Metamancy

OOC: Music: · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · Cheong-Won, now forty-nine years old, stepped off of the ferry leading to Junmura. It was supposed to be just a short trip, to gather some herbs and do some shopping. The moment she stepped off the ferry, she felt her heart leap into her throat. Opposite her, down the dock, stood three terrifying creatures in armor, one on horseback. Fortunately, beside her stood a knight and a soldier; seemingly from some foreign land; they did not appear Oyashi, or Won-In. Idunian, perhaps? She inched closer to the knight on horseback. “You will protect me, yes?” She murmured, half-joking as she stood next to the horse. It appeared she had come to the scene right as combat had begun; for the knight on horseback charged forth at the other mounted thing, shouting to the open air. “Protect the woman!” Those creatures came rushing towards them, one coming up on the rear with a potion, one meeting the knight in vicious combat, and one stalking the side of the dock with a controlled balance, circling around the knight and the soldier as its eyes landed upon Cheong-Won hungrily. Instinctually, Cheong-Won immediately connected to the spirit realm, invoking the name of Fiarza, as to bless herself to allow for a jump across the water to the other side of the dock. Alas, almost as soon as that familiar wind began to pick up around her, a potion was thrown by the creature coming up from the back. She disconnected immediately, spinning around as to try and avoid the impact, but alas, that grey liquid caught her leg. Cheong-Won watched in horror as that liquid turned to stone and began to creep up her leg – cockatrice’s breath. Her eyes scanned the battlefield – everything was happening so fast. The soldier, who had been commanded to protect her, had been brought to the edge of the dock by the creature on horseback, who was now dismounted. Meanwhile, the knight could be seen clashing in vicious combat with the very same creature that had thrown the potion at Cheong-Won. Cheong-Won felt her heart pounding in her chest as she saw the third demon approach from only a few meters away. Somehow, she knew she could not get out of this; the cockatrice’s breath was now up to her hip, and the vampire fixed its eyes upon her. Shaking, Cheong-Won stepped off of the bridge, her hands in the air. “Hoh-kay. Jaa. We make a deal, oh-kay? You take me, do whatever ritual you want, drink my blood, whatever – just leave me alive, ne? And I will, uh, comply with everything. Ne?” The greater vampire gazed upon her from behind its fanged helm, contemplating her offer – before it swiftly turned upon the struggling soldier at the edge, kicking him down into the water. Cheong-Won watched, petrified, as the soldier and the other vampire went tumbling down into the depths together. The vampire watched, grinning in victory, as the stone encased Cheong-Won up to her neck. The last thing Cheong-Won saw before the stone took her was the vampire disarming itself, taking off its armor and helm and shield, to reveal a truly hellish thing, with a most gruesome appearance… …but she had no time to fully comprehend what she saw before the stone encased her fully. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · Cheong-Won was ten. It was early summer in Chonwon. It was dark outside, and the stars shone brightly in the night sky. Cheong-Won’s mother sat beside her as she lay on the mattress spread across the hard wooden floor. The little Cheong-Won gazed up at her mother, who smiled down at her daughter lovingly. “Eomma, norae bulleojwo,” (Mom, sing me a song.) Cheong-Won requested, staring up at her mother with starry eyes. Her mother chuckled some, nodding a little bit silently before parting her lips to sing Cheong-Won a lullaby. “Jajang… jajang… oori… aga…” (Jajng, jajang, my baby…) “Ani, geugeo malgo!” (No, not that one!) Cheong-Won interrupted, her high-pitched voice chiming out in