What villainess am I?

Chapter 2

Safety or comfort? Healthy or ? Sometimes these can be together in harmony. Others, and so often it is so, they are not. In the modern world, a seatbelt might hold you in place in a crash, but it hurts you as it digs deep into your shoulder blade. We become used to it at a young age, having it upon us all the time. However, it nags at us. Itches at our minds. The medicine helps us stay healthy but seldom tastes good: makes you feel worse in some cases. Surgeries to place a bone back in modernity can cause permanent discomfort yet keep us alive.

It comes to my attention how little the ancient, or even medieval world had in comfort or safety, happiness or health. As I live in such a world, it is clear how destructively powerful and corrupting comfort can be in these times.

As I muse, my nurse searches the room, trying to find what it was that let blood stain my chambers. That left skin across the ground, viscera in lieu of snow or frost. Weapons and cloaks in hastily dropped places. If yet I could tell her, oh how she may see this scene.

She speaks to herself, and though I understood the god prior I seem lost to hear her words. It must be a matter of divinity: How vexing. As I lay there thinking: she looks down at me once more, her smile bright and delightful as she brushes my head; I beam with pride though I know not why. Maybe she is praising my ability to fend off attackers? No; However much I wish to be praised for something like that it was nothing of my own that caused it.
As I mused, a sound alerted me to a new presence within the area. In fright I grip my wet nurse's hand, hoping that my fears can be alleviated simply by her warmth. The door opens with a clash, the sound reverberating around the room.

Four women in armor moved past my nurse and me, two slammed next to the window sill and the others took the far corners. The sound of shouting orders struck like hammers, "Close the windows, check the room!" With a slam, the shutters were closed and the room became plunged into a dreary gray as the night's light was shunned from the room. With a clatter my room was searched: the bed within lifted with ease; The closet was opened and quickly closed when no vagrant was seen. In barely a moment's notice, the room had become tossed and searched and settled. It made my head spin as the women tore the place apart before placing everything back.

One took the position of opening herself to assailants and the other armed to pounce upon whomever may hide within the room. Each woman had a grace to their movement, each touch calculated and ready. As the search wound down the two not searching took a place beside the door, standing at attention. I did not know why till a moment later.

As the women finished ripping apart my chamber I saw two figures leisurely walking in. Dressed in night gowns the two were clear in who they were: my parents. How do I know... I can't say. To speak of my parents, my father is far more elegantly dressed. If I were to say so myself. His gown is a black velvet-like gown with gold lining, a veil, and a blindfold that hangs high above his nose but covers his eyes. For mother, she wears a silver gown with black accented filigree and a black veil, she doesn't wear a blindfold which allows her violet-blue eyes to glow in the pale light of the moon.

To know these are whom I take after is breathtaking itself, but to see them upfront... I know not how to truly describe this feeling. I note, however, that I cannot see their souls as I did last. I had, when the god showed itself, seen other souls but it was yet faint. Now I can only see two souls, my own and my nurses. Strange...

I am again shaken from my stupor by a soft voice, "Your Highnesses, it is a pleasure that you'd entertain this lowly nurse with your presence." I pull my head back in shock, and a moment to realize what happened set in: I heard my nurse speak. Her words are as clear as if it was in English! I stare at her, her form clear to me as I try to wrap my mind around such revelations before it dawns on me what I've been seeing.

My vision lowers as now all I see is the ground, and then I hear the honeydew, the ambrosia of my mother's voice, "Janet," my new mother said, "raise your head. It is unbecoming of you to bow like this." As the words set I realized how I saw it all. Father, Mother, the women armed... All of it... From my nurse's vision. From how she sees the world. From my grip slips her hand, which I had held tight, and then... It is gone.

"~~~." I hear a voice like thunder and steel. my father, I suppose, is saying something I'm sure of it. Yet... I can't see him. Not any longer. I reach around, searching for my nurse's hand: Then I am picked up by a new person. As I adjust to the warmth I see once more across my bed, myself, and the room. And I see my mother's soul. It hangs over me like a great blanket, immense wings folding around as to hold me. Even my soul sticks close to such a thing. How delightful, a new warmth. A mother's warmth. It sinks deep into my bones and hugs tight my skin. How I long to stay in this embrace.

As I hug tight the warmth grows, the room heating from my mother's very words. "She is fine Andrew. I doubt it has come to that." I smile to myself; this power to understand an intoxicating one. "See," my new mother holds me up to my father, "She even smiled upon hearing us, I doubt the cold has diminished her mind."

From her vision, I see the man who is now my father grimace. He slowly brushes me away from his vision and towards Mother's chest. He pulls close to my new mother and speaks softly, as she holds me close. "I care not if it did or does not, she cannot be lost. Please, my love, worry more about her. Lest she meet my fate." As the man speaks he brushes my head, giving me quick flashes and glimpses of his sight, which hold an almost familiar touch with how I have come to see the world -Magic permeating all things- and I wonder how he must see me.

As I propose a theory, I look to his soul with mine. Though I cannot see through it, it grounds me in my strange sight. His soul is bright, like Mother's, a cold tarnished gold gathers across him in the brief moments I can see him. It pains me I cannot see more, as each time I must adjust to see him before it flickers away. I may throw my hands upon him if not for my mother's vice grip upon my swaddled body, not a movement seemed to escape her sight. Frightening.

