inspired by @bebewrites ;
tw; disappearance, suspected death; parental neglect.
On August 15th, 2020, Victoria Hastings, 19, sends her brother a cryptic text before vanishing without a trace. With a history of going off on her own and being hard to reach, it takes her parents a couple of days before they even start worrying - even with Alexander’s text, they cannot be convinced. Only after a week do they start to consider that something may have happened to her, and by then it is too late. Deferred searching and all of the detective work that money can buy cannot bring their daughter back to them. Over four months later, she comes back into their lives as if nothing has happened. The only person who seems to know anything about her whereabouts post return is her twin brother, their son Alexander, and... he’s not talking.
taglist; @thearchangelwrites
please reply, reblog, message, or go here to be added to the taglist.
Asher realized what he’d mistaken for a window covering was actually a large sheet draped across the wall. It hung lopsided, lazily thrown over something. Or perhaps in haste?
Asher cursed his own curiosity. His back twinged as he reached for it with a wince, and he tugged. The fabric fell to the floor in a heap.
Marks covered the wall from floor to ceiling. Thin lines gouged into the stone. There were hundreds of them, each one sapping his remaining strength as he took in the sheer number. They stretched up and reached behind the furniture too, the shelves and cabinets that lined the entire room.
The room, which was spinning and there was a clattering behind him as he stumbled and grasped for something, anything, to hold himself up. The weight of it all finally crushed him, and a riotous noise filled his head and bones and body, shouting and screeching like a fury.
Cursed for a hundred years. Thousands upon thousands of marks, a slash for every day, counting down to zero. Until they were out of time and cursed for eternity.
And Asher had gotten them stuck there.
Footsteps broke through the roaring in his ears and a low voice said what his own mind had been chanting at him since he first stepped foot in the chamber.
her flickering eyes, vagabond,
dancing in the storm, she was lost
drifting too far into the wind,
spirited and untamed, almost,
when the brilliant day darkened.
She seemed to struggle to find the right words, and Asher realized she’d never had to explain before. They hadn’t had contact with anyone in so long, maybe ever.
Her brow was furrowed. She twisted her hands slowly, but then she looked up and squared her shoulders. Her eyes reminded him of an autumnal forest.
“We are the ones who were here when the kingdom was cursed. The day…” Her fisted hands relaxed at her sides. “The people trapped here are the ones who were in the castle that day.”
“We’re what’s left,” Vega said bitterly from where she leaned against the wall.
“The ones who were in the castle that day? A hundred years ago? But that would mean…” Landon said. “You’ve been here this whole time? You are a hundred years old?”
“This is cursed time, borrowed time. I don’t know much about magic, but I don’t think it’s meant to be stretched this thin. It doesn’t always move the way it’s supposed to. You asked me how we’ve been here for almost a century, and the answer is, I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like it’s only been months. Sometimes every second, every minute, feels like a week, and I swear I’ve lived parts of it over and over. I can’t explain it, but I don’t think it was meant to be like this. That’s why everything’s falling apart. The magic breaking down, running haywire. That’s why we have to stop this before the end of the hundredth year. Otherwise it’ll just be more of this. Destruction, decay. Until there’s nothing left.”
“You,” she said, pointing a boney finger at Asher. “You will die in two days time from those injuries.”
Asher stared at her, a jolt of fear streaking through him. Her voice was rough, full of smoke. He had never seen a witch before, although he’d heard rumors and myths. How else did things like furies and the Night Veil come to exist?
“What do you want?” Asher asked. Arden and Landon didn’t wake, didn’t even stir. He was almost certain he was hallucinating, or at least still sleeping, all of this part of some fever dream. Leftover effects of the venom in his system.
“Nothing is what it seems,” the witch said, her mouth twitching up at the corners, almost as if she’d read his mind. Then she took a step toward him, out of the embers with a wicked grin. “Prince.”
MORE UNDER THE CUT.
[page · tag · images]
She moved too gracefully for her age, for a person at all.
“How do you know who I am? Have you been following us?”
“No, son of Anveria, warrior of Anreign.” Her voice was too sweet, like a child’s. And then she lunged at him, her staff prodding his aching back as if she were stoking a fire.
Asher yelped as his back spasmed, his hands clenching fistfulls of his bedroll. Still, Arden and Landon did not wake.
“What was that for?” Asher asked through gritted teeth.
“I’ve just spared you from bearing hideous scars for the rest of your life.” Her silver eyes flashed. “It’d be a shame to let them mar that beautiful, young skin of yours. You’re welcome.”
And indeed Asher felt the stinging in his back subsiding. “What have you done to them? Why won’t they wake?”
“I am not here for them. I came to see you.”
“Why?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“These lands are not safe,” the witch said, her eyes lit with a wildness Asher had never seen. “Nothing is what it seems, what it seems. The beasts of flame and shadow. The veil of night.” She dropped her voice. “Even the bird of flame is not what it seems. The stars above, the earth below. There are stories if you listen. The mountains tried to tell you, boy.”
She was insane, and rambling. Probably trying to confuse him into some sort of bargain or agreement. But still he asked, “What do you know of the firebird?”
He couldn’t help it. He was enamored with the creature as much as anyone else.
The witch cackled, swinging her staff through the campfire, and a great bird of flame rose from the embers. Its wings unfurled, beak open. That sorrowful cry sounded again in Asher’s mind as the miniature firebird faded. He was afraid it might haunt him forever.
“The heart of the curse,” she said, her voice full of amusement.
“The heart—”
She turned toward the East, a finger pointing off into the distance. “You must go to the castle. You will die in two days time if your wounds are left untreated.”
“I—but I thought you healed me?”
“The venom may be gone, but the wounds still remain.”
“But what about my men? I can’t just leave them all here. They had families, homes to return to—”
“You will not return at all, prince,” the witch hissed, whirling on him. “If you do not heed my advice. You will die. Your friends will die. Think of what it will do to your poor mother. A queen in her condition, losing her two youngest.” She sighed with a tsk of her tongue and turned back to the fire.
“You know of the illness? Maybe you can—”
“Go to the castle,” she said firmly. “It is the only safe place left for you now.”
The witch repositioned herself in the center of the embers, and with a prod from her staff, the flames stretched up to swallowed her just as they had when she arrived. There was a puff of smoke and a shower of sparks, and then the fire died out completely. She was gone.
Asher fell back onto his stomach, his back twinging with pain. He could tell the venom was indeed gone, the pain a dull throb as opposed to the razor sharpness he’d woken up with. A fierce wave of exhaustion swept over him. Arden and Landon hadn’t moved an inch from where they slept. He was certain he’d dreamt the entire exchange.
What a load of rubbish, Asher thought.
The dark campfire sputtered to life and sent another shower of sparks over him before winking out.
legend says, ela, the goddess of life, took four stars from the night sky and gave them to her creations on earth, fashioning them as gemstones containing the most powerful magic in all the realms. it is said that the starstones were unlike most other magical items because they held only the power to protect. they couldn’t be used to harm another being or kingdom, though many throughout the continent’s history tried. wars raged between kingdom lines and magical factions over the age-old question - who did ela give the stones to, men or magic wielders? the truth is that no one knows. after being combined with various items over the years—crowns, jewelry, statues, etc.—the stones were lost to time and ruin. and no one’s heard from the gods in almost a millennia.