the middle of the night. “Arirang, arirang, haneun geugeo.” (The one that goes arirang, arirang.) Her mother’s brows raised – arirang was not a lullaby. Alas, she smiled, laughing a little. “Geurae.” (Okay.) She paused for maximum effect, before going to sing once more. “Arirang, arirang, arariyo…” · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “Oppa!” (Brother!) The thirteen-year-old Cheong-Won sobbed as Cheong-Geun looked back at her and the rest of the An family who were waving him goodbye. Cheong-Seok had been taken a few weeks ago. It was now Cheong-Geun’s turn. “Oppa, kkok gayadwae?” (Brother, must you really go?) Cheong-Geun smiled at Cheong-Won as she ran, barefoot, to wrap her arms around him one last time. “Eommarang appa jal dolbwogo,” (Make sure to take good care of mom and dad,) The second eldest son of the An family smiled. “Neomu ooljee malgo. Eejae, Cheong-Woneega oori gajok jangnameeda.” (And don’t cry too much. Now, you are the eldest son of the house.) “Geundae naneun namjaga aneeran marya!” (But I’m not a man!) Cheong-Won sobbed, burying her face in her brother’s chest. A deep sadness crossed Cheong-Geun’s eyes. “Eomoni, abeoji,” (Mother, father,) He spoke somberly, still clinging onto the bawling Cheong-Won. “Bomhwaleul, Cheong-Woneeaegae jusaeyo. Hwal hananeun jal ssondan maleeaeyo, yaega.” (Please give Cheong-Won the Bow of Spring. If nothing else, this one is a good archer.) Their father, an aged, tired man who had almost fully white hair, nodded firmly at this request as he wrapped a single arm around his sobbing wife. Cheong-Geun pulled away, leaving Cheong-Won to stumble backwards, staring, teary-eyed, at her brother. “Oppa…” Cheong-Geun smiled sadly. “Oyashi manee jugeegeo olkkae.” (I’ll kill a bunch of Oyashi and come back.) The soldiers from the capital appeared, then, spears in their hands, marching down from the end of the dirt road. “An Cheong-Geun,” One of them declared as they slammed their spears on the ground, with their identical military uniforms. “Gapshida. Janggunee geedarigo eeseumnida.” (Let us go. The General awaits.) Without another word, Cheong-Geun turned away from his family, and he was gone. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “...arirang gogaero neomoganda,” A twenty-year-old Cheong-Won sang to her seven-year-old adopted daughter, Areum. Areum stared up at her with sparkling eyes as she lay on a mattress, with Cheong-Won sitting beside her. They were lying in the back of the von Rhoswald tavern, in Alba. Areum drifted off to sleep, leaving Cheong-Won to think about the parents she had left behind as she smiled down at her new daughter… · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “Gageora,” (Go.) The sixteen-year-old Cheong-Won’s father told her. In just a few years, the man had aged significantly, the wrinkles on his face having become ever-more prominent. Cheong-Won shakily stepped onto the boat, her books, clothes, food, bow, alongside the rest of her belongings strapped to her back inside a sack. “Abeoji…” Cheong-Won spoke weakly, looking to her father. “Eomoni…” She looked to her mother next, who could not meet her in the eyes. “Go, find better life,” Her father told her in broken Common, his own voice breaking. Taken aback by the sudden change in language, Cheong-Won’s eyes widened. They had been studying Common, hard, to prepare Cheong-Won for this journey. “You be better on Aevos, yes?” Cheong-Won felt tears well in her eyes as the ferryman gave them a moment to enjoy each other’s company one last time. “Yes, father,” Cheong-Won returned in the same language. Her frail mother descended into heavy, uncontrollable sobs as Cheong-Won’s confused little sister, Cheong-Sin, stared at her with wide eyes. “Unni… eodee ga?” (Big sister… where are you going?) She asked, her voice small and afraid. Cheong-Won could not answer, for, in truth, she was not sure. They had heard only tales of Aevos; a land of magic, where there were