Author's Note: Hello there! :) This is my first story. It's kind of going on in my head for quite some time now and I decided to try it out. Please be kind and take time to read it. I would very much appreciate your comments, both on my writing style and on the story itself. I would like to improve my writing to be able to give off more of my ideas. Thanks guys and hopefully, enjoy! :)
Summary: A story of a forbidden romance. When one is cursed of the same destiny over and over again, all he could do is to go through it. With a life written in the stars, and with the thread of foreboding closely knit around them, all they could do is wish for their lives to end-together.
Prologue
He took me in quite fully. His dark eyes roamed me, I was aware of them. Then he looked straight into my eyes and I quickly looked down. There was a force I couldn't fathom that forced me to find something interesting in between my feet. He proceeded to the next girl beside me and scrutinized her as well. A bald man followed closely behind him.
"How many?" I involuntarily shuddered. His voice was sleek and has a rough undertone. The man behind him fidgeted and pulled out a piece of scroll paper from his feathered hat. "Four of them, Your Highness."
He nodded was off before anything.
We heard a yell and a gruff order of "Get moving!". The shackles around my wrists were pulled quite fiercely and I could only do much to keep from falling down. The chains rattled wildly that the sound of them seemed to resonate all over the place. We were harshly pulled via an interlinked chain which bolts on the shackles on our wrists.
So this is how a slave feels like. Never in my wildest nightmares did I consider being one. We don't even have the kingdom interfering with our little village because of it's remoteness.
Lachrymosa
There was this old story—a myth—as people in the village would sometimes refer to it. It was told to us as early as we can comprehend and has been the ultimate fairy tale of the people around here. Anyone living here would know the story by heart and can retell it with full detail. It was a recurring part of the most anticipated campfire sessions every second month of harvest.
Our elder maidens claim that our origin can be traced from the story itself and was as authentic as life, they would always say. They would also teach the story during study sessions a though it was part of a curriculum, which they insist it is. It would seem repetitive for a non-villager but it was considered basic knowledge and appreciation of our culture. The village's existence seemed to revolve around a myth as insignificant as a children's tale.
It tells the story of two lovers of eternally different race who were damned because of their forbidden love. Quite a cliché? But it's this kind of story that's keeping the fire alive in the village's limited literature. It seemed as though the story was feeding fuel in the village's fire. When we were young, the story was watered down, bits and pieces of the tragedy excluded to appeal to our younger minds.
It tells of a forbidden romance between a demon and a mortal.
Not really a suitable story for children.
And to add to the mortification of this story, the elder maidens claim that every handful of years, the lovers were reincarnated and would find their way back into each other's arms, different names and different lives but always the same faces and the same story.