Cursed: Scarlet

“I wander thro’ each charter’d street,

Near where the charter’d Thames does flow.

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.”

London

By William Blake

~Scarlet~

In many ways, our skins could tell a story we would rather hide. Within ourselves, we may change, but those marks stay forever. The bite from the fury so many decades ago is a good example. The puckered circle in my leg would be another.

Now I’m not saying that everything I’ve ever done was particularly wise to endeavour upon, most of the time, whatever it was happened for a reason. Or just complete stupidity at the time and a made-up reason later on; I never said I was sensible continuously. We all grow and learn and become the wise beings the current generation think us to be.

Mistakes, and scars, led me to the path I am on now, whether I want to be here or not. In that particular situation, angering a centaur was one of my many, extensive, mistakes. If it hadn’t been obvious by now, my attempt at telling these stories is a failure.

Now, to accurately describe the situation, I’m going to have to go back a few thousand years. I was about a century old, tenacious and ridiculously confident in my own abilities. Isn’t that how all my stories begin, me being stupid and winding up half-dead or severely injured?

***

As I ran down the lane from Marcus’ palace, I heaved a huge sigh of relief as I got further and further away. The ridiculously constricting red dress had been changed into a pair of black breeches and a green gossamer shirt, courtesy of my mother. My broadsword hung on its support across my back, hitting me in the thigh as I ran.

As the trees grew ever near, my strides grew in haste. The green leaves called to me, as did the bark, void of fey, though still comforting. Coming abruptly to a halt on the edge, I bowed to the trees, as was fairy custom, before heading into their enveloping silence. It never pays to make an enemy of a forest.

Leaning against a rather large, silvery tree, I breathed deeply until I slid down with my knees pulled to my chest. At the time, I’d been spending a few years in my father’s domain, as his supposed heir, learning about his people and their various talents.

The boredom had become overwhelming, as well as the presence of my younger half-sister. Sapphira was, and is, a pain in the rear end. Mermaids, and their vile children, were infamous for it, after all. She followed me around like a lost puppy; eager to learn everything she could about her older sister with the ability to control all the elements, and other things.

Sadly, no one understood then, or now, that my powers did not stem from just my father, but also my mother. Granted, my pyrokinesis (humans come up with such wonderful words) and cryokinesis were my own, it was my more mental abilities which allowed me to control the others so completely.

Of course, I could never tell anyone this, Morgana had sworn me to secrecy after I made the discovery. And a promise upon the throne of the fey was one that could not be broken until death. Needless to say, I couldn’t get out of it even if I wanted to.

My stay in the Elemental realms had become tedious, with constant lessons on various topics. I could not venture outside without a guard, or twelve. My upbringing as a fey made me keenly aware of how restricting it was not to be able to interact with the natural realm. You’d think Elementals would get this too, but no, they were unsympathetic. In their minds, Marcus was meant to raise me, as he was the male.

How refreshingly sexist of them, no? Unfortunately, this was also around the time that arrangements to marry me off to the Prince of Death were being made. I know, because manipulating minds was the first skill I mastered at the hands of Morgana.

My actions that day were justified, until that point. As I lay beneath the soothing canopy, breathing in the scents of plants and animals alike, I became aware of a rhythmic drumming in the earth below me. It was not coming from the palace, so I stayed where I was, hoping that I would be left alone.

Little did I know the territorial nature of the centaur. I had entered their dominion without leave, and they were coming to investigate the intrusion. In my arrogance, it seems, I would learn the first of many valuable lessons.

When I opened my eyes to find a giant set of horse legs almost on me, I was extremely…surprised to say the least. I’d never encountered a centaur before, just the usual mermaids, dragons and other such banal monsters. Scrambling quickly to my feet, I wiped down my clothing as best I could and met the gaze of the one who had stood over me.

Had he been a normal Elemental, he would have seemed too plain, with his long red hair and dark green eyes. Many of the others had gone out of their way to make their lineage obvious. Later on, I learnt that most centaurs felt their status as Elementals was obvious enough, being four-legged and all.

At the time, all I cared about was getting away, so when he turned from me, I took to my heels and sprinted as fast as I could. This was an extremely bad idea, in hindsight. Centaurs have amazing eyesight, even better than a dragon, which says a lot.

