I claim no ownership over the Shamanic Princess characters.
Chapter 2 – The Reeds
"Just remember, you'll do fine. Concentrate on a life force, and don't let yourself be distracted."
"I know you can do it, sweetie."
"We'll be waiting for you out here when you finish. I can't wait to meet him. Or her."
I can't help it. I have to reward their enthusiasm with a smile. "Thank you. I'll remember." I turn, and walk silently through the tall doors behind which is the arena where my test shall take place. I am dressed in the traditional white robe of purity, the hood resting gently on my head. A few wisps of lightly orange curls twist around my face and peek out from underneath the cloth. I try to tuck them back in, but am ignored. I give up. My hair has a mind of its own. Like my mother, I have long since resigned from taming it.
The doors closing behind me sound foreboding. I cannot decide why.
As I approach the lit circle, they appear around me, the ones who shall determine if I qualify or not. One is red, another yellow, the third green. I cannot see their faces, hidden behind matching colored masks.
"Begin," a voice commands. I think it is the red one who spoke. In any case, this is not something for me to think about.
Only the task at hand.
The butterflies beat their wings in my belly, somehow scrambling the thoughts in my head. I concentrate, searching the miasmic pool of infinity for a life to call to. Moments pass, and I grow agitated. Sifting through so much life, searching for the "right" one to call on, and yet none of them stir my interest or attention. I feel the beginnings of panic at this thought. What if nothing ever comes? No, I won't let that happen… Despite how nervous I am, I really do want a partner. Badly. I want to bring him into this world and show him everything. I want to fight demons and capture rouge entities with him, like Mother does with Japolo. Like she did with…
And my train of though stops abruptly, resting once again on that lonely figure in the corner of Mother's past. I am told that he, and many others, found him hideous. I long to see him for myself, to know if it is true. Haven't I always been taught that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder? Mother was a beholder. Did she see him as ugly?
I feel my throat tighten in sorrow. How must it have felt, to be torn from your own world and thrown into another. Wearing a completely different skin, no less. One that is not of your choosing, and deformed. The pain and horror Mother described seeing on his face… I don't want to see my partner appear that way.
A tear slips down my cheek. I am afraid. I want a partner, but I suddenly wonder if it is my right to have one. What if I am horrible to him? What if I am unsatisfied with my work, my creation, and make him feel like he is less than worthy of my attentions?
More tears.
I am afraid.
Afraid of the responsibility I take upon me. Afraid of failure, in so many ways.
I feel alone, lost in the dark.
Help me! I scream into the infinite blackness.
And he answers.