elves and dwarves abound, dokkaebi had their own nation, and anything was possible. All she knew was that she was their family’s last hope; the village was withering away. “Doraolkkae,” (I’ll come back.) Was all Cheong-Won could manage. Little did she know, that was a lie – she would never come back to Chonwon, ever, in the remainder of her life. “Jal eesseo.” (Be well.) Cheong-Sin began to tremble in fear. Cheong-Won found herself mirroring her little sister’s movements as the tears in her eyes began to flow. Her father offered the ferryman a solemn nod, and the boat began to drift away from the docks. “Ani – andwae!” (No - no!) Cheong-Won protested as the boat drifted further and further away. “Jamshimanyo! Ajik – jedaero jakbyeoleul mot haetdan mareeyaeyo!” (Wait! I – I haven’t been able to say a proper goodbye yet!) But alas, the ferryman listened to her father, not her. Cheong-Won could only watch, sobbing heavily, as she looked at her village and her family for the last time, disappearing over the horizon. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “Nareul beorigeo gashineun nimeun…” Cheong-Won’s mother sang to the sleeping, ten-year-old Cheong-Won. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · And suddenly, Cheong-Won was in Childeok, watching the downfall of the oasis to the forces of the Mountain. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was a bartender in Alba. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was sleeping in the back of the von Rhoswald tavern with her new daughter, Areum. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was studying the art of shamanism under Yhl’Flaaowni. And suddenly, Areum was asking her to move to Koyo-Kuni. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was in Koyo-Kuni, feeling safe around the Oyashi for the first time. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was watching as the Mountain was defeated. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was on a ship, to Kalldur, to Azuras. And suddenly, Cheong-Won had mastered shamanism, teaching students of her own. And suddenly, Areum was getting married. And suddenly, Cheong-Won was underwater, the cockatrice’s breath cracking as the vampire pulled her deeper and deeper into the depths. The stone encasing her broke entirely as Cheong-Won began to drown, bubbles leaving her mouth as the greater vampire grinned eagerly at her, ready to feast. Cheong-Won felt the energy of the spirits surge within her – she heard On-ssi whisper in her ear, she heard Gye-nim’s wings wrapping around her in a warm embrace. Sunlight streamed in through the surface of the water as the vampire lunged for Cheong-Won’s throat. And yet, all Cheong-Won saw was not the face of death, but the face of Cheong-Seok, the face of Cheong-Geun, the face of her mother and father, the face of Cheong-Sin, the face of Areum. And she realized, then, that truly, she had no regrets. She was at peace. Strangely, she could hear the sound of cicadas from back home as her vision began to dim. She could smell the scent of rice steaming. She could feel Areum’s weight as she slept beside her. Gently, she felt herself let go of the spiritual energy within her. And she felt herself smile as death sank its fangs into her neck. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · “Shiprideo motgaseo balbyeongnanda…” Cheong-Won, the seven-year-old Areum’s mother, concluded the song. · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · The following letters are addressed following Cheong-Won’s death. [OOC: These letters are PRIVATE and should NOT be metagamed.] To Areum, @Cally To Yhl’Flaaowni, @DizzyGrey To Shuji, @Bones To Mikaze, @Mallow To Siegfried, @AurelianCraft Dear Admiral Ena, @Reckless Banzai Screamer Dear Akaijosei, @Bakaling Dear Auntie A, @milksoda Dear Hina, @latte Dear Jiro, @Tentoa Dear Shugo Honda, @Fishy Dear Daniel, @Jayphynph Dear Terminus, @DevilPaws Dear Andromeda, @TheIchorDruid

