“That day, the world was made anew; a forever black page under a crimson sun. The reaper had come for our souls.”
The night was still. The darkness blanketed the manor. Not a star was visible. Only the moon shone down, casting its pale light onto the cliffside the manor resided. It was an eerie sight to behold. It was certainly fitting that this was the time of the old crone’s visit.
The door was put ajar, casting a dim light into Maegon’s chambers. She was eighteen. The old crone stood before her mother, darkening the slit of light. Maegon lay still in her bed, though she was awake. She could see the silhouette of her observer by the light of the moon. Maegon thought her a witch. Frizzled hair, elongated nose, sunken eyes… The pale moonlight did the crone no favors. The scuttling of insects and rats along the floor, the creak of the halls, the turn of the wind. She could hear wisps of the crone and her mother between the gaps of their silence. The crone was speaking. “...Small child, awfully frail. We have no need for children. What say you, Nehi?” Her voice wheezed and twanged like an untuned harpsichord. It was wholly unpleasant. Maegon’s mother spoke. “She may be small for her age, but her mind is far past what we of the Rose can achieve in many lifetimes. Sage, I beg you, see past her appearance, for even now, she turns her mind towards us. She is aware of our… discussion.” Maegon felt her mother’s voice tremble... fear. The sage spoke, louder now. “Perhaps I have gone senile. She may be our savior yet. We shall test her when the sun rises.” Maegon heard the door creak shut, followed by the sound of light footsteps along the castle's carpeted halls, as her mother and the crone faded from her awareness. The saliva in her mouth had gone dry. She rose from her bed and knelt. Her hands clasped, she began to pray. With her little finger, she confessed her sin. Forgive me Mother of Faces, I am afraid. She was afraid of the crone, afraid of her mother. She resolved to flee.
Maegon shattered her window and jumped. It was a two-story drop. She bent in the air; slamming herself to the ground. Her muscles screamed. She got up, and ran. Her mother watched her from the window. Nobody gave chase. There was nowhere to run to. She’d return on her own. Maegon reached the shore, panting. The ebbs and flows of the currents were slow, nearly invisible. Only the light tremulations of the moon’s reflection gave any indication of movement. An iridescent circle, gently quivering. She sat on the shore. The light sloshing of the waves comforted her. She laid on the sand, and slept, wishing for a better world.
A ship peeked over the dark horizon. It cut through the waves silently like a knife. The moon’s iridescent glow illuminated its passengers. Maegon watched the boat’s silhouette grow. They had come for her. This was her chance to start anew in Yong Ping.