As I turn my attention away from my warmth, to find my nurse within my mother's vision, I see her at my mother's side. She does not move, yet gives a warm smile as my body's head turns to her with a dull grin. Turning her vision, seeing through her periphery, stand guard the four women who now seem more like knights than simple armored assailants or guards. How do I surmise this one may ask? Well, two each hold either a buckler and baton or a short sword and aspis. Simple items, but looking at them each has their distinct filigree and pattern; Each with a unique style to them. However, I shall say, that all have a ghastly and gaunt deer skull incorporated into their designs; All have a figure of death as their helmet. One is a crow, one a vulture, another a hyena, and the fourth a wolf. The birds seem to be close to one another and hold complementary weapons of baton and buckler, and sword and aspis.

As I mull over the knights, I presume, I am placed back once more into the wretched hell that is my crib. I hope to burn this thing when I am old enough: My crib holds my greatest rage for now. I am now long from the conversation, laid to rest as I squeeze every ounce of energy to stay awake to hear the words. How I long to learn, to grow, to practice. How it must feel to speak! I giggle to myself, turning attention to me as the conversation stops. With a laugh, my mother brushes my cheek, "Oh ~~~, She's so ~~~. ~~~ She takes-." I hear my father speak, along with my mother. Both words spit and spackled together as I try to form their sentences: Each word a painting, every syllable my brush. As my mother stops brushing my face she turns away, but her voice is still clear. I try to call her again, using whatever baby noise I can make. However, the black closes in. My childish forms power so low that this much excitement has depleted my appetite for my gurgling. I sigh, as my eyelids feel heavy. Each moment the lids launch back up with the force of my will, but in retort, they drop heavier and heavier. Each moment a strain to keep open my senses. I may not need my eyes to see now, but to signal my mind to sleep is another matter. As I fight I feel reality slip away, and I find my time has come. Sleep, with his heavy hand, steals me away from my reunion so swiftly as if stead of track takes me... How... Vexing...

---

"Enjoying life, mortal?" I wake to a familiar voice, the voice of a god, the voice of [An Hagh]. The words stick like honey and hang in the air like a feather. I hear a laugh as I attempt to search for where it comes from. "Oh mortal, my peers gave you so much. Balance gifted on a platter it seems. Touching you, connecting you: Accepting your new status. Well, whatever they have done, it's time I check in on you. As you've seen, some souls don't fit with their bodies. Some outstretch who they are; others hide close. I am here to see that each blessing fills your soul AND your body. So then, your first seems to touch both well enough." I sigh its assessment is terrifying for the implications of other gods' blessings. To my fears, it caresses me with a sigh, and then it tells me, "Mortal, that blessing was light compared to what that boy had in mind. If you thought a god blessing you was to be easy, I fear you have lost sight of what being a god means."

I wish to protest but I hold my tongue, and for my efforts, I feel a grin before it continues, "We are good and bad. Vice and virtue, mortal if you thought us high and mighty because we do not hold evil I am sorry to say you are mistaken. A god is a god for ill or gain, but impartial one must be. Lo if we were anything but what point would keeping balance have? How sad a life for all a god to hold all power in a field and yet push its whim upon man. What whim might it even be? Is a god of fire to have fire burn more? To grow past its means? Certain it may, but then it would kill itself. If everything was to burn, then nothing burnable may be left. Nay, a god of fire that seeks to the nature of reigning in fires to great, or to empower fires to small in favor of balance is a true god of fire. To ensure a fire is of all time and all space, eternally there and watching." I muse on the words, clear it was that they are meant for me to ponder as silique is a forte of my own that takes me.

 As I contemplate the god chuckles, "Now then, mortal, to business. Let me see your soul. Let me touch your blessings and count the cracks." I feel myself wrenched from a solid place and held aloft like a doll. Lolling in the hands of a god my soul is inspected cleanly and evenly, the touch as a fine craftsman with delicate glass or ivory. How strange to be appraised for existing, even more by a god. Stranger still is how I feel this all, I feel my existence, my ego is different from my soul or even my body. My self that is connected to each feels each and yet somehow cannot connect to the soul as easily as the body, yet when held away from both I wish to be closer to the soul. Strange. Yet stranger is how I feel my presence, even as it cannot be felt. I feel a thing that has no form and no matter, that cannot feel, and think of the matter as if being looked over for flu.

As I hang to this idea I feel my soul cross back into place and I feel whole again. Another strange sensation is akin to eating a three-course meal and not feeling full. Or playing a game mid-way and not completing it ever. Then the return of my soul was as if completing those, as if I now, suddenly, and without cause felt full; Out of nowhere I remembered the game and finished it. As if everything that had not been was made right. As this feeling washes over me in a glow I hear again the words of the god of souls, "Nothing to straining yet, mortal, but I will give warning. Each blessing we gods give you shall ripe your humanity away. Following how these effects hold you, will detach you from this place, these people." As the words settle in the gravity of a god sets in. My visits with gods in my dreams have been simple, and even cordial, but it never touched me what might be lost from such encounters. It is bitter, the fruit of truth, yet I must eat it deeply to reach the sweet ambrosia of understanding and wisdom. I nod low as I let the taste simmer; I was careless.

 I sigh before the god speaks to me again, "Child of man, keep yourself well. In exchange for patience, you are blessed with the greatest gift of all, Experience and wisdom. Seek every nook of history and learn every chapter of time. When you are at your worst days let it guide you to victory and safety. Now then, mortal, it is time you rest. Sleep well, my child." As the words touch me I feel the weight of them crush me. My head crashes down as my mind fills with a fog. Each cling close to my mind to wipe any sense of this dream. Soon, a new dawn shall arrive and I must seek it head on.