Now, as they are hunters, skilled in both archery and sword fighting, I had no chance whatsoever. When I exited the trees, I thought myself far enough away from them to feel safe. That is, until the arrow went through my leg, causing me to crash to my knees, in complete agony. The centaurs galloped up to me, completely unfazed at my groans of pain.

While I lay on the grass, clutching my leg, they stood, discussing whether to take me before Marcus or to their chief. While they were occupied, I pulled the arrow out and froze the wound with moveable ice to dull the pain, then sat up. They paid no heed to me as the discussion became louder, until, that is, I got up and walked over to them.

“Which of you shot me?” I said, crossing my arms while making sure to keep most of my weight off of it. In my trademark anger, I was first going to lecture my assailants instead of getting myself to a healer. Dumbstruck, they looked down at me, amazed I could even speak. I noticed then that only one had a bow, and the arrows were strapped across his decidedly muscular shoulders.

The sunlight, unfortunately, glinted off the small ringlet around my head that I only consented to so as not to be weighed down by a ridiculous tiara every day. In their shock, they stood completely still, and I noticed for the first time that the other centaur was just as good-looking as the red-haired one. Though his eyes were plain brown, and his hair a vibrant yellow, he could have been the other’s twin.

Hastily, they began to apologise for shooting me while suggesting that they carry me back to the palace. Unfortunately, I chose that moment to feel faint, and the red-haired centaur decided to catch me. Through my delirium, they rode to the palace gates, with me in his arms, pathetically passing through unconsciousness. They stopped before long, the movement forcing me back into my senses.

Much to my dismay, Marcus greeted us at the gates, completely furious. Taking me from the centaur, he strode angrily toward the healer’s rooms with the centaurs in tow, their heads hanging in shame. When I was safely ensconced on a bed, the healer began to work on my leg, while Marcus raged at me. The fortunate centaurs were stuck outside until he decided to deal with them.

When he had calmed down enough, the healer held up her hand and said, “Your Imperial majesty, if I am to have any luck in healing your daughter, you must leave the room. It will not help her now for you to continue raging at her. I suggest you deal with the young hunters while you wait.”

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned back to me, and put her finger through the wound. Refusing to react, I stared at her until she took it out. “It will never heal completely, dear, but I can force it closed.” She smiled reassuringly at me, but I turned away. “You need to remove the ice, else I can’t work,” she said, breaking the silence once more.

Flicking my hand, I forced the water to melt and settle itself into an orb, which I played with while she healed me. Marcus’ voice, though muffled, had not waned for even a moment during the half hour the healer worked on me. With each bead of her sweat, the pulling in my leg became more painful, until the hole was closed and I was allowed to sit up. Brushing my damp hair out of my face, I thanked the healer, but she pretended not to hear and turned around.

“Silver, be so kind as to retrieve his Imperial Highness,” she called out to one of her assistants, who nodded with a flick of her silver mane and walked out. When my father returned, I refused to make eye contact with him, even though he had stopped yelling at me.

The look of concern he wore made me uncomfortable, even if it he was my father. I’d grown up in an emotionless environment; even here I refused to remove the blank mask I always wore. Etherea was what I was used to; no amount of ‘education’ could change that.

When he finally left, I was allowed back to my rooms, though a group of guards had to carry me on a ridiculous pallet thing. My ‘ladies-in-waiting’, after the usual hysterics, helped me into bed, and finally left me be.

For those few days, when I was forced to heal in bed, I spent a lot of time recalling the face of that one centaur. Until I caught myself, and angrily shook my head on more than one occasion to dispel the memories. I did not want to become any more attached to that forsaken realm than I already was.

***

As my hand runs over the scar, I sigh, wishing I could be that young again. Instead, I’m older, wiser and just as tenacious, but dealing with a bigger problem. Ian is about to duel with Marcus, which would be extremely entertaining, under different circumstances.

Staring out the window from my favourite armchair, I replay the scenes of last night over and over. The wraiths writhing and screaming while Ian stood calmly, keeping them in check without even the tiniest effort. Of course, Hades’ gleeful expression was far more disturbing.

The entire episode forced me to contemplate the possibility of Ian being raised the way I had, being shunted around two different kingdoms, between two parents. We were alike, in the fact that our parents were so obviously different, if not in any other way.