dude....

i'm tempted to say shamanism, but i'm gonna go with housemagery. housemagery is just cool. gives you magic, lets you make things float, makes for great flavor rp, only takes up 1 magic slot. NO COMBATIVE ABILITIES, which is the best part - so many magics just get absorbed into the minmaxxer mindset, when magic should really be for flavor and cool rp.

its 21

based and necropilled

im gonna hold ur hand when i say this and i am dead serious btw find out irp.

wow hes desperate, upvote dropped

already replied to your PM!

so liiiike if you know me you know that I've made an almost identical post to this one like 100000 times. but i am ONCE MORE looking for won in players PLEEEASE i need more won in PLEEEEASE this time i wont just ask you to play a random won in, im looking for members to continue on the AN FAMILY since my character (Cheong-Won)'s daughter is now marrying into Tsukinomiya. Once my character dies, I need people to carry on the family to clarify, won in is the KOREAN-INSPIRED CULTURE on lotc, and you will learn a lot about korean culture while roleplaying a won in character!!! you will either be adopted by my character or, if you want to start off at an older age, be put through a few trials. the world is your oyster, or whatever they say i can give u shamanism, or animism at least pls guys i need this pls (reach out for more info)

-1 do not give this guy any children

i genuinely thought this was gonna be an AMA with a bait title

i'm confused... is this playable or an event creature? cuz it should definitely NOT be playable, but could work as an event creature

•───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• "But the quarrel, the public display of Alexandre... and now this? The Empire seems focused on stepping on Alba's toes as much as possible these days," A distressed Inku Vierto told Avaline, following a series of darkspawn tests by the Imperials upon the citizens of Alba. @Festive Fate "What are you trying to say? We serve the Crown, and as citizens of Saint Godwinsburg, it is our duty to obey. Unless you are a traitor? A deserter, perhaps?" "That's-! That's not it, ma'am." "I jest." •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• "I appreciate your words, Avaline. It's nice talking to you." "Of course," Avaline nodded. "We can only do what we can to live meaningfully, mm?" •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• "Stay safe out there, Avaline." "A good night to you." •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• As Avaline took the long walk back to Myre Hall that night, Inku's mention of Alexandre Devereux rang in her mind. Had she not attended his wedding just a saint's day ago? Had she not seen him smile beside his wife, walking the very same streets she walked now? She began to shiver, though it was not the winter cold that bit at her. The only constant is death, She thought to herself. And all shall die. The Lady Helvets stopped some paces few from the front door. Lost in her thoughts, the walk had gone by rather swiftly. Yet, how is it that Alexandre Devereux is dead? •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────•

Avaline took a deep breath and began making preparations to attend the wedding.

Somewhere upon a stormy island, there was an old student of Flaaowni's. The student, now a teacher for her own people, and the kharajyr had long since gone their own, separate ways. Alas, it was not possible. An Cheong-Won shook her head dismissively at the missive. She made to discard it; it was utter nonsense, likely written by madmen. Then a memory returned to her. "This one wonders if An would be better suited a mystic than a shaman." The Won-In felt her entire body freeze. She quickly clutched the missive with her suddenly shaking hands, reading it over again, and again, and again. A mystic and hemomancer. Blood magic, Cheong-Won had known about, of course. A mystic. The aged shaman felt her entire body begin to tremble. Flaaowni would not desert the spirits. Surely. "She am only asking that An bring the spirits to her people," Flaaowni had asked upon their final meeting. And so, Cheong-Won had. She had devoted herself fully to the spirits, brought the knowledge to her people. Her daughter was a shaman, now, and so many of her people had become animists. It had all started with Flaaowni's willingness to teach her. It was not possible. Was it?

idk

just shelf it man

Avaline cheered. Maybe.

