Augur

[Unwillingly 18096]

Hours of writing brought a horrible ache to Cyrene’s hand, though the pain was minuscule compared to everything else she had endured lately. She wrote as if her life depended on it. She wrote with an ever-lingering fear in the back of her mind. Not because she wanted to, but because she was afraid of what was to come if she stopped. That anxiety. That anticipation. Despite her shaking and trembling hand, her sloppy words upon a worn piece of paper, she continued writing, and she did it for hours on end.

 

It was her only relief. Her only solace from what she could only describe as a living nightmare. Not even the tales or wisdom of books could drive her mind away from the sour and vile thoughts she tried so hard not to think about. Her mind continuously fell right back to it all, poking and prodding at her most wicked and horrifying memories. Memories which she sought to rid herself of forever.

 

The word echoed in the back of her riddled mind. Solace. That word had meaning to her. She quite frequently found herself repeating the same words— the same exact utterances to everyone she knew: the Naztherak path was her solace. It wasn’t. Instead, it was a delusion, one that still plagued her mind and soul years after she had abandoned it. 

 

Her writing slowed, hand now suffering from cramps and twinges. With a bouncing leg, she looked back down to the paper. She wrote about how much her hand hurt, using different words each time to describe the centralized pain. Anything to keep a steady train of thought. Anything to keep writing.

 

But… there were only so many words she could think of. So many variations, and she had used all of them up.

 

Her mind unwillingly wandered to thoughts of the Naztherak torment. Its soul-wrenching grasp. She may have abandoned the curse, but it didn’t abandon her. The blades of those who sought to flay her still followed. The papers littered across Arcas with her name and face spread across them still followed. However, they didn’t bother her the most. That wasn’t what she was thinking about.

 

It was that day. That day among the frozen junipers when she brought her shivering hands upon a pencil and paper. Sometimes she wished that, instead of writing that letter, she allowed herself to freeze to death. Nobody could ever guess that a single decision could throw one's life down the drain, causing a chain-reaction of consequences, but that’s exactly what happened to Cyrene. And, holy f*ck, she regretted it all. 

 

She still remembered the words that changed it all. What he said to her. 

“You must be really desperate if you’re asking me of all people for help.”

 

If she knew that, by accepting what he had offered her, it would bring her to where she was now, she would have spat in his face and walked in the other direction, but she didn’t. She took his help, because to her, it was her solace. It would give her a new start, even if it wasn’t necessarily a good one. It was a start. 

 

Standing, she dropped the pencil back onto the desk. She stopped writing because she was forced to— not because she wanted to, like other misfortunes in her life. After she reached for the paper, she turned towards the fireplace at her left side. 

Her writing was pointless. It held no meaning. It was nothing more than a scribble of words on paper. So, she dropped the paper inside, watching the flames wrap around its surface, soon quickly disposing of it. She didn’t feel guilty for ridding herself of it, but instead, felt relief as she watched it burn. 

 

 

 

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 Advanced issue found

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Spoiler

go easy on me, interpret it how u wish

 

 

[Callum 1009]

Varan gets ready to break in