Hello dear readers!
Thank you for your reviews; I savour each and every one of them:-) (so keep them coming hint hint nudge nudge)
Today I've got a little request; I would like to address everyone who'd be interested in beta-reading "Live", as I know my English isn't perfect (hey, it's not even my mother tongue). So, I'd gladly welcome someone who would be interested in being the first to read "Live" chapters and edit them to their best! ;-) You can find my e-mail address in my user-lookup!
Now, you know the usual disclaimers, don't you?
Cheers!
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"The Fiction We Live" Chapter Four
by Greta
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The storm from the night before had calmed down, leaving only the wind whipping about to tousle the trees and howl mischievously. The sun had finally emerged from behind the menacing clouds that had thundered threateningly during the dark hours of the night, sending its feeble rays of light down to the dampened earth of the Moon.
The lone senshi standing in the middle of the training grounds on the border of the Moon Palace's grounds was breathing in and out deeply. The cold was making goose bumps rise on her bare forearms. The damp earth beneath her feet made her shudder, but she forced herself to keep as still as possible. Her folded arms pressed to her chest, she tried to think of nothing, concentration only on her breathing.
In and out. She felt her lungs fill with the fresh air of a new day, her chest rising, before letting it all go. In and out, in and out, she kept repeating, letting herself fall into a rhythm, a calming, soothing rhythm. Keeping her mind void of all thought, she concentrated on nothing else but her body, feeling her way through every pore. Her petite shoulders rising, her whole body filling with fresh air, strength washing over her whole being.
She could now feel the rising sun behind her closed eyelids. She had been down on the grounds ever since the earliest hours of the day, concentrating, meditating. It wasn't until now, that she suddenly opened her eyes again, letting the fresh light of the day flood her soul.
Letting her arms sink to her side, she continued her concentrated breathing, watching the sunrise that brought a new day along to the Moon. The pale colours of the morning sun spread ever so slowly to every corner of the Kingdom, making the shadows of the night disappear. Ever so slowly the hot orb rose, bringing slight warmth to her cold limbs.
With one last, deep breath, she suddenly moved from the position she had kept for over an hour, shaking her long blonde hair from one side to the other while rolling her head, stretching her body.
"So," she whispered, getting down on one knee. A long object, wrapped in worn leather, lay beside her on the ground. Unfastening the clasp that was wrapped around the object carefully, she enjoyed the feeling of the soft leather beneath her fingers. No matter how many – it must be countless – times she had done this by now, the softness caressing her fingers was wonderful each and every time.
Ever so carefully she lifted one of the leather flaps covering the protected object, then the other. Embedded in its leather covers lay a sword. Carefully picking it up, she pulled it out of its sheath. It was an unusual and glorious sword. Its handle was out of the purest silver, various opals of different sizes were enclosed in the metal, all glinting beautifully in the rising sun. Old runes were carved on the side of the handle, giving the sword a magical appearance.
Letting the silver sheath drop to the ground, she swung the sword around gracefully, making the blade shine in the sun. The blade, long and slim and clear as glass, sliced the air powerfully. The blonde senshi moved gracefully, each step perfectly coordinated with the movement she made with the sword.
She moved swiftly, attacking an invisible foe aggressively, charging forwards, parrying, only to attack once more, moving her lithe body gracefully step for step forward. Her blue eyes focused on the imagined enemy, she let out a cry, her attacks becoming fiercer.
She could feel the sweat trickle down the side of her face, trail down to her neck. Biting her lips, she savoured the feeling of bodily effort, fire burning in her limbs. Each movement made her pulse rise, her breath quicken, the tension in her body grow.
Her feet moved swiftly on the still damp earth, while she concentrated on each and every one of her muscles she required to move the just exactly as she wanted to. She accepted no less than perfection. Narrowing her eyes, she charged forward once more, swinging the sword above her head to deliver the final blow.
And, just as suddenly as she had begun, she stopped her movements, her body still in the position her last attack had left it in.
The Senshi of Venus sighed. Pushing her sweaty hair from off her shoulders, she leaned lightly on the sword.
It was the Sword of Selene, the ancient Moon Goddess. She had been the first ruler of the Moon, and every Queen to the throne was a descendant of her, legend said. Legend also said that she had swung the glorious sword like no other, not one soul surviving her formidable blow.
Nowadays, no one knew exactly since when, it was solemnly given to each reincarnation of the Senshi of Venus, with which she was to protect the Princess of the Moon from all harm. For even though the Princess was the heir to the throne of the most powerful of all galaxies, she had little to defend herself with before she rose to take her place as the Queen.