guh

TRIGGER WARNING: OOC: Avaline had never been much of a drinker. Of course, the occasional wine at formal events, the rare shot of whiskey with friends. That was a lie. She didn’t have friends, nor had she ever tried whiskey. Avaline sat down at the counter of the tavern once more. She raised a hand to the barkeep in greeting, who, in her mind, was slowly becoming a familiar face. She could feel some emotion somewhere within her heart – regret, perhaps? – though, she could not quite reach it, and the rest remained hollow and empty, as it always was. “The usual, please,” She murmured as she settled heavily into the stool. The barkeep eyed her somewhat cautiously in silence, before reaching for a bottle on the shelf. Avaline had worn one of her new dresses; deep blue, with gold laces. She had even taken the care to put on makeup, which she had not done in a while, and had fastened a large, matching blue bow to her sharply-cut short hair. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps she had wanted to look pretty. For what? Pretty, to go drink? Come on, Avaline. She swiftly drowned the thoughts in her first swig of mulled wine, which had been slid over to her somewhere in between the time she had been lost in her mind. She tossed a few coins that she knew would be enough to cover the cost over the counter. She had apparently paid more than necessary, for the barkeep’s eyes widened, and he offered her a grateful smile before going back to doing whatever barkeeps did while they watched helpless people drink. Avaline raised the bottle to inspect it, though it didn’t mean anything. She was, however, able to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the glass, and found herself taken aback by the woman staring back at her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and a terrible blush took over the bridge of her nose. She had never handled her alcohol well; despite being less than a bottle in, her pained eyes blinked back at her drunkenly, and her lips were thinned out into a strained line. Avaline, is this really you? She could not bear the answer to that question, so she could do nothing else but drink some more. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• Avaline had just turned six. “Father, must I really go?” Asked the small girl, looking back at Leopold, who had accompanied her to see her off. “You will be better off here,” Leopold promised to his daughter with a smile. In later years, Avaline would come to learn that he had lied. Alas, seeing her father smile was the greatest pleasure for the little Avaline, and the sight of that soft expression on his lips lifted her innocent heart. Despite this fact, she pouted. “How come Leonardo does not have to go to school?” She whined. “Leonardo has his own future ahead of him,” Leopold explained. How ironic. “What about Theodora?” “Quiet, now,” Avaline’s father chided her as she continued to grumble on. “One of the first lessons you will learn here is that ladies must not complain.” Resigned, the little Avaline’s shoulders slumped, and she looked up at her father for, though she did not know it, the last time. “Will you come to visit during the holidays?” “Of course,” Leopold lied. “You are my beautiful daughter.” And with that, he pushed her away, to disappear – forever – into the gates of the institution. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• Just drink. Avaline took another shot. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• Dear Father, It has been four years since you left me here in boarding school. At times, I wonder how Leonardo and Theodora are doing – I had assumed that Theodora would join me in a few years, though that does not appear to be the case. I have recently caught wind of the birth of the young Eugenie – how I wish you would visit me and bring me home so that I might see my baby sister. I have also recently turned ten. It is a strange sensation, to know that my age is in the double-digits, now. I feel older than I ever have been – and I suppose that I am – and my only birthday wish is that my family would visit me here. I apologize if that is too much to ask. I have found it difficult to make acquaintances with the students here during my years, and find it excruciatingly lonely still. On the bright side, the new dormitories are quite nice! I am forever grateful to you for the opportunity to be able to study abroad, nurture my skills and grow as a lady here at school. I think of you every day. Please do come visit – I recall that you said you would. With love, Avaline Marie Helvets P.S. Please do not look at my grades. They are quite shameful. Satisfied, the young Avaline left her room to head to the aviary, attached the letter to the foot of a bird, and watched it fly away happily. