The Beginning of Another End
The result of about an hour and a half of randomly writing during and between classes. I’m the best student, clearly. ------------------------------------------------ You failed to really live until the day you died. You couldn’t have known what the day would bring as she nudged you into unhappy wakefulness, ushered you away from whatever lazy, lackadaisical dream had its limbs so neatly wound about your mind. No man, or woman, or anything which exists between stirs contemplating their own morality (at least, not on a regular basis). And if they happen to, there is always one firm insistence which lingers in the back of their mind, a steady chant: not today. Never today. Always some infinite amount of tomorrows away. Until it is today, at which point it’s too late. No, thoughts of that mortal coil you call a “body” did not cross your mind on that fateful morning. All you could focus on was that high-pitched voice, insistent as ever. “Come on, Cassie. You can’t sleep the whole day away, you know!” You groaned and shielded your ears with a pillow. How was her voice so painfully shrill? Crowing birds and chiming bells could not compete with dear, virtuous Fantine. One could take her lithe, slender form and perch it upon the rooftops of Corview, and her morning salutations would stir the citizens more readily than any crowing cock ever could. How well your little sister could cope with irate citizens at the crack of dawn was an entirely different matter, of course; you’d probably be the one tasked to shoo them away with a harsh growl and a prod of your swords. Five more minutes. That was all you needed. More would have been nice, of course. If you wanted to be honest, five more hours would likely still feel insufficient. In fact, you could have very well slept the entire day away with little regret. However, her words cut through that feather-soft sound barrier, which proved to not act as much of a barrier at all. No luck for you. The rooster wanted you up, and you were fortunate that she hadn’t resorted to pecking at you to get what she wanted. Maybe if you played dead, she would leave you alone. Maybe she’d be fooled. Nope. “Cass. By the Light, if you don’t get up within the next ten seconds…” Ten whole seconds? By gods, she was really feeling generous today. Usually it was five, or three, or by-the-time-I-finish-this-sentence-you’d-better-have-something-aside-from-pajamas-on-or-so-help-me-Cass… Her generosity went unappreciated, however, as you offered the most eloquent of replies. “Nn… Fuck off, Fanny.” The epitome of tactful, polite speech. Silence on dear Fanny’s end. And then, before those ten seconds were even halfway up, you found yourself not in bed anymore. You were, in fact, precisely 5.35 feet above your bed (not that you cared about technicalities), hovering horizontally and clinging to your pillow in a vain attempt to remain grounded. Soft hissing escaped your lips as you vocalized your distress, silk-clothed legs kicking at empty space. “F-fuck’s sake, Fan! Lemme down, now!” Poor choice of words, in retrospect. Thud. Mattress, meet Face. You would have scowled had you not heard the soft little snicker that always tugged a smile to your lips. You absolutely adored her laughter. But she only laughed at you. Truly the greatest tragedy of your time. “… M’gonna get you for that, Fanny.” you growled as you lifted your head, baring your unremarkable human teeth in a snarl more appropriate of some wolfish rogue. For a second, you were that monster that chased a ten-years-younger Fan into her bedroom with glee, howling out threats of decapitation and evisceration and whatever other handy words you’d picked up from your warrior training that day. She was easily frightened then, as all children were; shadows and threats tug most effectively at the minds of those too young to comprehend logical probability, after all. But Fantine possessed the means to dispel those shadows more than effectively now. You envied her magical prowess, if you were honest for a second. The daily routine and ritual? … Not something you envied so much. On second thought, she could keep that. Your snarling broke into a grin as she watched you, unperturbed. Count on dear Fanny to not show the slightest hints of fear. You tugged her close, and squeezed her tight, rumbling into her ear. “… You ever think maybe the Light ain’t too happy when you levitate helpless folk outta their beds at… eight in the morning?” “… It was for a just reason.” came her soft, almost sheepish response. A pause, and then, as an afterthought, “… Also, it’s seven. Not eight.” You groaned. Too early for any mortal woman to be up. What sort of foul creature had possessed your sister? … Too late for you to feign sleep again, of course. “… Fuck.”
