WHERE EVERYTHING ONCE BEGAN!
warnings : { a/b/o, dark fantasy, dark romance, dark!clark, blind!reader, fictional world }
masterlist | two
She was a lonely woman.
Lonely within the forest that was meant to be her home, in the village she was born. In the arms of a child when she once pretended to be a gentle pet only to be shoved away when it's mother came. Lonely when ashes burned and took her eyesight away, a much lesser pain than losing her father at sea and her mother, who was found dead at the end of a whiskey bottle.
The lonely girl grew to become the quiet woman.
She was often seen covered up to her neck, always had a scarf around her hair, and her lips tightly pursed, fingers clenched tight. Covered in cloth and the stinging smell of the sea, it was easier to hide her scent from her kind.
She sold fishes, often small, and crabs and shells and rocks and little trinkets made of glass. She never sold much, but when she did, it was enough to keep her alive for another day.
Her kind, few but mighty, took care of one another, like blood and flesh mattered none.
That was until three nights ago, where embers burned and with it brought many deaths.
The deaths that brought Clark Kent back home.
She never knew her kind would turn on her.
She hid under their wanderings eyes and their violent hands. Her presence was enough to shake anger to the families who lost their loved ones. They followed her once. With their claws and pelts, ready to end it all.
She had crossed death more time than she wished and yet sought for survival each time.
The fire that took so many, she could not remember how she had survived.
There was a fire once before.
She was still a toddling child when an explosive light of blue and red and gold flashed. She had looked straight at it, with the debris flying until it burned her iris blind.
She had remembered a boy then, small like her in the mist of it. Like a shadow, but everything had burned away, along with her sight.
It was a terrible accident then. However, the second fire she survived made her a target.
La flamme d'enfer.
They called her the flame of hell.
It took a while for the noises to settle down. By then, her small stall had been overthrown, and she had spent her time hiding and running until she found refuse in the small forest, a little far from the sea. Having to live off by the seeds and pines and leaves, she scourged.
She thought of leaving during the times she had been oh so very lonely in the mist of the night. The loneliness clinging to her pores and dripping out from her eyes until the rain had washed it away.
Yet, she could not bring herself to leave. This place was her home, even though it had brought more pain than happiness. It was all she had ever known, the pain.
Pain was familiar, the unknown a stranger.
Most took out their anger on her because she was simple and easy and meek. Others found her pitiful but were overcome by their own struggles to protect her. Some pecked at her, but eventually, their anger lessened until all they were left with was the grief.
The fire had ravaged the halls of the small barn. It had been a festive, a reunion of some sort. Most had left to join the continuation of the celebration by the sea, where booze and smokes ran wild with the wind.
Fews were left behind, the tired ones. The children and the pops and nans that were left to their quiet murmurs and lullabies.
A fire broke out, an ember caught until it engulfed the sleepy household. Nobody knew what had caused it, but it didn't matter anymore.
It had been too late.
Too late for everyone but the poor crawling girl. Blind but alive.
For a moment, it was easier to blame the poor girl. By the time their misjudged anger faded. Guilt remained, but their pride kept their mouth shut.
She had accepted it.
Still, she sold her fishes, her crabs and shells and rocks, and little trinkets made of glass.
She didn't have a stall anymore, but a kind owner let her take over his shop midday. Turning his cobbler shop to one that sold the luxuries of the sea.
The old man didn't demand much. Only to keep the rats away from the soles and to dity up afterward.
“I never know how you are able to skin t'em so closely,” her ears perked up. She stood with her cane by her side with her head slightly tilted to her left.
“My old pop couldn't even manage to guts them as clean you do,” the old man left out a wet cough before settling down on the wooden chair by her side.
She didn't answer. She knew he wasn't looking for an answer
It was nearing sundown, most of her items had been brought, only the trinkets had been left behind. They were never really the town's favorite, but she still sold them.
“The sea always been kind to me,” it wasn't really the truth. There was a pond, one hidden in the forest that had several flows of rivers until it caved in lightly and had all kinds of creatures.
It was easy to dive in and find the creatures that were worth a pretty penny. With her sight gone, it wasn't easier to manipulate the skins and the guts. Still, with her keen sense of smell and her hands calloused from her pickings, she refined her skill just fine.
“Mm,” he settled then, comfy in his chair and a cigar in his mouth, fire ready at hand. “Ma expecting to see you back at the chapel,”
When he saw her face twist in the corner of his eyes, he acted as if he hadn't. “They are paying their final respects tonight, I know you haven't been seeing eye to eye with everyone, but you deserve to be there,”
She started packing her things then, “Yeh, listening to me? When the tower bells, you better be there, or I'm dragging you back by the cane,” her shuffling got quicker even though the old man made no move. All bark, no bite.
“Hiding didn't get you anywhere then, it won't do anything now,” With a grunt, he kicked the foot of his stall before watching her practically run away. “Silly little thing,”
By nightfall, she had practically drilled a hole in the grass. It had taken a lot of contemplation, smoothing her hands over her dress over and over, walking in and out of the entrance, indecisive and uncertain.
Until she heard the bell ring once.
Twice.
