'Kay, so I liked this so much more when I wrote it last summer. Ah well. It's about time I posted
something... >_>
Introduction
The young woman paced back and forth, slamming her spindly limbs against each of the walls of the tower room in turn. Angrily, and something like a purple blur of Magic in the gloom, she stomped her feet on the floor and circled the rocking chair in the centre of the room.
“
Suicide,” she snarled savagely, and thrust her fist against the icy stone. The words meant little to her now; they were just sounds. Only sounds. Mere fragments escaped her lips, broken and ragged, but the sound was somehow comforting; she was alive, at least. The storm outside was reaching its zenith, and rain drops were falling in great splatters on each of the three windowsills from the open windows.
“Wicked, wicked child!” She flung herself into the rocking chair, and then howled something unintelligible before jumping up again. She hopped on the balls of her feet, as though hot flames were licking at her heels, and continued in her self destructive arc about the room. “Accepting the risk, accepting the risk,” she muttered with a foul, bitter grin. “What use!”
There was a knock at the door, and then entered a man with a thin, gaunt face. He took one look at the woman alone in her torment before deciding if she was fit to hear his news.
“Somebody at the door. Says she wants you. Says you know her. Blonde, sort of yay high?” He gestured to just below his collar bone, clearly wanting to deliver his message swiftly.
The woman muttered something more before addressing him. “Only with permission,” she said with a sympathetic nod, “I’ve been waiting. Bring her to me.” Another growl.
The man nodded, and before the woman had the chance to throw the earthenware pot that she had grasped in her nimble, pointed fingers, the man had vanished and closed the door behind him.
She was once more left in silence, her only comfort the raging storm outside the windows and the gentle rocking of the chair pushed back and forth by an invisible wind. She began her circle of the tower once more.
“Fanatical will?” she mumbled as she flung herself from one side of the room to the other, from window to window. Glassy eyes gazed out into the darkness, all of Exos spread before her like a map. Eula, the desert country flooded beneath her, and far, far away on the distant horizon she imagined that she could make out the two spiked spires that reached to assault the heavens. “No hope.”
With one more circuit of the room, hopping and skipping like a madwoman, she finally came to rest in the rocking chair, spindly purple limbs drawn close to her body as the chair drifted in the breeze. Minimise the pain. Heal the hurt. Stop the revenge. Here she would wait, calmly, until it was time.
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