Minako had often wondered why she handled this powerful sword countless legends ranked about. It seemed just too unreal, even more unreal than being a senshi, to wield the weapon of the great Selene. She loved the art of sword fighting, and had done so even before knowing what her destiny was to be exactly. She remembered watching the Knights of Venus in their golden armour training when she had been a small child all those years ago on her home-planet. The gracefulness with which they swung their weapons, demonstrating their power so dramatically, had fascinated her. She remembered sneaking down to the training-grounds, tripping over her long dress nervously, to stand and watch secretly behind a pillar, fascinated with what she saw, before a nurse found her, ranting about how that was not a thing for a young child and Princess to watch.
Stretching her back, she sighed, staring up into the sky, where the last stars of the night were still sparkling. Only the brightest shone now, with the sun half-risen, and Venus was among them. Staring at her planet, she bit her lip. She never knew if she should miss her home or not. Her parents had been fearfully strict, not allowing anything else than perfect manners from her, ever so seldom leaving room for the childhood she had thirsted after. She knew that she had to stand up to expectations as a Princess, but she had never liked the force and remorseless way of teaching it, the way her parents had done. Since coming to the Moon all those years ago to start her training as a senshi – had it been such a long time now already? Yes, it was. She had been twelve back then, nothing more than a child – she had visited her home only three times, and that, because it had been unavoidable.
Turning away from the star twinkling so beckoningly, she sighed, swinging her sword once more, swishing it through the air sharply.
Yes, she loved the art of sword-fighting. The feeling of power every time her fingers closed around the silver handle of the sword, the bodily exhaustion she felt afterwards.
A sword-fight held a strange, almost unearthly pleasure; all that counted was skill, wit, speed and strength. It was a fight in its purest form, and she loved it.
Why else would she rise when the whole palace still slept, only to concentrate and practice in peace? Relaxing her muscles to avoid getting a cramp, she stifled a yawn. Alright, so she did feel tired a bit. Smiling, she stretched her arms. Oh, but everyone had a secret love of their life they would give anything for, didn't they?
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Pushing his hand through his short black hair, he let out an angry sigh. Marching through heavily decorated hallways, he passed oak doors after oak doors until he reached the ones his step had been leading to. The loud steps his heavy black boots caused were muffled by the lush, red carpets laid in the corridors of the Earth Palace.
The sun was shining hotly through the double-wing windows, not even the heavy brocade curtains doing much to stop it.
Stopping in front of the desired chambers, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors angrily and without hesitation.
"Mother!" he bellowed into the room, letting the doors shut noisily behind him.
The addressed woman was sitting behind a large wooden desk, bent over pen and paper. Her red-brown wavy hair trailed down her shoulders, while her blue eyes fixed her son critically. "A good day to you too, son," she greeted him. "I do hope you have a reason for bursting in here in such a rude manner, as you have just done." She eyed her tall son expectantly, placing her pen down on her desk.
His eyes narrowed, the young man stormed forward to lean over his mother's desk, eyeing her angrily. "I will not take it, Mother. This is just – just unheard of!"
"What on Earth are you talking about, my dear?" she sighed, unmoved by the way her son was eyeing and talking to her. Sadly, his temper had the tendency to rise and sink in a matter of moments, and she had gotten used to these outbursts.
"This engagement," he whispered angrily.
She raised her delicate eyebrows. Oh dear. Maybe he did have the right to be angry today, she thought. Pondering for a moment, about who she should blame for letting the news slip, she studied her son's angry face. He was a very handsome young man. His short and messy black hair fell boyishly into his blue eyes, making his harsh facial expression soften in her eyes.
"Who told you, dear?"
"That is absolutely beside the point, Mother!" he bellowed angrily, hurt by her indifference to the real importance behind this all. "This is absolutely unjust! I mean, Mother, how could you decide on something like this behind my back?" he continued angrily, bringing his right fist forcefully down on the table. "I will simply not take it!" he flung the words angrily at her.
Breathing in deeply for a moment, Gaia considered on how to best calm him down. Closing her eyes, she sighed. "Endymion, take a seat first of all."
The dark-haired youth eyed her critically before pulling up a chair ever so slowly. Letting his body drop unto the cushioned chair, he sighed deeply. "Mother, how could you do this?" he asked quietly. "If you think I should marry, it's alright with me. But I'd have been glad to choose my bride myself." His eyes never left his mother's face, his high temper ebbing away, leaving only disappointment.
