“Interesting, isn’t it? The Church seemed to have replied quickly, like the day of,” Anjina said.

“Most likely because Father is the Order Knight. He is one of the rare ones with double of the Gods.”

Ryunise turned the new envelope to and fro, observing and feeling a tingle to her finger tips. It seemed there was a veil over it, like a guard protecting property, and designed to only allow the eyes of the one who it was written for. Since the dark times of past and of war, the Sacred Orclast Church made sure to refine their security, not wanting to pick a side and remain apolitical in the face and hand of dissention. Their biggest accomplishment was protecting each and every message. Despite numerous interceptions, methods to break it, and even the call of the gods, nothing was enough to make a humble envelope yield.

However, it was a curious thing to have in person. She could see what looked to be the ghost of a lock cinching chains of light around the purpled invitation. Upon her touch the lock pushed its face to become brighter like the face of the sun. All Ryunise would have to do is sway a finger to the right to release the seal.

“What does it say, Nise?” Anjina scooted at her side. Her mother wouldn’t be able to read it. All messages were for intended eyes only. Everyone else would only see an empty space on the lovely paper.

“It’s from an…August Haviomist?” She glanced through it.

“Ah,” Anjina started, “Principle August di Lilium Haviomist, I presume.”

“Lilium…?”

“Lilium is a higher Goddess over Alteration, the human body, and Reading of Fates. There is said to be 11 in possession of that name. Principle August Haviomist is also on the committee for medicine and physiological welfare.”

“I see,” Ryunise read on, “It’s just a short message. But it says I have been invited to the Church two days as of this letter. It’s dated for yesterday, so that means tomorrow.”

“Then we better start planning!”

“Wait, hold on, plan for what?” Her daughter gulped a bit.

“For your audience in the Church! It’s not every day one is sought by them, let alone invited! And by a Principle, too!” Anjina dazzled and her grin glistened easily.

“…do I at least have a say in it?” Ryunise gulped.

“Say in what, my cute, cute daughter?” The words were bubbles of danger and fate-be-sealed-upon-you, “I’ll be gentle!”

Ryunise resigned. There would be no help. Once the madam, Ryunise’s mother, was set there was no force that will stand against her. The maid bowed slightly in the background in polite courtesy. “Ryunise” could only smile a little when Anjina fluttered into the wardrobe. Even though this body belonged to someone else, she will still take care of those important and dear in Ryunise’s life. She wasn’t about to take away their joys, trample their memories, or get found out. Something still wasn’t quite right confessing everything. It was very crazy-sounding, even for her.

A Principle. It sounded like a super important person. Ryunise’s memories mainly was filled with study, books, etiquette, and sociology. Learning practical, logic, and theory wasn’t quite her strong point, let alone the life and culture of the biggest religion in the lands. She could feel like a splinter every day, as if the unknown variables of details and a true understanding of where and why she is where she is.

Hopefully answers will come soon. Or – hopefully – her eyes can be fixed.

-*-

That night, Ryunise couldn’t settle down for sleep. Since she had been napping most of the time for weeks, there have been some instances lying in bed and staring at the ceiling was the only thing to do. There was no electricity in the house too. Marcaes was insistent about that, so going to bed early was a professional past time in the Emerodelle house. Not that she had her phone to charge—

What? Wait a second…phone? But there shouldn’t be phones here, and why can I remember then?

Ugh! Pain, it hurts, it’s bad…!

Ryunise imprisoned her head with her fingers, core crunched in and pain pounding like a percussion line and a shrilling ensemble of discordant woodwinds dashed among the clanging. Images blurred and hurried, seeking to zoom her head on a swivel. Buildings that break the skies, sleek planes running on jet fuel, paved concrete roots clogged with magicless machines on wheels, bright lights, sounds. Then great mountains and crimson gates made of wood, pink blossoms like stars infecting the trees, rivers, and skies, incense sticks alit upon alters of stone, great halls with a single god of bronze peering down, bowing deer roaming the immaculate gardens of grass and pine, large bells being tickled by spilled red and white rope, and hands clapping together with heads bowed in prayer.

Then she felt it. She couldn’t breathe again. A clench around the neck, so familiar, so deadly, and reminding horridly the ease of mortality. Her mortality. The slim neck, sickly weak, and a backbone only good to pathetically please. Her body bruised in agony. A shove down the tall stairs. A tea cup splashed with her lipstick and blood from her lungs. Ribs broken and punctured her lungs and heart.

Three people, no, two, standing over her with voided eyes. Words, names, unborn in her throat and died in her mind.

A sword. Many swords. The darkness. Prison bars. Slick stairs, a basket of dark spheres, the bitter ropes, and a contaminated guillotine. The drowning deep. The slosh of sullied foods. Clanging bells and unheard plea. The sharp twin daggers carved of admiral cobalt. The breath of a smirk. The taste of crystalline salt like the kiss of the end.