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Only a little over three hours since your rude, preemptive awakening. 10 AM. 10:13 AM, if you wanted to be truly precise (spoiler: you didn’t). The smell of bacon, swiped and gobbled up as swiftly as it had been made, lingered in the house, and you sprawled lazily upon the couch, turning a baleful gaze upon the armor that you should have technically strapped on by now. … Two more hours. Noon seemed like as good a time as any to actually make yourself useful to the world. Fantine was huddled over some philosophical book already, of course; she made the most of every second of her day. Not that you saw much use in those books. They made your brain hurt after about 1.5 sentences.
The scent of bacon seemed to grow stronger, an almost tangible, smoky aroma. Smoke… Huh. Perhaps you’d left the stove on. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? You get to your feet with the grimace of someone who’d been far too comfortable reclining, shooting a glance Fan’s way as you passed. She didn’t even look up, too focused on whatever religious text she was engaged in. The stove had been extinguished; the scent, however, only seemed stronger here. Closer to the entrance, perhaps. A wave of concern rooted itself in your stomach. Probably nothing. Someone roasting a boar outside, perhaps. Still… You crept to the door and opened it just a crack. An almost stifling smell, then, and black, billowing smoke on the other side of the village, too great and dark to have stemmed from just one home. Distant sounds of yelling and screaming, too. Enough to set the hairs on your neck prickling with concern.
You all but flew back inside, being sure to shut the door as you entered the living room once more. Fan didn’t so much as glance up. “… Fan.” Still absorbed in her book. “… Fan. We need to leave. Now.” That got her attention; her violet-grey eyes sought yours, gaze level but perplexed. The question she voiced was lost on your ears as you shifted to gather your things. Armor? Too time-consuming to don the full set. Shit. The best you could do was don a crude, chainmail underarmor. Gloves. A helm. … Good enough, you hoped. Swords? Easier to grab them both. Good.
You could both hear the noises now: a raucous din that was growing steadily louder and undoubtedly nearing your home. Lots of screaming, now, and the clatter of steel. “… The back door. Go.” You were barely conscious of your command. You were close to the outskirts. Perhaps Fantine could make her escape. “Take the horse and go. Just… ride until you find somewhere safe.”
“… Cass…” The tone in her voice hurt.
“I’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry about me.” You’d find some way to catch up to her. You watched until she turned to head out the back door. Safe, you hoped. You went the opposite route: towards the front. And you descended from the safety of your locked door into unmitigated chaos.
The dead had come to take you. Men and women who may have previously cried out beside you in battle. Creatures who had been torn from their lives and raised to fight once more, without fear of injury, save for cranial trauma. Too many for you to count. Far too many for little Corview to handle. One of the least fair fights you’d even seen. But they’d spotted you, and you weren’t about to let them pass without consequence.
The rotting corpse that was upon you almost immediately was revolting to every sense: hideous, reeking, and cacophonic in his garbled snarling. You uttered a sharp battle cry as you made your first strike: a swift slice. Another. A stab that pierced the cadaver’s body and lodged your sword firmly between his rib plates. You stared. He cackled. So fruitless an attempt you’d made. It really was polite of him to return the favor with his own, blood-crusted sword. A flash of pain, and then nothing.
They’d said dying hurts. It was far less tragic than you’d been made to believe. That nonsense about your life flashing before your eyes was bullshit, too. Maybe because his strike had been so precise. Grade-A quality, honestly. You hardly had time to comprehend what happened, let alone every important moment of your too-short life. You thought of one thing, though: Fantine. You hoped that she’d made it to the stable. You hoped she hadn’t lingered to see what had become of you.
Your chest was warm. Bubbly, even, in the most literal, grotesque meaning of the word. A weightless hand lifted to the blade imbedded there, seeing but not comprehending, sensing but not feeling. You couldn’t have known what was to lie in store for you upon your inevitable demise. Your eyes would open again not three hours later, and you’d find yourself reborn. But that was a story of another lifetime. A lifetime you would enjoy to its fullest, coincidentally, unlike this nearly-wasted one.