"Endymion …" the Queen of Earth sighed. "I can imagine how you feel, but times are desperate."
Endymion snorted. "Well, aren't they always? With every decision made, all I ever hear is, times are desperate, this is for the kingdom, this for the welfare of your people, bla bla – well, I'm sick of it, Mother!" His mood swung around once more, and the young man pushed himself out of the elegant chair forcefully, knocking it to the ground with a crash.
"Endymion!" Gaia mirrored his actions, now eyeing him angrily as well. She knew that her son was bound to be enraged, but this was ridiculous. "You are my son, the Prince of Earth, and the heir to this kingdom! How dare you talk like this? About your kingdom and people!" she hissed angrily.
"Well, maybe I am absolutely sick of being only the future heir to a throne I'd rather not have!"
"Oh, it's not like you ever put any effort into your role anyway," the Queen continued, her anger making her shoulders tense. Positioning her hands unto her desk, she leaned forward, closer to her son. "If you had ever taken your role as Prince and heir seriously, instead of carelessly roaming around with your friends all the time and leaving your duties unattended, you would have known that times are indeed desperate. As desperate as they have never been before," she said accusingly, knowing as she said it that she might be going too far, there not being enough truth in what she was saying about him.
His breathing was quick and angry, and his eyes were filled with an angry fire, but no sound left his lips. His hands dug into the edges of the table, shaking angrily and tensely.
Gaia slowly relaxed her body, straightening her back, cocking her head at her son, before seating herself once more. Lifting her pen, she moved her glance back to the letter she had been writing before her son had burst in and upset her mood.
"You will get to know her soon enough, son. I will not hear one more word of your complaints until you have proved that you are indeed my son and heir to the throne I sit upon. Only then will I allow you to complain."
Endymion closed his eyes. Oh, how he wanted to scream and rage, throw things, yell and argue. But he knew that it was no use. Biting back all the words bubbling up inside him, he continued staring at her smooth face bent over her angular writing in deep-green ink. Her face was very young for her age; no wrinkles lined her face, the thick curls of hairr clinging to her shoulders. Her mouth was clenched tightly, her intelligent eyes thoughtful.
"You are dismissed, Endymion," she said under her breath, not giving him another glance. She only heard his noisy retreat, as he stomped heavily to the doors of her office, slamming the doors shut behind him as forcefully and loudly as he could. Wincing slightly at the sound, she sighed, before rubbing her temples. This might turn out to be more difficult than she had anticipated.
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She moaned as she felt the harsh bonds which were tying her arms together tightly above her head digging into her wrists, cutting into her skin slowly and ever so painfully. She had stopped trying to free herself, wriggling and twisting harshly from one side to the other, as it only made the bonds dig further into her skin and the pain grow.
Rolling her head from side to side, she desperately tried to find a way to stand that released the hurtful pressure at least for a few moments. But it barely did any good. Letting her chin sink down to her chest, she gulped.
Oh, what had she done to deserve this? She had worked hard all her live, managed the best way that was possible, never sinking so low as to trick or cheat or renounce. Gritting her teeth, she let out a low yowl. So life was treating her unfairly once again! She wanted to laugh and weep at the same time, rage and cry.
So, life, it comes down to this doesn't it – you hate me, don't you? You despise this child you placed on your greedy earth, who was never good enough, no matter what. No matter how hard one may try, no matter what one did. You made every day in my life hell for me, do you know this?
Oh, you do, I know. You rejoice in this knowledge, I know. From the day of my birth to a weak mother, who had less will to live on any longer than the new-born she had given birth to, and a father who did nothing more than drink and grumble, beat and bellow.
You never gave me the gift of carelessness, of enjoying a day for what it brought and gave.
Her eyes closed, Beryl let herself indulge in the bottomless pit of her mind, drowning in her thoughts and memories of the life she had led.
The life she had led which was to be no more. The harsh clacking of high-heeled shoes echoing in her mind kept reminding her of where she was and left her no peace. How had it come this? Why?
"Beryl, Beryl, Beryl," a voice whispered close to her ear, making her head snap up immediately. Sweat her pain and feverish thoughts were causing ran down her heated face, only increasing the uncomfortable position she was in. The woman, who had dragged her to this strange place, was smiling wickedly, letting her long golden fingernails graze the bound Beryl's neck.
Drawing her head back as far as she could, she tried to escape those horrible hands, which were cool and free to move just as the wanted to, very much unlike her own. "Don't you dare touch me, witch," she mumbled, her breath shallow. The addressed woman blinked in surprise before laughing, yet not drawing back her hand as Beryl wished her to do.
