Aeneid, Book IV
Author's Note: I was told never to apologize for my writing, but I feel a need to in this case. I am not a fan of short chapters, but this is the prologue and I knew no better way to begin the story. I apologize for the length. I also apologize if this is very confusing. The story divided up much better and without so many lines on Microsoft Word. I was going for a particular effect and I hope it worked. Feedback is much appreciated. Enjoy!
The sun was barely rising over the islands, bathing the stone temple in eerie red light. Screams and panicked shouts filled the halls, echoing off the gilded gold. A torrent of priests, priestesses, acolytes, and worshippers ran through the halls in desperate, frenzied attempts at escape, turning the temple in to an anthill that had been kicked by a malicious child. Leather-clad, steel-brandishing warriors stormed the temple, spattering the walls with blood. A trail of stomach-turning crimson followed in their wake.
A young woman was among those fleeing for her life. Her hair clung to her face from cold sweat, and her dress was torn from running, stained at the bottom with blood. She did not want to think to whom the blood belonged. Terror gripped her, seized her heart in its cold hand, and chased at her heels. Clangs of steel followed at her back, but so long as they was only at her back there was a chance of freedom ahead.
Glaring red lights and whirring sirens grew harsher as she opened her eyes from what she guessed was some sort of sleep. Her breathing was all she was aware of, at first. Slow and steady. Labored. Then came memory, and with memory came panic. Flashes bombarded her mind. Bright lights and blaring horns. The screeching of tires. Jarring impact. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but fear had settled heavily over her heart.
Panic set in and she desperately tried to move her body. Fingers wiggled and brought on pain. One arm moved, the other sat stone-like and heavy with pain. She could only feel a few toes. With every new movement came a new pain, and with every new pain came a renewal of panic. Short, choppy breaths.
It was dark, too dark to see her surroundings despite the red now streaking the sky. Or maybe it was her eyes that were growing dark.
She had been one of the first to spot the intruders, awakening to an unpleasant cold chill and the sight of one of her fellow acolytes struck down by a blade. Her eyes widened at the warm blood spilling from the girl's chest, a girl she knew. And the man standing there. The sun had not even begun to rise and so it was impossible to see his face. He laughed.
Those brief moments told her to flee. Out of her tiny room and through the acolytes' quarters. Doors splintered and hangings torn from doorways. Arms sticking out of doorways, legs jarred unnaturally. Thick red liquid oozing out from every crevice. Her heartbeat rose in her ears and drowned out everything except the screams. She had no idea if the man was following her.
She tried hard to think of something comforting. Dim images floated in and out of her field of vision. A light here, a face there. A red spattering now and again. Something familiar, something comforting. Somewhere lights were flashing.
The sound of sirens grew louder, loud to the point that they hurt her ears and made her head pound. Then the sound was gone, and all she could hear was her own heartbeat. Erratic and panicky. She was alone. She would die alone.
Out of the acolytes' quarters. To the main hall.
The sound of footsteps pounded louder than her heart. There was a place to hide, if she could only reach it. She frantically tried to turn a corner, but she tripped and something wet splashed her lower legs. Her mind beat at her. Rise. Run.
Flashes. Memories. Pain. Faces floated in her field of vision. She knew this one, did not recognize that one. Something was beeping. She was so tired.
To the altars. To the goddess.
She froze. In the doorway to the main hall, the altars of Athena stretching before her. A man stood before the altars. One hand held a person, the other a bloodied sword. The person crumpled to a heap at his feet. The sword dripped blood.
Her eyes opened to pain, to movement. There were people around her. That couldn't be her blood.
He turned. She tried to run but his eyes held her fixed. Bright with fire and red from the slaughter. Beneath his plumed helm shown golden hair. Blood had marred his face.
She knew that face, that cruelty. She tried to run. He twisted his hand in her dark hair and it quickly became matter with blood. Men crowded into the hall. She could hear the dying screams of those around her. They were mixed with equally horrible sounds of laughter. There would be no escape now.
These men – these monsters – laughed at her in mockery, in spite.
He threw her to the altar.
Her back hit something hard.
Tears ran unchecked down her face. Her mentor's broken body sprawled before her, the altar hard beneath her. The steel cold against her throat, as cold as the eyes of the man who raped her.
Fingers replaced steel. Her own cries sounded foreign to her ears. Fingers tightened. She could only gasp for air now. She grabbed at hand, knowing that she was too weak.
The mask was firmly in place. Faces swam around her field of vision. This one a man, that one a woman. Soon they all ran together. Something was hard under her, hard and cold.
Breathing was hard; her chest hurt. Something covered her face. Panic seized her and she tried to tear away at what kept her from breathing. Cool air blew on her nose and mouth.
Soft voices murmured to her, too far away to hear. Deep breaths.
With a final breath, she called out to the goddess Athena, Goddess of Justice. A prayer of hope. A curse of justice.
Panic left. Her eyes grew tired and her body grew heavy. She fell against the altar and stared at the statue of the goddess. A bright light shown against her eyes. Sleep welcomed her.
She stopped struggling against the table. Her eyes grew tired and her body grew heavy. A bright light shown against her eyes. Sleep welcomed her.