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “Ugh,” Avaline involuntarily sounded out, somewhere through her fifth glass down. She clutched her stomach as she slammed the glass down on the countertop; she felt just about ready to vomit. The barkeep eyed her nervously. It was a sight that he was all-too-familiar with. “...another, please.” •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “...Lady Helvets?” The insistent voice of Professor Mirelle called out from the front of the classroom. Avaline’s eyes shot open at the sound of her name, and she sat up quickly, taking her head off of the desk. Sleepy. Had she fallen asleep in class again? She rubbed at her eyes, blinking ahead at the Professor. “...could you tell us what the slope of the line three-ex plus two is?” Avaline felt her voice catch in her throat. “...the slope, ma’am?” Professor Mirelle sighed. “Yes, Lady Helvets. The slope. The em in em-ex plus bee – you do remember, yes?” Avaline swallowed, hard. “Um – of course, ma’am.” “Then could you please tell us the answer? Come, now, it is quite the simple problem.” Avaline felt her entire body begin to shake. “I… I am not sure,” She spoke honestly, her voice trembling. “Though, if I recall correctly, you said that you remember,” The Professor spoke impatiently, sighing. A low chuckle began to murmur through the classroom as the students all turned in their seats to face her – some grinning, some with expressions of pity. Avaline lowered her head in resignation. “Very well. We can see that here, the slope of the line is three…” The sounds of the classroom faded away as Avaline caught the gaze of a single boy, who was still staring at her, despite the rest of the class having already started facing ahead again. As they locked eyes, he offered her a smile. She felt her face flush, and looked away. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “...and I wonder where he is now,” Avaline spoke drunkenly to a barkeep that did not care, slurring her words together. “Oh, all men are the same, you see. Another round,” She declared, sliding more coins over the counter. The barkeep only eyed her pitifully, though passed her another drink without objection. Drink. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “Lady Helvets,” An unfamiliar male voice called out to the now fifteen-year-old Avaline. She looked back in the hallway, only to find the very same boy who had smiled at her back in the mathematics classroom the week prior. He had black, slightly tousled hair, strikingly green eyes, and wore the very same uniform that all the boys wore; a black jacket over a white shirt, with black pants to match. Devastatingly handsome. “Oh – um – hello,” Avaline stammered, turning fully to face him. She felt her cheeks begin to warm. “Can I help you?” The boy grinned. “You seemed to be struggling with math,” He offered. Avaline felt her face heat up even more. “Well, quite frankly, that is none of your business,” She spoke curtly, turning to leave. “So quick to flee?” The boy laughed, causing Avaline to turn around once more. “I have never spoken to you before,” Avaline frowned, her hands finding a comfortable place upon her hips. “Just what is your problem?” The boy raised his hands in mock surrender, raising his brows and taking a step back. “Woah, woah. I did not mean to offend," He quickly rectified, before extending a hand to shake. “My name is Laurent Bellrose,” The boy introduced, his grin sobering into a polite smile. “And, if my memory serves me correctly, you are the good lady Avaline Helvets?” Avaline scoffed, glancing away as she felt herself blush. What a mockery. Alas, she extended her own hand and gave his hand a gentle shake. His grip was much firmer than her own. “That would be me, yes,” Avaline confirmed, finally allowing herself to meet Laurent’s eyes. “I could not help but notice that I always catch you on your own,” Laurent spoke smoothly, his smile now widening to a mischievous grin once more. “Such a waste of such a natural beauty.” Avaline’s lips thinned and her face flushed in embarrassment. “What are you trying to say?” She demanded of him, crossing her arms over her chest. At last, the boy moved in for the kill, taking only the tiniest of steps closer to her. “I thought I could change that,” He grinned, “And invite you, perhaps, to the Midwinter Ball.” Avaline felt her eyes widen. She did not know this boy. She had never spoken to him before. By the looks of it, he also appeared older than her – at least sixteen, if not seventeen. And yet, something stirred within her heart at being seen. Never had anyone come to speak to her before out of their own free will; she had always been the strange girl from Alba, the one that everyone could rely on to point to and say – “at least I am better than her!” And suddenly, there was Laurent, this strange, mysterious boy, offering himself to be– A friend? The prospect of it seemed impossible. The Midwinter Ball? And yet… “Alright, why not?” Avaline found herself saying, before she could even really think about it. Laurent’s eyes flashed, and he smiled once more. “Wonderful. I shall see you after class.” And with that, he turned and began to stroll down the corridor. After class? She had only ever agreed to go to the ball with him. Oh, whatever. She found herself staring holes into his back, clutching her backpack which was slung over her shoulders, until he rounded a corner and was gone. The bell rang, and Avaline was broken out of her stupor, rushing to class. She was late. