Nivaleth's Cathedral

TWO: WHEN YOU CANNOT STAND

Mirian's room was bleak. Charmless. Inhospitable. Hope-destroying. Anything except the happy, bright place it was supposed to be. She'd stared up at the ceiling long enough to hate every single piece of straw that made up the poorly constructed hut.

The door was another offender. It wasn't really a door. No, it was just a mat that once covered the castle ceilings--actual ceilings, not straw covered holey burlap--to prevent drafts. The mat wasn't even that pretty. It was stained with bits of blood and had leafs clinging to the bottom.

Third on her hate list were the walls. They smelled of alcohol and parts of the walls had been constructed by empty beer crates. The tavern had never been fun for her to visit before and it only got worse the longer she stayed inside of it.

Her bed wasn't even real. It wasn't a pat of straw or a comforting bag of cotton. Instead, it was a thick tree stump turned over on its side and covered with two wool blankets that scratched against her. The pillow was nice, but even it failed, as the straw had come out of the end and left cuts on her cheeks as she slept.

She'd been awake for at least a day and Mirian couldn't stand it. No one came in except to feed her or work magic on her. Bostrim was busy, Leunk was busy, Rorro and Aritemes was busy...hell, even Luistia--granted Mirian didn't want to talk to her anyways--was busy. Everyone had things to do. They had healed. It was only she who couldn't walk, who couldn't move, who couldn't do anything.

Worse of all, there wasn't a single book anywhere in the place.

"I'm going to die in here," she stated.

The room didn't care, which only served to further her anger. Her unjust. This isn't fair! She was thirteen, soon to be fourteen, and there was a good chance she'd never get to do anything ever again. I'm gonna rot off and my gang will fail and Gardelle is ruined and I'll never be a real wizard...

Her thoughts kept going on in ways her mouth could never go. They took her into a path of despair and sadness and, if she was quite honest, Mirian enjoyed that feeling. Pitiful, but a sense of urgency, like she had to think it to make herself happy again later. She couldn't help but keep thinking and thinking and thinking until there wasn't anything left besides those thoughts to make her up. It ate away at her body, her soul, her mind...it took over everything, if only for a hour.

       I'm Mirianette and I'm broken beyond repair, she thought. It felt so pretty, those words. The beginning to a story in a library. Something inspirational. I'm Mirianette...and I cannot move my body. I'm Mirianette and...and...Am I even Mirianette? God, who am I? Was I ever myself? Somewhere in the midst of her thoughts she'd begun to tap her fingers against one another. It was soothing and kept her on the train of thought that chugged itself about. I'm...I'm rude, I don't like people, I hold grudges, I can do magic—God! I can do magic. I can make fire and they say I hold more magic than most. I've got something special in me.

    Just like that, the ugly thoughts shifted back into something neater, kinder. As she continued to think, her face scrunching up at times, Mirian forgot about her surroundings. She didn't care when the door opened and the guy said hello. She didn't care when they came forward and asked her thoughts. She knew they were there. That couldn't be denied. Still, Mirian didn't care to pay attention enough to see who it was.

"Mirian?"

"Hm?"

"You're magic, Mirian. You otta try a bit harder," he said. With a sigh, he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. His finger nails scraped at the skin there and her gaze followed those fingers without her thinking about it. "Sometimes I wonder if ya're really there or not. Gaze stiff. Speak weird. Can't ya just focus and speak for a minute or hour before passing into the deep beyond?"