Wake up, wake up!
Phayaton was shoved rudely from her dreams into reality as the early morning light trickled into the room, to play tag upon her features.
Wake up, wake up.
Lavender orbs flashed as her silver head rose to sniff savagely at the air. The presence was gone, leaving only the scent of a dark jewel in its wake. From this scent Phayaton gathered who had sent the message, but she couldn't believe it. She wouldn't believe that this mysterious visitor had called to- of all places- Terrielle, only to wake a Hishiek like herself. Phayaton didn't believe it; she must have been mistaken.
Hishieks, although they now got along well with others, were once feared and exiled. In Old Tongue Hishiek meant the 'Wicked Race', and wicked they once were. During the war, long ago, between the High Priest of Hell and Priestess Hekatah, Hishieks made a very strong ally to both sides. They were traitors that would change face to suite whoever was winning, and in the process destroy and conquer thousands. After the war, the High Priest discovered their treachery and scattered them throughout the lands forbidding them to ever conduct their own Territory.
The Queens, of the lands in which they harbored, did not trust Hishieks so the people did not trust them. The few Hishiek Queens that were born could never have their own court, and the males never held a high rank among any court- no matter how dark their Jewels. Treated badly by the people they were forced to react, so they fought and some killed; many burned down whole villages no longer able to stand the villagers' impertinence. Consequently, many feared them.
Throughout the years the rift has been filled. People have begun to accept Hishieks for who they were and not their history. Many Hishiek are now well-respected Healers within their villages, and- although Queens still go court less- males are upheld for their power. These things came about because people began to forget.
The High Lord of Hell would not be one to forget though, so Witch would never visit one of the 'Wicked Race'.
Forgetting the physic scent Phayaton crawled out of bed, relishing as her bare feet burrowed in the fur lined rug below. It wasn't everyday that she woke up this early, and as she filled a stone basin with warm water she decided it would be fun to go for a stroll. Although Hayll wasn't praised for its scenery, Phayaton had always loved the woods surrounding her house. So after splashing her face and her hands, she pulled on some well-worn trousers and a cotton shirt before heading out the door.
Paths trodden for sixteen years spread out before her like an open map. Picking one Phayaton started forwards, walking blindly through the maze of paths, turning every which way the wind pushed her. At the end of the road a glen spread out before her, beautiful and full of life in the spring air.
Waltzing forward into the fairy circle that was formed by a grove of willow trees, Phayaton stopped in front of a single rose. The plush freshness of the flower enticed her, the smell influencing her to bend down and take a whiff. Aromas filled her tingling every one of her senses and beckoning for her to wake. Delicate was the way to describe it, delicate and beautiful.
Suddenly a wave of nausea hit Phayaton, as images flashed through her mind. Her knees buckled and she found herself on the ground clothed in green grass. The land trembled beneath her sending her twisting and slithering around. It was pulling her yanking her farther and farther into the abyss. Being a Black Widow Phayaton knew the abyss well she had even traveled the Twisted Kingdom once or twice, but this was different. This was suffocating and crushing.
The land was screaming in rage and pain, it was dieing slowly but surely it was dieing. Desolate foreboding filled Phayaton's mind, ripping and tearing through her Yellow barriers, swirling past the Opal through the Green and heading towards her birthright Sapphire. Trusting the land in which she had lived all her life she opened her last barrier and let in her screams.
"Help me!"