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Hers is a soul branded with velvet, a shimmering baited lure. Hers is the shiver and pull of your groin as images of what you should not have done play against ecstasy lowered eyelids.  She is a fragment of the oldest part of the universe pervasive and elusive as the smell of lust. When she reaches from the void with obsidian tipped talons you will forget that this was not what you wanted.

She, once a goddess was transformed by accident, we intended to punish not remake. We should have known better and now there is only one way to stop the destruction she brings, we must give her back what we took.

She was once loved and a lover, known and knowing to Aranan, despite Damanton having forbidden their union. She and Aranan filled with the righteous anger of children wronged, dared to flout Damanton’s  judgment, passion fueling defiance and were ripped apart for their arrogance. Aranan, banished deep into the Gloom Realms, she forced to continue her duties as a pariah, left to survive off of the thin fear of mortals.

It wasn’t the plotting, or the guerrilla attacks that forced our hands. Damanton used them as both training and culling for humans and gods alike. Hers was the only crime forbidden to us all. She and Dylan had been battling in the sea that he ruled with his loved and known, Hassaveen, for days. Dylan tired of the exercise tapped deep into his power and when loosed her legions were blown back but they did not die and when their glamour dropped he saw in the heart of each a tiny golden fish and knew Hassaveen shattered and scattered among these newly immortal abominations.

He did not think, or wonder how this was done screaming his grief and rage, he slammed it to the ocean floor splitting it. The legions, his and hers alike were vaporized by the deadly combination of magma meeting ocean. Finally, when only he and she remained he strode towards her and she was truly afraid. He grabbed her, arching her back, forcing her chest high, working his hand through her skin, breaking ribs and sternum, crushing lungs and spleen until he was buried to the forearm in her chest and said, “I curse all of your kind to true darkness, to never know or feel the brush of love. Not parents to children, lover to lover, animal to man. Cursed to spend lifetimes searching only to forget and then to remember long enough to want again.”

When he pulled his hand from her chest, in his fingers was a throbbing orb that she reached for with chilling fingers.

“Do you tremble little terrible one? You who think that death, slaughter and strife are the worst the universe can offer? Good. Be afraid. Watch while you become nothing,” he said cramming her soul in his mouth, consuming it. She grasped in that moment for memories of Aranan but they were gone and she was empty and new, she was now Dras Rienne made.

“I will take back from you what you have stolen. Mark my words,” said the Dras Rienne.

“That’s going to be difficult,” Dylan replied as he stabbed himself through head, chest and groin. Gods cannot die but we can shatter and so Dylan did, into three pieces that flew taking with them a piece of her soul.

But this wasn’t punishment enough for Damanton and he summoned us to The Mountain of Seven Pillars each with orders of our own. Aranan emerged first with the Dras Rienne unconscious in his arms and laid her on the ground. A crack broke the air as the others stepped forth.

“How did you subdue her?” asked Irlan, one of the makers of this world.
“Poison made from each of our realms, bound with our blood, delivered through love,” replied Aranan.
“We, who made this world,” intoned Irlan.

From the ground rose crystals that shifted clicking into place around the Dras Rienne encasing her completely. Irlan then laid his hand on the coffin burning and sealing it with his mark, his linuek. We all followed suit.

“Below as above, eir ran dras,” said Drasbaine.
“Of the land, eir ran thea,” said Mennubios.
“Of the sea, eir ran myr,” said Dylan.
“Above as below, eir ran ras,” said Raislaine
“Foressteri know you and keep you,” said Adeline.
“Neither dead or alive, nee adyse las irla” said Aranan with a dry sob.
“For the rest of time,” we said together.

With a flick of Irlan’s hand the coffin sank. As we each left through the pillars they burst apart leaving nothing but the suns light glinting off a field of requiem flowers, the only evidence of a gods love.

Inside the prison, the Dras Rienne reached for the linuek’s left by those who bound her and recited their names, a prayer of revenge. Her mind tore, repaired, bent and broke, shattering and reassembling over and over. She plotted, holding fast to her only anchor, the pulsing of her own imperfect linuek that she managed to hastily carve while the others were sealing her in. Her linuek that filled a little more each time an ice queen died, their spirits and power trapped in the coffin with her. Thus the Dras Rienne remained alone and buried for twenty lifetimes, until the last of the ice queens died and then the coffin rose to the surface, and with a click opened setting her free.

I knew there would be a reckoning for that day on the Mountain of Seven Pillars. That through our fear and anger we created a stronger, wilder being, one we could never hope to control. She will come for me first, and though it may not be dignified or worthy of a god, I will be glad to see my beloved’s face once more, even if it is in death, even if the creature that wears it isn’t her anymore at all.

***

The wonderful folks at Write on Edge gave us the following prompt:

“It takes two to make an accident.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

The details:

  • 1000 word limit, all genres of creative writing are welcome.
  • linky is open until Friday, February 21, at 11:55pm Pacific
  • Use the F. Scott Fitzgerald quote above as an opening/closing line or draw inspiration from it, your choice.
  • Community voting opens 2/22 and closes 2/28 at 11:55pm Pacific.
  • Community and editorial choice winners will be announced on Write on Edgeand Bannerwing Books on Monday, March 3, 2014.
  • All entries must be original work, only published on your personal blog/website, and by entering you give Write on Edge and Bannerwing Books permission to reprint your entry in Precipice, Volume III‘s print and digital formats, as well as permission to edit for grammatical, spelling, and typographical errors.
  • Have fun!
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