By the third, she had adjusted her cane in her hands and smoothed her dress one last time. Before quietly slipping in the chapel door, taking her place in the far back.
Her heartbeats rang in her ears as she settled in quietly in the back. People had glanced at her at first before drifting away. The room was packed, people having to stand up with no more seats left.
Families of the lost ones were grieving in the front. The town people barely fit in the chapel as she shuffled more and more until she was close to the stone walls, everyone squeezing in until even a breath felt too big.
Her cane trembled slightly in her grasp before she switched to it to her right hand as she leaned on the wall.
She could feel the warmth presences, her keen senses heightened. She could even smell the distinct beta smell from the old man and the children who smelled like daisies and mudd and baby cologne.
She could have spent the night stuck to the cold wall, quietly giving her condolences. To not draw attention and leave as quietly as she came.
“Miss,” she felt a touch on her shoulder, “your hand, here, careful it's warm,” the voice was soft as they slowly lowered an oil lamp. She felt the heat of the melted wax and carefully held out her hand.
“Such a tragedy, so many lives lost,” she didn't recognize her voice, yet her scent held a certain familiarity. Probably one of the many villagers, the human ones.
She didn't answer. She had the habit of not answering, staying quiet to stray the attention away from her. Which worked when the unknown woman remained quiet. Instead, she took her attention to the one on her right.
The blend of smell made her nauseous. She wasn't used to it. The sea was a great cover-up in masking human scents and beasts alike.
However, the chapel held no such mercy for her delicate nose.
With a palm holding the warm ceramic, she inserted her cane under her armpit before she delicately placed her other hand around the flame. Less it flickered out.
There were multiple sounds of sorrows, hidden hiccups, and some greetings. It was easy to distract herself when there were so many noises.
She flinched, la flamme. It was quietly spoken in her ear before she felt a harsh tug on her hair.
She couldn't even react before she felt a gust of wind as the person ran by. Leaving her to shallow the lump in her throat. Having to act as if the unknown action hadn't shaken her core.
“Oh goodness, there he is, poor child, I couldn't bear to imagine his pain, the Kent were such good people,” someone ticked their tongue.
She recognized then, Miss Nelly, one of the humans, the owner of the famous pub in town.
Just as she spoke, multiple gasps of surprise resonated in the chapel.
Kent, Clark, Clark Kent.
Ah, she thought, the golden boy was back.
She barely registered her own emotions, and the surprised gasps when a metallic scent overpowered her senses. Such an intense scent, her lungs felt clogged instantly.
She hardly noticed when the fire burned the tip of her finger, leaving a dark ash.
She felt the need to run, to hide away back in the forest, away from the crowds and the shadows that lingered around her.
It wasn't more for the need to hide than the feeling of a sudden predator among the crowd.
She could feel more so hear the greetings being exchanged, the sorrows that were passed on as she tried to make herself smaller.
Her ears began to rang, and she clung to the candle, forcing herself to stand still.
Her palms were damp as they lightly trembled. She could feel the heat of the bodies around her move until only a cold space was left as they walked away to say their homage.
Alone in the corner of the chapel, she hoped she blended enough that no one spared her a glance.
“People of Grand Prey, we are gathered today to honor and give our prayers to those we have tragically lost,” she heard the voice far and loud echoing and silencing the voices in the scared building.
He started by saying the names of the lost ones, to which she visibly reacted too. The children she had known, those who had clung to her skirts, and the elders who guided her cold hands when she was lost.
Everyone had lost someone, yet her loss seemed meaningless.
Her shoulder lightly curved inwards, retreating on herself. Her candle dimming, just as herself.
She was lost in her thoughts, in her pain and the heavy guilt she carried that she didn't notice the tangent smell suddenly hovering over her back, like a buzzing bird carefully landing on her shoulder, quiet but there.
Then, a sudden shadow overwhelmed her being, stark and tall, that her soul recognized it before her mind did. A light chirp escaped her before she slapped a palm to her mouth.
She stood still, paralyzed. She couldn't make sense of what her senses were telling her. A being so unfamiliar. Not yet human nor beast.
She crouched on herself even more before there was a moment of stillness. As if the air around was holding its breath along with her.
A few moments passed until she distinctly felt the heat at her back, warming her enough to bring warmth to her cold cheeks, far warmer than the candle that was slowly extinguishing in her grasp.
She heard a whisper of her name, which she visibly flinched to, not recognizing the voice but sensing it was coming from behind her.
Before she could move or respond, she felt it, an arm passing over her shoulder, sending shiver down her back even though they hadn't even touched her. She heard the clink of two candles ceramics touching.
“Your flame,” she felt the whisper brush the tip of her ear, the heat of his chest lightly brushing her back, “It's going out,”
She held her breath when his smell invaded her senses, first in her lungs until she felt lightheaded.
She hummed, barely an answer when she felt his warm fingers touch her own, his own candle lightly tilted to let her flame catch his. It was barely a few seconds before she felt the presence behind her move away, as if he was never there in the first place.
She blinked a few times, barely comprehending. She wouldn't have known it was real if she hadn't felt the flame burning brighter in her palm.
Or of she hadn't felt his presence lingering behind her, like a protective shadow that stayed until the service was done.
