A/N: Hiya, everyone! I'm back with a little something new I'd like to try here. I started working on this while tweaking 'Lost at Sea' and I found myself liking it. This isn't the sequel to aforementioned story, but I will be finishing that one. In the meantime, please read and tell me if you like the angle of this... thing...
AN IMPORTANT REMINDER: The Cynthia in this story is an OC, and NOT the Cynthia in the anime/games!
~A Day Without Sun~
"Do you remember, brother? Can you even imagine what it used to be like… People and Pokémon alike, living free from the terror of death? Sleeping soundly in their beds without wondering if they'll wake up tomorrow…"
"…Are you even my brother anymore, Matthew? Or are you just a monster?" Quivering, the woman set the faded picture down and wiped her face clean. Her puffy eyes turned towards the window, watching as the orange clouds passed her by without so much as a care.
It was funny how things worked in her world… She had a blessed little childhood in a village no one around here even knew the name of. She had a loving father and a fretful mother, who sat by her side and told her stories about her people, her legacy as she drifted to sleep each and every night. And she had two little brothers who loved her to death.
Now, though… She lived in a cramped stone tower where the sun seldom shined. Nothing she said mattered anymore; her voice was often silenced as soon as it came. But worst of all, she had a front row seat to the most horrendous carnage she had ever seen in her life.
…And her brothers were the ones responsible.
"Cynthia," The sound of the metal ring on the door hitting the wall caught her attention, and she turned to see a chiseled man standing in the doorway.
Jonathan. Jonathan Gates, to be precise. Her youngest brother, and Matthew's personal assistant for that matter. Jonathan grew up a quiet child, following his brother's lead as early as ten years old without so much as a peep. She always assumed him a gullible person, but… truth be told… she never gave it much thought. Maybe Jonathan liked hurting others.
"It's time." Jonathan grumbled, beckoning to her with an outstretched palm.
"Alright. Give me a moment." She conceded, folding her secret picture behind her back and stuffing it into a crevice in the wall. Sighing, she brushed herself off and walked over to him, taking a moment to stare into those dead, brown eyes.
For a moment it looked like he was angry, but that cool indifference of his just took over and washed everything away. The man raised an eyebrow, wondering why the woman chose now of all times to engage in a staring contest. But he wasn't about to waste his time idling on wasteful thoughts like that. "Get a move on, sister. You know Matthew hates tardiness."
Cynthia walked ahead of him, listening for the door to shut behind her like it usually did. Strangely enough, however, that noise never came. Odd, She mused, What's taking him? But she didn't have time to think, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of her other brother, the manipulator, the liar, Matthew Gates.
Cold. There was no other word to describe Matthew. He grew up like her, a member of a long-abused tribe that had been bullied around by Redaen for decades. Unlike her, though, he held a grudge against that country. He hated its king, he hated its military, but most of all, he hated its tolerance of Pokémon. So when the opportunity presented itself, he staged a coup on his own people.
Now Matthew was a de facto ruler, and to say he ruled with an iron fist was a grave understatement. Every man, woman, and child became a soldier. Every priest chanted his verses, every politician sang his praises, and the tribe Cynthia used to know became The Brotherhood of The Blood.
"Sister," He began, stroking his rugged chin with a gloved finger. "I've noticed you're looking awfully pale as of late. You don't happen to be ill, do you?"
Cynthia was hardly paying attention. She knew her words meant nothing to that man, and instead she distracted herself by staring down his guest in the corner. "…What's Jeremy doing back so early?" She murmured.
Caine turned to Matthew, and Matthew to Caine. "Brother Caine has returned from his mission." Came the reply.
Now he was just sidetracking. Just one look at the self-proclaimed 'Huntsman' told her he had either lost a fight… or put up a hell of a savage one. But had he actually lost? Please say he did… She hoped. Cynthia knew what that man did for a living, and she'd be damned if she said he didn't take pleasure in it.
