know it's still long). This takes place after The Smile of a Princess.
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Kismet watched Delphi sleep, her chest rising and falling. Somehow she always managed to become mesmerized by the young princess' peaceful slumber. She broke from her spell when a subtle whisper tickled her ear. She strained to make sense of it, but it was of no use. Her eyes scanned the room warily. The room was just as it had been hours ago when Delphi first closed her eyes.
Again the haunting whisper came, louder but still incomprehensible. Kismet crept about the room on light feet. The dim red moonlight seeped in through the closed glass-paned window. Shadows loomed about the room, shadows that were all too familiar to the sleepless Catheran.
Upon the glazed wooden surface of Delphi's jewelry table lie a new stone that Kismet has never seen before. It seemed to dimly shimmer a blood red in the darkness, a haunting beauty that drew her closer. She found herself reaching for the stone, possessed by her curiosity. The smooth polished surface felt warm to the touch. She could've sworn it felt as though it were pulsing, as though it were alive. Gazing closer into the stone, an overwhelming heat surged through her. She screamed in agony as her vision escaped her. Clinging tightly to herself, her blood felt as though it were boiling, her core felt aflame, as she was enveloped in darkness.
Beyond the darkness she heard Delphi call out her name... screaming. Her screams soon died out, and the shouts and cries of several people deafened Kismet's ears. Her blood began to cool, her body felt doused, and her vision returning. She found herself being restrained, her captors' faces a blur.
Delphi, still lying on her bed, was surrounded by a small group of people. Kismet trembled in shock when she caught a glimpse of young princess' half-eaten body. Her sleeping gown, once a heavenly white silk, was now drenched in a deep red. A pool of blood formed below the tip of her hand, which dangled lifelessly from the side of the bed. From the bed was a trail of blood. Kismet traced it with her eyes as it led to where she was being restrained. She looked at her hands, covered with fresh blood. A surge of horror shook her body as she slowly licked her lips.
The warm crimson blood tasted like ambrosia.