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “I think you best leave,” The barkeep finally told the drunken, thirty-four year old Avaline as she called for another drink. She splayed herself across the countertop, tapping her empty glass upon it demandingly. “Just one more,” She insisted, groaning. “You best go home, Lady Helvets,” The barkeep said once more, sighing heavily. The rest of the bar was empty, at this point. “Allow me to see you out. I have a family to get to as well, you know.” Avaline soon found herself left to the cold streets of Saint Godwinsburg, the tavern behind her closing down for the night. She found herself habitually walking to the Aldor estate. It was always Rothwin, or Roswyn, that could offer her comfort. Alas. She made it to the door before remembering all that had occurred prior to her drinking. She turned, clutching her chest, and made to walk back to the Helvets estate. I am going to die alone, She figured as she had to run to the side of the road to vomit, retching out what little she had eaten. It felt as though her very insides left her through her mouth. She trembled, cold in the winter chill, the whole way back home. All alone. “I have never kissed a man before,” Avaline had lied to Rothwin. She thought of Rothwin as the doors to the Helvets estate flew open and she stumbled drunkenly to her room, collapsing in bed. It was then that the tears began to fall. Avaline cried into her pillow, all alone, with no alcohol to keep her company. She cried and she cried, sloppily and messily, pulling the sheets tightly around herself. All alone. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “Lady Helvets,” Avaline heard the voice of Professor Mirelle speak out from behind the Headmistress’ desk. Though she was her math teacher, Professor Mirelle was also the Headmistress of the school. “Do you know why I have called you here today?” The now seventeen-year-old Avaline shook her head. Professor Mirelle took a deep breath, before leaning over the desk slightly. “It is not often I must have this talk with students,” She sighed regrettably, “Though it is a talk that must be had.” Something was wrong. Avaline felt something in her chest twist horribly. “Lady Helvets, we both know that your academic standing has not been… stellar,” The Headmistress spoke. “However, you are not alone in this. Many students struggle academically.” Avaline swallowed, hard. “Alas… at this rate, it is nearly impossible for you to meet your graduation requirements,” Professor Mirelle spoke, adjusting her glasses as she looked over some forms that apparently detailed Avaline’s work at school. “We have granted you additional instruction and tutoring and leniency in deadlines,” The Headmistress continued, “But your progress remains… limited.” “So I will not be able to graduate?” Avaline asked with a small voice. “At this point in the term,” Professor Mirelle sighed matter-of-factly, “Even if you were to get a perfect score on every one of your exams leading up until graduation, you would still not meet the requirements.” Avaline’s eyes began to quake. Eleven years. Eleven years of schooling at this accursed school, only to be told she could not graduate. And not for lack of trying. She had worked so, so hard, to catch up with the concepts she did not understand, to be a lady, to make her family proud. Alas, she was a failure. “And so, this is my proposal for you,” The Headmistress offered, making an attempt at some form of mercy with a small smile. “We may offer you formal withdrawal from the school before final exams, with a certificate of attendance rather than graduation. A letter written personally to your wonderful parents affirming that you completed your education to the best of your ability can also be arranged.” This could not be happening. No, no; she had worked too hard for this, suffered too much. “Of course, if you wish to finish up the year without graduating, we can–” “I will go home,” Avaline decided, her voice heavy. “I have not been home in eleven years. It will be good to return home early.” Professor Mirelle gave her a small, weak smile. “That’s my girl,” The aged headmistress sighed, emotion catching in her own throat. After all, she had watched Avaline grow from six to seventeen years old. “It has been the utmost pleasure being your headmistress, Lady Helvets. I wish you only the best of luck in life. A carriage will be arranged to take you back to the Empire.” Avaline dipped her head in mock thanks, before leaving the office to go pack. It was time to go back home. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• “But you said Father does not love me,” The now eighteen-year-old Avaline, back home in the Empire, bawled before her brother, Leonardo. The words tore from her chest before she could stop them, pained and tortured at her brother’s incessant pestering previously. Leonardo froze, realizing the gravity of what he had said. “I was lying, goddammit! Stop crying!” Leonardo frantically placed his hands upon her shoulders and shook her, looking into her teary eyes. Shortly after, he pulled her into a deep hug that only the closest of twins could possibly share. He smelled of travel and blood and the wilderness. Avaline stiffened, at first, though eventually relaxed, sagging into her brother as her sobs stuttered, hesitant as to whether or not they were allowed to stop. “You were?” She whispered. “Yes!” Leonardo huffed, breathless and exasperated. “I shouldn’t have said it.” Her head bobbed against his shoulder, for she could not trust her voice in the present moment. For the first time in forever, she allowed herself to believe that maybe – just maybe – she was not alone. “Now, come. Let me show you my home, mm?” He helped her to her feet. It was good to see her brother grown, after so long. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• Avaline, suddenly thirty-four again, awoke in bed with a sharp breath, the sheets twisted around and in between her legs. The dream clung to her terribly – the sound of steel, her own voice screaming, the shock, the reversal of roles. She lay there, in bed, for a few long moments, reliving Leonardo’s expression as he stabbed her in the dream. She stared at the ceiling, waiting for the beating of her heart to slow. It did not. When she sat up, her head ached terribly, pulsing in time with her thoughts; a constant, horrible reminder of her illness. In fact, the situation felt all-too-familiar; waking up with a headache, her head pounding, her room suffocating around her. She rolled out of bed, groaning and clutching her head. She glanced about at the room, gathering her bearings. Her eyes landed upon her desk, where a bloodied knife lay. She stumbled over, being puppeted by some invisible hand that forced her limbs. She felt nothing as she rolled up her sleeve, revealing a myriad of terrible scars. “You have been different since your recovery, Av,” She heard Rothwin’s voice speak, somewhere in the back of her mind. She felt nothing as she picked up the bloodied knife. “You were dead to the world.” She felt nothing as the knife dug into skin, splitting flesh apart and spattering blood all over her desk. “You were gone. And I am supposed to already be married, and–” She drew in sharp, pained breaths as her right arm came down to cut, and cut, and cut her left. It felt like hours before she felt satisfied with herself, dropping the knife back onto the desk as she clutched her stinging, bleeding, numb arm. She looked down at the knife, and for a moment, she could see herself driving the knife deep into her gut, or her chest perhaps, to render her heart and guts from her body. Alas, she could not bring herself to do it. She only moved to a basin and washed her arm so that it did not infect. And she pulled down her sleeve once more, returning to bed. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• Avaline awoke in bed, her forehead burning. Her skin felt as though it was on fire and her breaths were all wrong. She was thirty-two. She coughed furiously as she drew in her first breath of the day, her lungs burning as she did so. She coughed until her vision began to blur at the edges and she felt ready to pass out. She settled back onto her pillow, groaning to herself as she lay completely still, looking at the wall beside her as the room came back into focus. She listened. For footsteps. For voices. For anything – anything – to prove that she had not been entirely forgotten by the world. No one came. By midday, the light had shifted across the floor, streaming through the window, and by nightfall, it was gone again. There was no one in the room but her. No one had come to visit her. No one had come to see if she was alive. No one cared. Her illness festered. •───────────────────•°•❀•°•───────────────────• The years truly had flown by. Since her return to the Empire, she found herself aging rapidly; first, eighteen, then twenty, then twenty-five. Somewhere during that time, the end of the world had come. The battle with the Mountain had left Aevos scarred and ruined. At first, she thought it was a normal day; simply a quiet, boring Sunday in which no one came out. Then, she noticed the closed shutters. The stillness in the air. The absolute silence. She recalled something someone had told her a while ago – something about a Great Migration. Did I miss it? She could still remember that feeling of panic in her chest as she ran to the docks. By the time she arrived, her breath was ragged, her chest tight with the fear of being left behind. Fortunately, a few ferrymen remained, looking up at her as though she was a ghost. “I thought ye all left!” One of them exclaimed. “I need you to take me after those ships that left,” She gasped almost immediately, resting her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. She could not be left behind; she could not be left behind. She would die here, on her own. The thought of it was incomprehensible. “I need your most skilled ferryman, to make sure I arrive in the same place as the Imperial ships.” The ferrymen all looked at one another, grinning to themselves at the prospect of the amount of coin they could make off of this job. One of them, supposedly the leader, emerged from the small hubbub. “And who’re ye, lass?” Avaline took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height, despite the fear clawing at her ribs. “I am the Lady Helvets.”