A/N: I don't really know what to think of this. Interpret as you may.
Summary: Things were never really the same again. 'Change' was merely an understatement. Declared heretics by the Church, they are homeless. The Pope has subjected them to persecution, using them as a scapegoat for the sins and mistakes of many. It is a joke to say the worst is over after the war is won. My friend, the landscape of the mind is the most dangerous battleground.
&&--
"Get out! Heretics, sinners, liars…that is what you are!"
These words were burned into their memories, the flashing scenes flickering behind the veil of their lifeless eyes. Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridors, those empty corridors that screamed of loneliness. All curtains were taken down, all furniture removed. All of the books were taken, the comprehensive library burned to nothing more than mangled ashes. Those empty voices rang through their deaf ears, reminding them of the past series of unfortunate events.
"They have betrayed us! Are you fools blind?!"
They would never heal of these lashes in their minds, for it was like a cat of nine tails slashed over their bare hide. Those salty tears streamed down her bandaged face, once so beautiful, so fine. A strong hand was what brought her comfort, as one gripped her fingers tightly, the other to reach up and wipe the hot tears away. All she needed was a little faith to get her through; all she needed was a little reassurance. None was in sight for miles, like lost in the middle of the desert. Walking through the shadow of death they were, though fearing they were not, but stricken by sadness and confusion they were. Her beautiful locks were draped over her shoulders, a dark lace veil hiding face from the world.
"Be out of our sight, you vermin!"
Occasionally, his eyes drifted from the ground to her bandaged face. Once so beautiful, now so broken, but her strong soul remained unchanged. He gave a reassuring smile, though forced upon his face; it brought everyone a little bit of hope, even he himself. Her fingers were laced through his, shaking and stiff. What went through his mind, he no longer knew. Were these thoughts even his? He did not understand, he did not know. He simply tried to shut out the world, letting only those he trusted into that imaginary Wonderland of his. Trust was a flimsy little being, like a child first learning to walk. After the fall, it may never get up again until courage was gained. Courage was at a ration now, no longer able to be fed off of like a buffet. He ran off of a small light that lived somewhere in his dark heart. His eyes were once again that dreary, cloudy gray instead of that beautiful silver full of life and lingering hope.
"Burn it, burn it all! Leave no trace behind!"
Writing was like a completely new concept to him now. His hands were wrapped in bandages, his fingers twisted in cripples. He had broken them him self, lost in his confusion and anger. The pain was long gone, but it was the mental pain that lingered in his mind. His keen ears picked up each and every step on the cobbled floor that would soon be no more, his well trained eye memorized every crack in those beautifully crafted stone walls, and his nostrils would forever remember the musty smell of the library he so loved. The smell of a freshly printed book, the sight of those words painted over the paper was like music to his ears. But now it was all gone up in flames. Flames had devoured his life, his ambition, his being. For months, he had not picked up a pen. For years, he would probably never open his journal. For decades, he would never want to remember these records so keenly filed in his brain.
"I give you five days to get out of this town! No, this country!"
So young to endure such persecution…They had been sentenced to prison, to death, but inside sources had saved the young warriors from such circumstances. They had been saved by one giving himself up for them. One had lost their only relative, two had lost a supervisor that was like a father, and tens of people had lost someone who they looked up to and respected as a brother and co-worker, but most of all, a treasured friend. Sometimes, they mourned. Sometimes, they laughed at fond memories. Yet all of the time…a tiny fire in their hearts urged them to go on living.