Chapter 2: Alternative Viewpoint
I don't know how to title this entry
Do you want to know what despair feels like?
Let me tell you.
It feels like having gag on your mouth and a vice on your brain. It feels like a weight that isn't really there because it's made up of tears. It feels like the broken mirror on the wall that got smashed in a fit of rage. It's pain, anger and sadness mixed up with apathy.
That's how I felt when I woke up in Shqiperise, three days after I collapsed near the border.
When my sister asked us to split up, I was terrified out of my mind. I can barely remember climbing out through the ivy, and then losing my grip. I don't even remember it hurting when I fell on Richter, because it was all so numb.
She and I were close. As close as it were possible for members of a royal family to be. Father and Mother had passed away when I was very young, and she barely an adult. Suddenly, she was no more my sister but the Queen of a nation. It was strange and alien to me, alone and friendless as I was after my sheltered existence. But she still took the time to hold me when I saw nightmares, and comfort me when I got hurt. She would play silly games with me and take goofy cognographs near the fountain with me. She was told it was indecorous, but she never cared.
The thought that she could die; that she would die before me and so soon was terrifying and stark and it loomed over me like a dark blanketing cloud.
And then Roland came up to me, bleeding and weak. He looked me in the eye at my unasked question, and I knew right then that it was true. That I had lost my only family on that day.
Soldiers spotted us soon enough, and Richter and I were forced to separate. I met Roland semi-unconscious in a bush, but he saw me and responded. We travelled for what appeared to be hours before arriving at a canyon, where Richter caught up to us.
Roland, who was wreaked with guilt from letting her die, promised me that we would take back Carnava, with he as my sword.
I accepted his word on the matter, but I was cold. Oh so very cold.
A/N: Yes, I know this is a bit (read: very) different so to speak. This is more of an Elena viewpoint on the nadir of her existence, so her upbeat narration doesn't work. It's also obnoxiously short, because the next updates are quite a bit longer. Promise. It feels glossed over because, trust me on this, depressed situations can either lead to immense brooding, or repression. In her case, the latter is true.
Also, I have several "lore" documents I was working on, because PLOT demands that I settle on these before things get convoluted. If *cough*demand*cough* is present, then I shall supply. I have a vague idea as to how to integrate them into the context of the story itself, but yeah, not necessary at all.
As to why 400 words took so long to chug out, I've been busy with school. Now that I'm on winter break, the chapters should come out with more regularity.
Next chapter is a Richter/Roland first-person bonanza.