“Hold still!” the woman exclaimed. “I don’t wanna have to poke ya with one of these needles!” The seamstress put down her pincushion and gestured towards the mirror. “Well? Go give it a look!”

I stepped toward the mirror. I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid of what I might see there. Had I changed at all in the past few months? Even worse, had I stayed the same? I opened my eyes slowly, tentatively. The woman I saw in the mirror saddened me. The same white, flowing hair, now pinned in a half-up, half-down fashion. The same full lips, stretched into a pained smile. The high cheekbones, the pale eyebrows, everything the same.

But the familiarity of my upturned, stormy-amber eyes startled me. They weren’t the sparkling, joyful eyes of a child anymore. My eyes were now filled with knowledge and sorrow. They were the eyes that I had stared into for many years. My mother’s eyes.

The seamstress rested a hand on my shoulder. “Isn’t the dress beautiful, dearie?”

Oh, the dress. That was the only reason I was in this dreary place. My wedding dress was beautiful, the off-white silk of the bodice sinking into flowing sleeves and a full skirt brushing the floor. If only the wedding wasn’t against my will. I jerked my gaze from the mirror, refusing to look again. Instead, I stared around the dark, dismal room of the basement, filled with shadows. The only light came from the small window on the other wall and a flickering ceiling fixture.

An attendant poked his head in, “Miss Nyx! They’re ready for you!” I nodded as he hurriedly closed the door. I reached for my usual white cotton blouse and slacks, but the seamstress shook her head with a stern expression.

“Darlin’, you can’t wear that to meet your betrothed!” The plump woman pulled a sky-blue shift from her bag. “Wear this instead.” I started to argue, but by the determined look on her face, it was a lost cause. I slipped out of the wedding gown and into the casual dress. If only I had found a match before I turned eighteen, I lamented, I wouldn’t have to go through the agony of wondering who I was engaged to.

The attendant knocked. “Are you ready, Miss?”

I opened the door and stepped out. “Yes, I am.”

I said it politely, which seemed to catch him off guard for a moment. He was probably one of the new workers that hadn’t earned much respect.

I smiled at him. “What’s your name?” He seemed taken aback, he probably thought I was like what the rumors circulating the fortress declared, snappish and rude.

Shyly, he responded, “Xyler, ma’am, Xyler Lancaster.”

“Pleasure, Xyler Lancaster.” He blushed furiously, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. I smirked. He was definitely new. We walked along in silence, down the vacant corridor, the light from the windows catching on his tousled ash-blonde locks, illuminating them to an almost-golden hue. My shoes clicked on the marble floors, and I stared at the ground, counting the tiles. It was a childish thing, but it kept my mind off of the impending doom, marriage, awaiting me.

We reached the oaken doorway to the parlor where we usually have breakfast. Xyler turned toward me, making eye contact for a quick moment before turning away, a slight flush on his cheeks. What a strange color his eyes are. I had never seen violet eyes before.

“Here we are,” he announced. I looked into his eyes again. They are a grayish-violet, like a wilting flower, or a heavy horizon before a storm.

“Uhm, Miss?” He asked, “Are you okay?” I looked away. Had I been staring? I couldn’t help it. He reminded me of something. What was it?

“Yes, Xyler, I’m fine.” I turned and opened the door. “Oh, and by the way, you can call me Nyx.” I walked into the tearoom, Xyler by my side.

“Sorry Miss- Uhm, I mean, Nyx?” he stammered, “Boss said I had to stay with you.” I sat on a plush chair in the corner of the sunlit room.

“I wasn’t questioning you,” I answered. He nodded quickly and moved to stand by the door. “You can sit down, you know,” I pointed out. He started, flustered.

“Oh, yes ma’am- Uhm, alright.” He hastily sat in the closest chair, almost falling off in the process. I giggled quietly, amused. Xyler jumped and turned away, embarrassed. I moved to console him as the door slammed open. Standing in the doorway was a man. He seemed out of breath as he stumbled inside. He flopped half-heartedly onto a couch, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked up and blanched. Beneath the dark hair, his ocean-tinged eyes caught the light as he stared at me in awe. I recognized him from somewhere... 

We sat there, jaws agape, for quite some time. The man seemed to be trying to find words. He softly whispered my old nickname. “Nyxie?”

“I- you- Jax?!” I stuttered as I finally placed him, memories flooding back, us as children, laughing together, sharing jokes that only we knew the punchlines to. Our absurd friendship, the trust we placed in each other. I blinked, coming back to reality, Jax still gawking at me.

“Nyxie, you’re my betrothed?! How?!” Jax exclaimed, shock written all over his face.