The last…

Final…

Darkness…layers. Grabbing tight and strangling each neck. Puncture each lung. Mashing each heart. Tender muscles ripped off the bones. Closer and closer. Gravity. Faster. Reeling. Churning. Dizzying. Quaking. Collapsing, crashing--

“Breathe, woman!”

Ryunise jerked. This place was different now. She was surrounded by white dry walls, a simple picture window, and popcorn ceiling. Her phone was buzzing non-stop beside her from the alarm. A woman was staring over her, much like her and a few years older. Her brows and lips were scowling in disapproval.

“What are you doing?! Hurry and get up! You’re late for the pictures!” She shrilled.

“P…pictures? What…?” Ryunise sat up.

Wait. Wasn’t she in a room of wood and wall paper? Magic, gods, and swords? A loving family just for her.

“Was it…only a dream…?”

“You’ve been playing games all night, haven’t you! I swear, you have no motivation or ambitions. How do you expect to live on your own? You don’t have a backbone!”

“I guess…it was a dream…what was I doing…?” Her name wasn’t Ryunise Emerodelle, but Bethany Rivers.

“Are you even listening?!” Her second older sister Denise Rivers, as usual, shrieked like she could go for days, “Get up! Enough with your stupid dreams! They got you nowhere but in the clouds. That’s why you’re still just a child! And you’re 30!”

“Gods, can you just shut up…?” Bethany held her head over her eyes.

“Fuck that! Get up!” Denise practically punched a heavy clothing in her face.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Pictures! For the wedding! You’re not even dressed yet, and your hair is a mess!” The other woman lorded over her, “No wonder no one wants to date you. You’re such a slob!”

That stung. That stung unbelievably deep. Her eyes felt as if someone splashed them in a pot of water and turned the stove on high. A slow, yet fast boil. This sorrow was not cold, but hot with a dying life with much to say, much to scream, but no one to listen. No one wants to listen.

“Are you done…?” Bethany whispered. But what was the point?

“Get up, slob! It’s my wedding! You do as I say!”

What is the point?

“I try and help you. I really do! But you just want to be lazy and do nothing. You’re such a burden! Mom and Dad even say so!”

A burden.

“You need to get over yourself and grow up! Now get dressed and make sure to put on make-up. At least attempt to look decent today!”

Grow up. Attempt to look decent.

“Are you listening?!” Denise was howling.

No one incurs this wraith except for Bethany. The outcast. The introvert. The useless. The scum. The weird. The different. Immature. Undesirable. The why-can’t-you-be-like-your-sister? What’s wrong with this girl? Is she really a woman? Why doesn’t she say anything? What is she wearing?

‘Is that even a girl?’ A college guy echoed in her memories.

‘Who’re you talking about?’ Another asked.

‘Over there, the one at the table.’

‘Oh. Didn’t even notice.’ The two laughed.

Blended. Average grades. No invitation to hangout or parties. Alone.

“You’re hopeless. If I have to come back in here, you’re out of the wedding!” Denise snapped, then she had the door snap upon her exit.

“Hopeless…yeah. That sounds about right…” Bethany resigned in her bed and pulled down her hair.

Her brown eyes looked at her mirror, and saw the same old, wild-looking and exhausted thing in the mirror. Her same old, wild-looking, and exhausted self. She wasn’t bad looking, she knew she was physically attractive than most others, curves, and even looked exotic. Yet, what’s the point when you have no presence? No pleasing personality, no light? Was there even light to begin with?

She tasted salt on her cheeks, and polluting her throat. Bethany had spent most of her years alive – no. Not alive. Surviving. She had spent most of her years surviving on these tears and the shadows of her successful, beautiful, and socially breath-taking sisters. Her mother and her cats were the only figures in her life that loved her.

Except for these…

Bethany traced her fingers along the tender inside of her forearms. These scars, long, old, and the mark of her struggle to feel something. Anything. To punish herself. Everyone else was doing it. So why not her?

“…help…”

Not those words again. Not the siren’s call of her scars. Not again does she want it to flow. But she does…she wants it to flow. She wants it to flow, the sweet pain, and to truly drown in her tears. Her mother has been sent away to the mental institution. Her cats were run over.

“…please…”

Yes…this is what I’m good at. One last time. One last love. Finally. One selfish, selfish wish. Please. Let me never wake up. I’m so tired. I’ve called out so many times. Not even my own echo tries to find me.

“Please…I’m so tired…I’m in so much…pain…”

Bethany reached into her secret spot. It was between the mattress and the bed frame. The lick of the cool steel. It was okay. I made sure to sharpen it, she thought. I made sure to sharpen it. I was hoping I didn’t have to. That I would find the sun. I would find my field, find my place, find my world. But it seems now I will make one last stand. Fulfill my own wish. One last act. The bridges.

The final two bridges. Two bridges to freedom. I’m so tired.

“…help me…”

Everything is so dark.

“BREATHE, WOMAN!!”