Part Two: Chapter One
Death as We See It
The endless noises, echoing through out the mind and getting stuck as the ultimate pattern.
Clip, clomp, clip, clomp.
Ever changing, ever different, ever distinct.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Different to every individual, easy to identify once learned.
Clip, clop, clip.
Suddenly ending, no more resounding noises echoing through out. Fingers tap against the stone, repeating the patterns of clip, clop, clip, clop.
"He resides here?"
"Yes. Has for a few years now."
"I understand not why he was not executed the minute he was tried."
"Queen's orders."
"The Queen has odd orders."
Ears prick toward the sound of voices, both as familiar as the footsteps. Fingers continue to tap against the stone with clip, clop, clip, clop.
"We can't even say his name?"
"The Queen fears that knowing his name and identity would make him remember his skills."
"She is afraid he'd escape? I think it's just an excuse to torture him more."
"Death would be better for him, I agree. Is today the day?"
"Yes. Alas, so close to the Princess's fifteenth birthday!"
"The execution of a criminal will do well for the town's ease."
Clip, clop, clip, clop go the fingers against the stone. Ears continue to listen, messed-up mind continues to process the words. The Princess's fifteenth birthday? It had been years then. Not that the mind would remember, anyway; that part of the mind had taken a particularly bad hit.
"Well, no bother. As long as it's finally done, right?"
"I suppose so."
"Don't look so disappointed. At least we can stop this boring patrol. And I can't wait for the play on the Princess's birthday! It's supposed to be another of Lord Avon's."
"Really? How wonderful!"
The noises resume, and the voices grow faint. The fingers no longer need to produce their own noises. Ears twitch, then become still, and finally blue eyes are lifted.
Who am I? I cannot say. They will not tell me. I just know that I've been in prison for quite a few years now, for supposedly threatening the Queen of Alexandria. I cannot defend myself, for I remember none of it. I don't even remember my identity, let alone whether I attacked anyone or not. Lord Avon, the Princess, Brahne, Beatrix... They all mean nothing, and no name strikes a bell within my damaged mind. There's nothing, it's all empty. I can communicate, I can walk and do things needed for daily survival. But I cannot remember a thing of any past life I may have lived.
Clomp, clomp, clomp...
It was probably about an hour before the time of the death when a new foot pattern came to my sensitive ears. It was soft, and in writing I would never be able to describe it in two words in repetition. It was most likely a swish, clish type of sound, but even that sounds silly, so I give up on the explanations of it all. But it was different, and I knew not what to think of it, so I simply sat on the floor, ears twitching as my blue eyes stared at the cold stone floor.
The lock on the stone door trapping me in my prison shifted. Something within the stone door clicked, and suddenly it swung open with strange, unexpected silence. The only thing that informed me of the door's opening was the wash of air that came from its swinging open. Other than that, the door kept a silent stature, moving with little reluctance to reveal a prisoner of two years.
I looked toward the door, to see who was there. I expected to see a guard of some sort, but I didn't see a guard at all. Or, so I felt she could not possibly be a guard. Teenaged girls are normally not guards, particularly this teenager. For I saw a teenager, with long black hair tied up with a small ribbon behind her shoulders. She wore, not a royal outfit, but a yellow jumper with buckles at the legs. A white blouse was under this jumper, and she wore a necklace with a white jewel. Upon her feet were red boots, and she watched me quietly with brown eyes.
"So you're the prisoner? The one to be executed?" she asked, watching me.
I only nodded, turning my gaze away from her and to the windowless walls of my home... I considered the prison a home, since I'd been there as long as I could remember (which was not much, I assure you).
"Yet you look so helpless. I see not how you can be a common criminal, and a wanted murderer, or at least an attempt at such," the girl declared. I heard the distinct footsteps, towards my direction, and I knew that the girl had taken a few steps toward me.
"Who are you, and why are you here?" I asked, speaking with a croaked voice, worn from no use. My gaze continued to be away from her, as I examined the stone walls of my home, the grey walls that had absolutely no windows, no signs of an outside world.
"Well," the girl began. "I'm Princess Garnet til Alexandros. As for my purpose of being here... Everyone thinks you are dead. The whole Mist Continent has been given the idea that you are dead and gone."
"But... Why?" I asked with confusion.
"You're... Supposed to be," Garnet answered. "I, however, have come to stop that."
"Why?" I asked again.
There seemed to be hesitation, as if Garnet didn't want me to know the true reason for her coming. Yet she finally spoke, if slowly and reluctantly, "I don't want a murder before my birthday."
I blinked slightly, finding that to be an incredibly naive and nearly uncaring answer. I immediately turned my gaze on the naive girl, wondering why she would waste her time coming down here just to stop a murder before her silly birthday. Yet within the Garnet's brown eyes there did seem to be some sympathy for my condition. Beyond the naive nature there seemed to be true concern for the clueless, memory-deprived Burmecian that was I. Perhaps she cared? I didn't know. I just wished to know how she would get me out, and I was quick to express such.
"By such," Garnet said.
And suddenly she gave me an incredibly well-aimed punch in the skull. It was at that point, as another punch made my senses spin, that I knew that princesses can punch really hard.
Faint senses barely running. Discomfort... And that distinct set of footsteps yet again. Voices like murmurs from another demension, like ghosts spinning around and around. Eyes kept close, knowing that the world spun with my mind... Prevent more discomfort. That was a goal, a distinct goal with a hurting mind.
I was not really awake, and all voices seemed far away. The jolts I was being delivered, from whatever I was tossed upon, were discomforting but barely felt regardless. I felt half-dead, like in some magical world where reality is miles upon miles away, and not a worry for anyone.