I, of all people, can understand how he feels about his lineage, if not his particular abilities. Even in our world, we are anomalies, powerful beyond all measure, and doomed to be alone for it. Sighing, I put down the umpteenth bottle of alcohol, and stretch. My spine clicks as I pull my hands above my head, the sensation pleasant, if not a bit worrying.

I haven’t slept since yesterday; the wraiths had disturbed me completely. If there was one thing I could not stand, it was the dead. I would rather face a hormonal dragon again than deal with an angry ghost or walking corpse. My skin crawls at the thought and I stand up, my neck spasming and my legs tingling from staying bent all night. The sky turns grey as I pace up and down the wood floors, occasionally pulling at my boxer shorts to stop them from riding up my ass.

With my hands on the nape of my neck and my hair tickling the back of my thighs, I spend about an hour over thinking every possible situation. The various scenarios start running together by the time I collapse on the floor again in frustration.

The itchy old Persian rug serves to keep me relatively warm as I finally fall asleep. My eyes twitch open and closed for a few moments until they close completely, sending me into a dream. In it, I’m lying on my back on a marble slab, with my hands folded over the hilt of my favourite sword which rests on my chest.

Gripping the sword hilt tightly, I sit up, expecting for someone to try and kill me. Instead, I look out on a silent lake, the same lake I’d swum in as a young girl. The entire island was reserved for the royal dead. Sighing, I walk to the edge of the white floor, until my foot gets caught on the hem and I nearly trip.

Looking down, I finally notice that I am dressed in a flowing –white- gown. Complete with long sleeves that fall past my ankles. “Definitely dead, then,” I mutter, pulling on the skirt to free my foot, which is trapped in a white silk slipper, complete with pearl beads.

After my curse came into effect, I spent hours just staring at the vines from the roof of the palace, imagining what it would have been like to be laid out there. Those morbid hours usually ended with Declan’s arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me inside while my eyes never left the island.

If this is a vision, I really hope it’s not definite, I think silently, alert for any sign of danger, or Tristan. And if it’s a dream…I must be worried about Ian’s vision. When I try to move the strands of hair from my face, they catch on the elaborate circlet of hair and flowers. Groaning, I drop the sword, bringing both of my hands to my face.

Though there are no tears, my body is racked with sobs as I sink to my knees. “Why is it, that every time I see you, you’re crying?” a voice rings out in what was a silent landscape. My back stiffens as I recognise the sneering cadences of Tristan. My head whips around in the direction it came from, and my eyes take in the disturbing sight of him.

Where he once was tall and handsome, with gold skin and flowing black hair, he is now deathly pale, his hair lank and greasy. In a way, he’s turned into the typical image of a vampire most humans conjure up after those ridiculous movies.

His clothes, though, are modern. I never thought I would live to see him in a plain black t-shirt and red jeans, but there is always a first time for everything. His facial expressions have not changed, though. The same sneer he wore so easily still adorns his features, his once handsome features.

Now, he just looks sickly and wrong, a walking corpse. “What do you want, Tristan?” I snap, getting to my feet and picking up the broadsword. Gripping it tightly, I fall into a typical stance, pointing it directly at him. His hands rise defensively while he backs away, his eyes never leaving my face.

“I don’t want anything…from you, at least,” he says, watching me closely. “My darling half-brother, on the other hand, has something I dearly want. He has power, and a life, not to mention my intended wife. You see, for one of us to live, the other has to die,” my face hardens as he steps closer to me.

Instead of replying, I fly at him, raising the sword to chop off his vile little head. Before the blade meets its mark, though, he disappears, laughing. Reappearing behind me, he shoves his own sword into my back, holding me to him as he drives it further into me. “You are weak,” he says, as I sit up with a jolt on the floor, my hand on the spot where he stabbed me.

Just as I get up, the door to my tower opens and he walks in. he rubs an eye, still half asleep and wearing his boxers. “What’s wrong, Scar?”

“Why are you awake right now?” I ask, running to him. I hug him tightly, and he pulls me close, almost in a protective manner. His hand is running through my hair, an action no one has attempted in almost half a millennia.

“I felt your panic while I was sleeping…so I came to check on you.” His mouth is right next to my ear, and the feeling of his slow, steady pulse calms me. Everything about Ian is just so…right, not forced or imaginary; it feels so natural to have him here. Even if he broke up with me.