“I-” I was at a loss for words.

I sank lower into the chair, thinking. Xyler looked from me to Jax, so many times you’d think his head was on a swivel.

“You two know each other?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jax explained, “We were childhood friends.”

That was true, but we were so, so much more than that.

⇋

I was thirteen years old, still a small thing, when my mother died. We had been trudging through swamps and forests, past the Aokyi Mountain Range and the Tirych lakes. I complained the entire way, I hadn’t wanted to leave the fortress, but my mother dragged me along anyway. She said that it would build character. The troops found a clearing in a sparse section of the woods and set up camp.

I stretched out on the makeshift cot that had been set for me and fell into a restless sleep, punctured with dreams of war and famine. I awoke from my nightmare suddenly, like my heart had stopped, driven through with an arrow. I slumped back onto my cot, panting, when a shriek split the heavy silence. I darted from my bedding, shaking off the covers.

I went to the entrance of my tent, peering out through the part in the canvas. The nightwatchman bellowed for my mother, shouting, “Commander! Commander Nuala! Come, quick!”

My mother skidded out of her tent, groggy from lack of sleep. As she saw the urgency in the watchman’s eyes, the tiredness vanished, leaving her alert, and ready to leap into the fray of battle.

“What’s the problem, Haynes? Are we under attack?” She demanded, setting a freezing glare on the soldier.

“Well, not yet, Commander, but the Faded forces have infiltrated a nearby village, and are certainly not stopping until they find someone worth killing.”

I shuddered, astonished. We were here to fight the Faded? Those soulless monsters? The Faded, I recalled from my lessons, were human, but sucked of all life, all heart, all morals.

The First Faded was a very ambitious man. He went to a witch, hoping to gain everlasting life. The old hag tricked him, making him so that he would never die, but took his life force, his Soul perhaps, if you believe in that kind of lore. He then went on, Faded, sucked of all true existence. His only reason to exist was to take life from others.

The colorless husk of his Self craved life, so he tried to take it, only succeeding in creating competitors for the being he craved so dearly. Thus the Faded banded together, their alliance not based on trust, but on hunger. Colorless, ambling, corrupted, they go from town to town, taking everything, leaving nothing but destruction.

By now the soldiers had come to and were handing out weapons for the inevitable attack. My mother rallied the troops for the coming battle and assigned positions to everyone willing to risk their lives. Groups of soldiers were assigned to protect the village, a small community called Galen, while others were told to stay and protect the camp. My mother, the commander-in-chief herself, led the main group into the village.

“Mother!” I protested, “I don’t want to stay here! I can fight!”

“No, Nyx,” She scolded gently. “You stay here and defend the camp.” She turned away and called to a young troop on the sidelines who was looking wary of the incoming attack. He walked up to my mother, obviously scared that he would be chosen to fight with the rest of the soldiers. He shouldn’t have worried. My mother was smart enough not to choose such a novice for such an important battle.

“Flynn! You’re going to stay here and watch Nyx.” She dropped her voice. “Make sure she doesn’t follow me.”

I huffed as relief spread over the man’s face. Apparently, he believed that it would be an easy job. I stormed to my tent, Flynn following closely. Changing my mind at the last moment, I veered towards the outhouse. The soldier still followed. I whirled on the young soldier, eyes sparking.

“Can I get any privacy around here?! Can’t even go to the bathroom in peace!” I said sarcastically, waving my hands for emphasis. Flynn started, jumping back.

“N-no, um... Miss. I’ll… uh… wait here,” he managed to stutter out. I nodded in approval. Hopefully that was enough to distract him for now. I stalked to the outhouse, glowering at anyone who dared to question what I was doing. I entered the enclosed space, gagging at the stench. I held my breath, eyes watering, as I went to the back and swung a board out of my way, gasping in the fresh air outside. I had found this rotten board, hanging for dear life by a single nail, earlier in the day, and knew it would have its uses.

I slipped out of the toilet and rushed across the stretch of bare ground before me. Thankfully, the gap had led into the sparse wood behind the camp, enough to conceal me as I snuck out.

Briefly, I felt a flash of pity for Flynn. He would probably be chastised for failing to keep track of me. Thankfully, the feeling vanished as I made my way through the forest, dodging brambles, low-hanging branches, and the occasional opossum.

I gazed around me, taking in the moonlight filtering through the thickening canopy. I reached the edge of a glade, sparkling with lights from the village down in the valley. Fireflies danced in the rich darkness and ultra-violet fluorescent plants, dubbed Moonflowers, glimmered at the edges of my peripheral. It was stunning. Or, it would have been, if not for the fires. And the screaming.