"Why, Princess! What brings you to these depressing halls?"
"'Tis awful. I was going to see the prisoner and see if he was causing trouble, and I found him dead upon the floor!"
"My word! How is such to happen?"
"I do not know. But his room 'twas awfully cold. Perhaps he froze to death. He looks so healthy now..."
"Healthy? He is so pale... And no breaths."
By that time in the strange conversation I had realized that holding my breath would be wise. Thus, there was no breath, and apparently I was holding my breath for too long and making myself pale in the process. But I was apparently doing a good job passing on as dead. I felt dead enough, after all; looking dead further helped my case. I did wonder, however, why Garnet feigned me as dead when she wanted no murder before my birthday. Wasn't finding the prisoner dead just as bad as killing him? Perhaps not. Wasn't this a silly trick, one someone should be able to figure out easily? Apparently not. It honestly didn't matter, as long as I got out of the place and to what I thought may be freedom, though I never had known a freedom.
"And cold, too! Yes, I think freezing took him in. This is a time for cold weather, after all... Well, no bother. What will you do with him?"
"I am going to do what would be done if he was executed... I am to throw him in the mountains, right?"
"Yes."
"Then I shall."
"Should others not go with you?"
"I will be fine, thank you."
The jolts began again. It didn't matter though, for I fell unconscious from having held my breath for far, far too long. Stupidity may just be a symptom of amnesia.
I woke up to cold, and I'm not talking refreshing cold, or mental cold. I speak of deadly, unbearable, mountain cold that gets to you like a thousand knives. It revived me quickly, made me sit up with a start, and quickly regret such actions when I got a killer headache. Apparently the naive princess's punches had jolted my mind further, and my mind hadn't recovered. I gave my head a good shake, then blinked a bit as I looked upward.
The first thing that was easy to notice was snow, and a lot of it. Snow was everywhere... On the ground, in the sky, on me, and in my eyes. Shivering madly, I hugged myself in attempt to preserve warmth as I looked around. No one was around. The snow was my only companion. And all warmth was leaving me as quickly as I seemed to get it. Continuing my constant shivering and teeth-chattering, I continued to look around. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could make out shadows of massive structures covered in icy snow.
So this was where I was to go. I was rescued from certain death, to get it elsewhere. I suddenly wondered miserably if I would've been better off in that cold cell. Apparently Garnet had brought me to a place no better. In fact, it seemed worse. There was endless land, endless snow, and endless light. My cell had darkness, boundaries, and dryness. I had grown to like it; I didn't believe I would get used to the new life.
I rose to my feet, yet found my body to be stiff. It took a great deal of running in place and stretching to finally get my frozen muscles to thaw and work again. The cold was so great, that it seemed like I was going no where for hours on end. That, actually, was a typical prospect in my life; after all, in a prison you don't accomplish much. Yet with so much land, it seemed travelling was better... But loosening muscles had to be done. Once I felt my muscles were as loose as they could possibly get in the freezing conditions, I lifted my gaze to try and figure out where I was.
But that was hopeless regardless, for I knew nothing. I could remember nothing, and therefore, the most I knew was that I was in a mountainous region. I knew not of the location, or how far away I may be from civilization, or what may live in the mountains. I only knew I was alone. Alone, and knowing nothing of who I was, or what anything was, or even where I was. There was no knowledge in my mind.
It was a discomforting thought.
I took a few steps forward, stepping carefully over rocks that I could see despite them being concealed in the white blanket. Ahead of me was an endless whirlwind of snowflakes being tossed about by a harsh winter wind. I could make out silhouettes of large objects, mostly rock caves or giant boulders, and an occasional ice wall. Yet there was nothing living. There seemed to be no life, no existing being to talk to, or even see. It was like a cold, lifeless desert, except with mountains of ice instead of mountains of sand.
The prison had held no people directly but me. Yet I had see people deliver my food, treat any wounds I had received years ago (though I did not remember how I got them), and keep me alive. Yet they never spoke; they had been like zombies. I could see them alive, yet they never spoke to me like I was one of them. To them, I apparently was not one of them. I was a prisoner, convicted of something I could not remember.
The prison had become a home of loneliness and confusion. I had been taken from there, and tossed into a different world. This world was colder than the stone dungeon. It held less than the bastille. By far, it was colder, more depressing, and far more lonely and confusing that the jail would ever manage to have.
I stopped walking and looked around, confused and worried. My ears twitched, trying to hear suspicious sounds, but I heard only the roaring of the wind and weather, and I heard nothing more. I saw only snow and silhouettes; the light was too bright for my eyes adjusted to two years of darkness. Sniffing the air only proved there to be the smell of thick snow. And I only felt the cold, hard-packed snow beneath my feet.
Yes, I was alone. Alone in a cold, cruel world. And I knew nothing of myself, or the world, or anything else to be known.
It was what many would call being dead while still alive.
---- TADA! I ish back! And yes, we look different! Why, you ask? I'm using HTML (AKA. Italics and such)! Good for me... Now we can actually see Italics, and the story's easier to read too, don't you think? Anyway, I know there's no real explanation for why Fratley's memory went bonkers, but I'll tell you next time if you can't figure it out. Also, in this lovely (cough) chapter I tried to explain why everyone thought he was dead and such. Oh, and I'm so sorry, but don't expect much updates. I'm going through a "My-stories-stink-and-deserve-no-updates-because-I-can't-write" phase. I should get over it within a week... Hopefully my life won't go haywire again by then. So anyway, see you all later!
This story is copyright to me. Some characters, locations, events, and Gaia in general are copyright to SquareEnix.