A MAIDEN'S PLIGHT [PK]

[milkyi 1503]

 

 

1883 – 1919

 

 

Amidst a land ravaged by war and violence, there lived a gentle maiden by the name of Odille de Vilain. Her unassuming presence often blended into the background of the bustling fields that surrounded her family's keep, which stood tall and proud in the midst of a moat skirted by vast fields of golden wheat.

 

Her Father, a humble man, tended the land alongside the farmers who worked to harvest the crops. She claimed to have been raised by these farmers and learned to work the land just as they did in her youth.

 

Yet, Odille's peaceful life was soon shattered by the tides of war that swept across the land. Her Father disappeared one day, not too long before her Grandfather did as well. She attended the funeral pyre for her grandfather, though to her dismay, a body was not present. And as she gazed into the flames that licked beneath his empty casket, they seemed to stare back at her with an insatiable hunger. Flames that could not answer for her the questions she sought.

 

Even amidst her turmoil, her Mother’s words could not comfort her. The Baroness struck with the misfortune of having to tend to the lands and the heir, Odille was fast forgotten amidst the strife they met. So too did they leave her, taken from her by the politics of the land, a beast that she could not possibly understand. Lost without those she loved, Odille was left alone to face the horrors of the outside world.

 

For many winters long, did Odille strive to contain the fiery demons that plagued her mind. A cloud of sorrow, remorse, and anger hung heavy upon her soul, but she refused to nourish the flames that devoured her. Nevertheless, the burden of her unspoken anguish grew weightier with each passing day, and she withdrew into herself, shunning the world she hardly knew.

 

Thus she lived alone and aloof for many years, even as she matured into womanhood. Odille remained unresponsive, lost in the tumult of her own thoughts, and the once-stately castle was no longer her home. She swore to herself that she would never return to those accursed halls.

 

This much was clear in her mind when she came to rest in a hovel along the border of the town of Barrowton. Rhythmically carrying out her days without respite, all was the same for the maiden. Until something changed. One day, a man arrived and spoke to her as though they were known to one another. His countenance obscured, his words twisted and warped. She knew he was no longer her Grandfather. And her ties to her childhood dwelling grew weaker still.

 

Yet, fate's twisted hand had other plans for Odille; in time, she found herself back within the dreaded ivory keep. She awoke in a trance, standing in the center of the castle's passage. The grand chamber was now dreary and dim, filled with the uneasy stench of dust and mildew. The portraits on the stained glass windows were shattered, the cushions were rat-infested, and the sculptures were veiled in moss and cobwebs.

 

For hours, Odille explored the castle, her heart heavy with the weight of recollections that flooded her mind. But amidst the decay and ruin, she found a glimmer of hope. A painting of her Grandfather in the corridor caught her eye, its surface free of dust, as if someone had recently tended to it. Odille could not help but wonder who had cared for the portrait and why.

 

Days turned into weeks, and Odille remained in the white fortress, unable to tear herself away from the stronghold. But her peaceful solitude was not to last. As night fell, she sat by the fire, a sudden gust of wind blew down the chimney, carrying with it a small object that landed in the flames.

 

Swiftly did the flames dance to life, enveloping the chamber in an eerie display of orange and red. Odille sought to flee, but the inferno proved too fierce, too unyielding. She clawed at the walls and doors, leaving deep etchings that spoke of her desperation to escape the fiery embrace.

 

The fire consumed Odille's mortal form, leaving behind nothing but soot and charred remains. The deep scratches strewn upon the cobbled brick and wooden doors bore witness to her valiant struggle for survival, a haunting reminder of the tragedy that had taken place within the once-proud tower.

 

The tongues of fire became her, spirit and all. Mayhaps it was a predestined fate that she should meet such a gruesome end,  spared from the harshness of life's cruel hand. One might ask the flames: what be your purpose? To destroy? To cleanse?

 

Each finds a different answer in the silence.
 

 

 

[Fie 2521]

Weeping came from an aged woman that had long before forgotten how to cry. Unable to cope with the loss of the daughter Aloisia loved so deeply, the old widow withdrew further into her self imposed exile. Trembling hands clenched at the tattered edges of a charcoal sketch that seemed to be decades old.

The hag whimpered "I am so sorry" to herself, over and over again as though it might ease her suffering. 

[Ryanark 1990]

A shrouded figure left a black tulip at the woman's vigil, a tear shed from under the hood. It was a bad day for rain.

[Seva 264]

Orelia stood solemnly in the darkened hours of the night, her gaze carrying out from the small cottage she had once called her Scholarium. From the window, she saw the silhouette of Castle Vilain. How mighty it once stood. She had no way of knowing that it was the final resting place of young Odille, but somehow in the back of her mind she knew that a good soul rested there.

 

There would always be a Vilain to guard those halls, even long after they had all passed.