It’s always the same, as if The Smog crawls into their head and whispers evil lies that eat them up from the inside out.
More and more people seem to be losing their grip on reality lately, but I think it slunk its way into Mother’s mind long ago, maybe even before Father. The woman is an empath and ahealer, but she never uses her gifts anymore. I don’t even know if she can.
The ability to heal is sparse since the Smog came to be, and we could really use every skilled fae. It’s such a fucking shame she couldn’t have been bothered to snap out of it, not even for my sake.
She is the reason I have stayed for so long. Each time I consider leaving, striking out on my own, the guilt of abandoning her here to rot in her grief and anger eats me alive. You cannot force healing into the mind, especially not on someone who is resistant to accept it, and my power isn’t strong enough to fix her anyway.
“It’s been a long day. I thought you’d be asleep by now. I’m exhausted and want to sleep, myself,” I say as I attempt to make my way past her and up the stairs to my room. Exhaustion nags at me, and there’s not much I wouldn’t give to come home to a mother who—just once—will hold me and tell me things will be okay.
Crack.
My ears ring as Mother’s open hand meets my cheek in a familiar show of violence.
“Ungrateful cunt!” she screams, but I refuse to react. That would only feed into whatever beast lives inside her, provoking it to escalate even more. I stare straight ahead and allow her to throw her tantrum. “One day I’ll be gone, and you’ll regret the way you’ve treated me!” Demitra hollers.
When she’s finished, I turn and head up the stairs.
“I love you, Mother. I hope you sleep well. Goodnight,” I sing as I close and lock my door, shutting her and the rest of the world out.
I rush to light my lamp, illuminating the room in a soft, yellow glow.
My face still stings, but I refuse to use my magic to remedy it. The pain festers and grows roots into my soul, fueling my desire to get out of this place. The Queen’s Guard has to accept me. It’s the only clear path I can see that will get me away from Demitra guilt-free, but not so far that I can’t keep an eye on her and Phil, too.
By the time I change into my nightgown, my cheek is hot and red, but inside, I am mostly numb.
The book on my nightstand is calling to me, and I pull out the tattered note I use as a bookmark, running my fingers over the faded, smudged ink written in what Mother told me is my father’s hand.
You must save yourself.
Four words that remind me I’m the only person I can depend on. My driving force, and the sole reason I’ve been working toward securing a rank in the Queen’s Guard.
I spent much of my childhood wishing and praying he would rescue me, but as I got older and things got harder, and the world bleaker, I realized he was never coming back.
Nobody is coming to do the work for me.
If my fighting skills aren’t enough to convince them, then my healing abilities will certainly get me in. They can’t say no to a healer willing to work on the combat field.
My book is worn and smudged because I’ve read it a million times. There are very few books to be found in Lukasia, and none of them hold any significant history. Another thing the Smog stole from us, I suppose.
Tucking the note into the back pages, I begin to read and eventually drift off with visions of an entirely different world dancing in my head, a world where I’m finally free of my lusterless Smog-cursed prison.
I fall asleep with the oil in my lamp still burning.
Raiden
The duke’s thin blood had made for the perfect painting medium. At first, the way he bled without clotting came as a surprise, but after years of gutting these scumbags, I’ve learned to think on my feet.
Even in the dark, I can tell the clear water runs red the moment I dunk my hands into the bucket. I use a cloth under my nails to remove the blood that’s dried there.
“Do you think they’ll get the message, sir?” Baltas, my second-in-command, asks from behind me.
No.
“Hard to tell with this lot. It’s like they’re all under some trance. Or they simply refuse to see what’s clearly in front ofthem.” The skin of my hands feels raw from scrubbing at this point.
“It’s difficult to recognize anything outside yourself when the world is burning,” he reasons.
A disapproving grunt is my only acknowledgement. They’re all a bunch of cowards, letting it get this bad. Sitting by while The Smog sucks the life out of every living thing.