“I had a nightmare, and it freaked me out a bit. But you’re here, so everything’s fine now. Everything’s completely fine now-“and I start crying like a big baby. Ian puts one arm around my waist and bends to lift my legs up with the other and carries me back to the armchair, instead of putting me down though, he sits and holds me. As I finally still the panic in my mind, I can feel him running his fingers through my hair, making those weird shushing noises people used to do with horses and small children.

I move, completely aware of how heavy I am, and fall into the space between Ian and the left armrest. His hand pulls away from my hair, and he looks at me. “Are you okay now?” I can tell he’s already half-asleep, so I just nod and he sighs, closing his eyes. The scar on my leg twitches, but I ignore it as I curl around him.

It’s sort of sweet that he woke up… Holy mother of a duck. The emotional connection between us has gotten even stronger… Eventually, I fall asleep too, thankfully with no further dreams, the rise and fall of his chest serving to relax me.

Another day dawns, and I stretch my arms out, clicking my spine again. Ian is still asleep, so I get up and lightly pat his cheek. Changing my clothes as I walk, I start up the coffee machine with a wave of my hand and yawn. Opening the fridge, I contemplate its contents before pulling out the jug of milk and placing it on the counter top.

Looking back through the doorway, I can see the top of his head, moving slightly as he breathes. Turning around, I pull out a bowl and spoon, along with the box of sugary cereal from the shelf above me. The smell of coffee washes over me as I chew on the little rings, my thoughts focused on the day ahead.

When I hear him stirring, I pour the coffee in a mug and carry it to him, my bowl abandoned on the sink. His eyes open blearily as I wave the mug under his nose. His hand reaches out and wraps around the mug, trapping my fingers underneath his palm. “Morning sunshine,” I say loudly and straighten up, forcing him to let go of my hand.

He sighs loudly, almost appreciative as he sips the coffee. When I’m back in the kitchen, I put everything on a tray and dump the lot on my impromptu dining table. Setting out the bowls on opposite sides of the table, I stand and wait for him.

When he sits down in the mismatched chair, and pours cereal for himself, I finally relax and sit down. The cereal in my own bowl has become soggy, so I add more and mix it in, avoiding his gaze. He clears his throat loudly, interrupting my thoughts.

“I’m sorry…for saying what I did,” the look of regret on his face makes me want to hug him, but I hold myself back, waiting for him to go on. “I’m scared, of these tests and of what I’ve seen. But I should never have let a vision dictate my present viewpoint because I’m scared of what will happen in the future.”

“After I fought your mother, she took me aside and explained a bit more about the visions; she questioned me for a few minutes about any I’d had, mostly about you. And of course, the whole thing last night, with Hades and the ghosts. All of that made me realize how much you mean to me,” he tries to make eye contact, but I look away.

“I woke up last night, knowing that you were in danger, and it scared me. I don’t want to lose you Scarlet, not now, not ever,” he takes my hand in his own, and stares at it. Looking up, I can feel myself blushing, but I don’t want to stop.

In complete silence, we stare at each other, until I feel a pounding on my shield again. Why can’t these people just bugger off? I think to myself as I get out of my chair, only letting his hand go when I reach the other side of the table. “I think you should go, while I stall them. Keep the bowl,” I say, as I flash out of the room and into the ante-chamber of my tower.

Yanking open the door, I’m greeted by the unpleasant sight of Gabriel. Leaning against the frame, I stare him down, waiting for him to open his mouth and tell me what he wants. When he doesn’t speak, I sigh, “Well, what do you want? I have other things to deal with.”

“Your mother requires your presence in the amphitheatre,” he mutters, and turns away but stops halfway. “You smell like the mage boy again.” Shaking his head, he continues on his way, leaving me in the doorway. Damn Shifters and their noses! I think venomously and walk out the door, slamming it shut behind me.

Flashing into the recently erected arena, I notice that everyone is present, except for Ian. Sighing, I sink into my seat, and cross my legs. Today is the day…and Marcus looks as if he’s going to enjoy it. My father seems to have lost track of his shirt, though he doesn’t seem to mind as he stretches.

Ian finally runs in, also shirtless, and I groan inwardly. This is going to be extremely unpleasant, for all of us.