Despicable… She sneered, eyeing that little smirk on his mouth. Must know I'm looking at him. Cynthia remembered being ordered to attend one of 'Brother' Jeremy's hunts before… And the time he took in ending that Ampharos… well… that told her everything she needed to know about the sadist in the chair across from her.
"Cynthia!" Matthew snapped his fingers, garnering her attention… if only for a moment. "You'll be attending the speech tomorrow night. Be sure to clean yourself off; I don't want you giving my men a bad impression." He waved her off, signaling for Jonathan to escort her back upstairs.
"Come on, Jonathan!" She begged, reaching the top of the stairs. "One more hour outside of that damn room!" Her best attempt at begging only earned a snort from her younger brother.
"I don't think so." He sneered, shoving her face-first into the room. "The last thing we need is for you to open your mouth and start spreading rumors again."
"'Rumors'?" Cynthia shot back. "Well at least telling lies is better than believing them!"
That worked. Jonathan almost lost it, marching over to the woman and staring her down. Something told her he wouldn't even hesitate… but something was holding him back. "You should watch your tongue, 'sister', or you'll end up like the animals you want to protect so badly." He spat.
"They're not animals!" She drew back, but only to make sure her slap would land straight across his cheek. Hearing that satisfying sound of flesh hitting flesh… heh, it almost made her day.
Jonathan scowled, rubbing his new injury. With a disgusted snort, he swiveled around and made for the door. "…Don't give me a reason to kill you, you disgrace of a sister. I might just enjoy it." The door slammed shut and with a 'clunk' was locked tight.
Running her hands through her long, blonde hair, Cynthia sighed and threw herself into the chair facing the only window. Today had been a long damn day… and tomorrow would probably be the same. Hell, the only thing that kept her going anymore was her books. That and the few times she was allowed to talk to the prisoners.
"Honestly…" She groaned, watching the soldiers below her scramble to salute their leader. "I'll never understand why people like being pushed around…" Cynthia waved the thought off, not wanting to bother with reality anymore. "I'll take my daily dose of fantasy, please." A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she pulled a book from underneath a loose brick.
"Ah… Kalosian literature…" A stupid thought breezed through her mind, earning another laugh. "Written by possessed devil women who think they're men if Matthew's to be believed!" She shook her head and ran her hand across the cover, sending particles of dust scattering into the golden rays of the sun.
The words were faded with wear, but they were unmistakable: "A Day Without Sun". By far her favorite book as of late, each and every page being dog-eared, and almost every word circled with some sort of pencil. What was it about, exactly? Oh, right.
Destruction. Angst. Those types of things.
Truth be told, she didn't see herself as one of… 'those people'. But her brothers always put her in a miserable mood. And sometimes… the best cure for that was reading about villages being razed and people being ripped to shreds! Eh, to each her own, right?
The plot was simple, really. One might even say ironic, given her own situation. People did wrong, and these very same people were punished. A sure sign of its age, no doubt, but an entertaining premise nonetheless. Why? Because punishment came from the flaming mouth of a winged harbinger of destruction. And deep down inside, Cynthia had all the cravings of a prepubescent child, much like her brothers.
Except she had the courage to admit that fact. She rolled her eyes.
Not that it mattered, though. Jonathan and Matthew could waste their time spewing hatred and sewing paranoia… she'd be in another world, secretly wishing it was them running from a column of fire. Hell, maybe one day she'd be lucky enough to see that…
But it wasn't the mediocre writing of some shriveled old man that captivated her so thoroughly with the book, oh no. She didn't live for the cheap morals it so boldly flaunted, either. If there was one thing she admired in those yellowed pages, it was that simple concept she couldn't quite seem to wrap her head around: retribution. The very idea that everyone would have to face some sort of consequence for everything they did wrong… Hah, pure fantasy! Maybe on paper it'd be right, but… where the hell was hers?
So she read. So much so she never noticed the sun go down. She never noticed the troops disappear from the courtyard, or the darkness creeping through the window. Pfft, she hardly realized she was falling asleep! And, boy… what a night it'd be for her…