"Oh, I should be scared of you, should I?" she said while laughing mockingly at her prisoner.
Beryl's deep brown eyes filled with anger and disgust and she spat at the arm that was too close to her body. The women's laughter stopped immediately, as she looked at her arm in surprise before returning her glance to the culprit's face.
"You're more courageous than I thought you would be," she stated simply, all mock having disappeared from her voice, her face serious. Her eyes narrowed, she moved closer to Beryl, her eyes never once leaving the others' eyes. It seemed as if she wanted to read the thoughts raging in her head, enter her mind.
Raising one delicate hand, she struck the woman with such force, that it literally took Beryl's breath away. Who would have thought that those hands held such strength? Such cruel power? Beryl could feel the blood slowly seep from a cut a ring the woman wore had caused on her struck cheek, slowly mingling with the sweat, and now also tears.
Wiping her hand on Beryl's coarse dress, the woman snapped her fingers with her other hand, which made the unearthly ropes holding the young woman's wrists together tighten painfully and abruptly raise her from the ground.
Beryl gasped, trying to suppress screams of pain the best she could, not wanting to give her tormentor the pleasure of having succeeded in breaking her self-control. She could now definitely feel the skin of her wrists cut open and start to bleed, the thick red liquid now making its way down her arms.
She had no idea how she was bound to the endless pillar that was pressing against her spine, the only thing comfortable about it, that it was smooth and cool against her sweating body. For all she could guess, the cool pillar was one like the many others in the strange room she was in, holding up a ceiling so high, she could not make it out at all.
The vast room seemed to have no beginning and end. All that there was in sight were the many ghastly pillars, which were made out of a strange see-through material and ice-cold.
The woman had moved closer to Beryl once more, seemingly enjoying the pain she was inflicting. Raising her right hand, she stretched her fingers wide. Her palm moving closer to Beryl's chest, she closed her eyes, mumbling a few words Beryl could not understand and had never heard before in her life.
Opening her eyes again, the woman smirked, and pulled her hand slowly away from the bound woman, her forefinger beckoning.
Beckoning? Beryl watched her in confusion, the pain in her body making coherent thought hard enough as it was. And then, all of a sudden, the pain she had felt seconds before was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what she felt now. A scream, wild and full of all the pain the world had ever left her with, escaped her dry and chapped lips, mingling with sobs.
The golden-haired woman smiled, her hand now hovering over a strange source of light which floated in mid-air in-between her and Beryl. Even though it was no bigger than her palm, the strange thing held an exquisite and blinding light, delicately webbed with the finest sparks of red.
Beryl's body had collapsed as far as it could, her chin on her collar-bone, her hair trailing down over her sagged shoulders. Her breath was far too quick for her to breathe comfortably, and the blood from the wound on her cheek had now dripped to the smooth floor. She barely recognized that the floor itself seemed to be made of glass as well.
"Tell me, how does it feel, Beryl?" the woman asked, pushing her prisoner's chin forcefully up with her hand to face her.
The bruised woman had difficulty keeping her vision focused. "I hate you," was all she managed to mumble. With what strength, she had no idea.
"Oh, I thought you would do so," the other one answered, laughing. "Now look. Look. Isn't it beautiful, Beryl?" she said, indicating to the small light still hovering in mid-air. "And Beryl, do you know what this is?" Upon hearing no answer, she indicated to the small light once more, which obediently moved to her open palm.
"It is your light, Beryl. The light of your soul," she whispered, slowly prodding the light with a finger. The bound woman gasped at the pain that entered her side, seemingly piercing her open, ripping her in two. "Do you feel the pain, Beryl? The pain of losing your soul to the devil?"
"The devil is nothing – nothing compared to you, witch," she gasped, the searing pain making speech the most painful thing she had ever experienced.
"Why, thank you," the fair woman laughed. "Now Beryl, we've really wasted enough time with cheap talk now, haven't we?" her red eyes were agleam, pure malice shining out from them. "I welcome you, Beryl."
The addressed women raised her head slightly in horror, narrowing her eyes.
"From now on you shall serve me."
"Never," she muttered with all the force her broken body could muster, trying once more to somehow free herself, even though she knew how hopeless it was.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman replied. Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed. "That was not a question." And with that, she crushed the light in one swift movement in-between her palms.
"Queen Galaxia has spoken," she whispered maliciously, as she snapped her fingers, the lifeless Beryl crumbling to the floor, bruised and broken, her soul torn.
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Cheerios, Greta