The Pixl Queen
A Tragedy
Sun had set on the bleak hills of Mount Noir. Here, in this land, light was fleeting. Aptly named, Mount Noir was shrouded in darkness, obscured from the other lands by a thick veil of fog. Only two subdivisions existed around Mount Noir, a small town where a few dreary residents lived out their days, and a tremendous castle that lay at the foot of the mountain. It was called Castle Bleck.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? For before Bleck, was Blumiere. This is his story, as it is the story of many others entangled in his tale of woe.
We begin in a village, a fair and radiant town, home to the ancients of the universe. An elite race of shamans, known for their clairvoyant nature and mystical ways dwelled here. Among them, a woman named Merlumina, and her two children.
Merlumina possessed an effortless beauty. The kind that wasn't made up of glamour and glitz, but the kind that was earned. Her beauty was rustic, woven by the dedication of her trade. As a young woman, Merlumina had studied astrology and religion, devoting herself to the divine arts. She became a cultured woman, imbued with a fond appreciation for history. It was this appreciation that built her mind into one of the foremost vessels of thought among the ancients. Her brain and her beauty soon won her a husband, named Merloo.
Together, they delved into ancient ruins, seeking the treasures of old. They were absolutely blissful, devoted to one another in a way that made all the others smile. Another duo, much older, called Merlight and Merlimbis, taught the radiant couple all they knew. Merlight led the ancients in that time, the wisest of them all. His wife, Merlimbis, could see farther into the future than any shaman could before.
These four held the power of time in their hands. The best among the ancients of old, they were privy to the secrets kept by an opposing tribe of much darker shaman than they. Corrupted by an insatiable greed for divine knowledge, these ancients melted into a tribe of darkness. Their offspring were made of the darkness that infected their hearts, and soon, they were no more men than monsters.
In a fit of rage and revenge, one of the dark ancients penned a black volume of misery. Its pages told of a prophecy that would swallow all worlds. Dedicated to fulfilling this prophecy, the members of the tribe soon found themselves worshipping the coming cataclysm. To combat the approaching end, the four ancients penned the Light Prognosticus, the counterpart of the Dark Prognosticus written by the tribe. In all the chaos of light and dark, Merlumina bore a child.
More than one, specifically, she had twins. A boy and a girl. We're more concerned with her children than she, and as they grew, her children became fair and strong. For now, we must pay close attention to her daughter, but the son will become very important in a short matter of time.
One day, in her youthful pride, the daughter walked along the ridge that divided the tribe of ancients, and the tribe of darkness. In a white sundress, she carefully tread the line of danger. She had always been inquisitive, always searching for thrills and excitement. However, on this day, she got more than she bargained for.
Her feet slipped, and she tumbled down the ravine, crying out in pain and anguish. Her dress tore along the many brambles, thorns digging into her skin and drawing droplets of crimson blood, staining her gossamer gown. With a cry and a shriek, she rolled to a stop. Hot tears streamed down her face in a salty flow. She was in much pain, but her pride prevented her from seeming weak.
But someone was nearby. Having gone for a walk himself, a young boy, her age, rushed to her side in alarm.
"Are you alright?" He asked in short, panicked breaths. The girl before him looked wounded, she had just fallen from the top of the gorge. Her dress was tattered, blood and tears staining her.
"I'm fine!" She said in a sharp voice, rising and dusting herself off. She tried to take a step forward, but her knees wobbled.
"No, you're not," he said, his face a dark glow in the morning sun. Shielding her eyes from the sunbeams, the girl looked into his face.
"What's your name?" She asked.
The boy looked stricken.
"Y-you're not afraid of me?" He asked.
"Why would I be afraid of you?" She replied, a quizzical look on her face. "You do not scare me."
"I scare most everyone," he gulped, "We all do."
"You're one of them, aren't you?" She said, able to phrase the statement without making it sound derogatory, "You're a member of the tribe of darkness."
"And you are an ancient," the boy traded observations, "A fair one at that."
"What I need is some help, not flattery," she laughed, a beautiful smile arcing the corners of her mouth. It was captivating.
"Come on then," he held out a hand, which she readily took.
As they walked, he spoke.
"Blumiere," he said.
"Excuse me?" The girl seemed confused.
"You asked my name," he reminded her, "Blumiere."
It was a handsome name. In the rays of the noon sun, he looked rather handsome himself. His dark blue hair, a wavy ocean across his eyes, dangling down in an unkempt manner. He looked free.
"Aren't you going to tell me yours?" He asked.
She did. She told him all about herself on the walk back to his village.
And her name was Timpani.
