Theme 01: Aneskia - Week 2

Oh what a pleasant week it has been e.e no work, no stress, and basically nothing done except writing XD I'd planned to do things around the house, learn some more driving, maybe draw a little... Nope: all I did was write. After nine months without a vacation, that's honestly all I needed.

And it's been a fruitful week! Not as much writing as formatting and font-picking, but this was a necessity to begin with. Only one life story, Isaru's, had been divided into chapters - and I have to admit it makes reading, writing AND editing a whole lot easier. Information is usually easier to find; and, as I try and keep each chapter in line with a specific theme, I remember more easily what happens and how (although a few evenings ago I went mad trying to remember the name of a character I love... That's what you get for not being busy with these things XD). This all to say that I achieved quite a lot, even though it may not seem so. I'm one to do things in phases: first came the formatting phase to make the writing pleasant to read and thus easier to get a feel for and edit; now, I'm in the middle of the editing phase, which will likely occur in itself in phases; and then, I'd like to conclude with the artistic phase, and create illustrations based on each chapter. This latter phase is not a priority, but something fun I'd like to do to emphasize the chapters' meaning and impact.

For now, we're neck-deep in editing. I like editing. I like adding content and fluff that improves upon scenes and strengthens the emotional impact they have. However, writing new scenes remains a chore; ever since my surgery, as I know I've mentioned before, something has changed. As though all of my brainpower has been taken from me. It saddened me, depressed me to the point of believing I was better off not trying to write anymore because I just couldn't write anymore.

Well, as this year is a no-negativity year, I've been trying to change my perception around. Yes, I have a hard time writing new stuff; I can still alter and improve old stuff and really make it better. I read once that what you have to do when writing, is write: not care about how it sounds or looks or whatever, and just write... and edit it all later. I do pick up my thesaurus frequently, but I try not to let go of the flow of emotions that fuels the scenes, the reasons for my people to behave and act certain ways... With the scene I added last night, I managed to do just that. Writing was hard but feeling was not - I hung onto that and wrote and, as I used to do, listened to what the character would 'say' (=feel) to determine whether I was writing something right. Thanks to this new scene, I filled a plothole, and developed one character's emotions a little more. I am proud. ... though I may read over the scene and still find things to change XD for now however, I choose to be pleased. I am trying to work around these strange 'new' mental problems and use them as a launching pad towards better, stronger work. One other example is that I used the formatting phase to change the font of a few scenes to try and reflect the personality of the characters involved. These will likely not show up online, but that's okay: it's more of a visual aid for me. I need visual aids. Whatever works, I use.

As a sidenote, I acquired Theathrhythm Final Fantasy Curtain Call recently (the only day we didn't stay at home during my vacation XD), and it's actually been a boost to my inspiration. I discovered a few songs that fit the theme of the forest, and re-discovered the emotional impact of some of these games (FFX, anyone?). At the same time, I reduced the amount of time spent/wasted watching tv and playing tablet games. I really do want to focus on more important things (and, y'know... real games << XD got Murdered Soul Suspect the same day, and though the game in itself will likely not fly all too high, I LOVE the premise and the execution of all the soul-related things... More inspiration right there.)

Anyway. Week 2, I promised some writing! So here is the first chapter of Kristofa and Niskania's story; the following chapters I will gradually post onto my site.

Enjoy :)

Everything will change…

The birth of a Syrilae is a magical moment, in the most literal of senses.

Children are as much conceived through nature as they are through magic; they grow inside a mother's womb as an entity of magic, akin to elementals, and it is during the pregnancy that their powers are moulded as they absorb the ambient magic as well as the innate power of their mother.

It is why a Syrilae mother cannot sustain a pregnancy outside of her home village, where magic is thickest and greatest, and where they are assisted by the Aberviohn, the guardian trees who have protected their village since times immemorial.

Niskania resented this help.

She resented her unborn child.

She resented the man who would abandon her.

Throughout her life, Niskania had dreamt of horror, of blood, of darkness, of destruction. Words, notions, that no other Syrilae had understood, so she had been alone to endure the nightly visions gifted to her by the Aberviohn. Niskania had become a recluse amid her own people, a sight of sorrow, dreaded, and pitied.

She had not wanted a child. She had wished for it to die, so it wouldn't have to grow up like she had. For Niskania knew that her child, her daughter, would be gifted with similar powers, and it was a life she wished upon neither friend nor foe.

Ia, she could have fled from the village and let both of them die, far away from home… but she was no murderer. She could not take another's life, even were this life cursed.

When she laid eyes upon her daughter for the first time, upon that delicate little face, Niskania breathed to her, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Chapter 1: Envision

Niskania was born on a quiet day to parents of Syrilae origin. Her mother, Inasia, was a gifted healer and her father, Gorae, a capable wielder of water: from their powers entwined a new form of magic, and a new life, came into being.

Gorae was a present, loving man, and Inasia a compassionate and dedicated woman. Neither of them had wished to leave their home, as is the tradition, in search of reasons to live – they had found each other and, despite reservations as to the risks of a fullblood child being born with powers too great to handle, their love had conquered their hearts.

From the fluctuation of water and the comprehension of inner magic, an unexpected power saw the light of day.

It began with little things. They noticed, as Niskania aged into early childhood, that their daughter was often fatigued and slept nearly every, as Humans call it, 'night' – an uncommon trait for Syrilae who, due to their extensive longevity, only sleep about a full day every four or five days.

Then the dreams began. Small dreams, which at first they dismissed as nothing but that. Niskania would speak of landscapes and societies she could not possibly know. Towers of ivory and light, dark abodes and cities under siege.

Sometimes, she would dream of the Aberviohn; other times, of Humans and Elves and creatures she was unable to give names to: creatures with claws and fangs and scaled tails; small, big, terrible and sometimes adorable; magnificent creatures as large as the village itself upon landscapes of reds and browns and sharp stones.

Creatures as black as a lightless night, immensely powerful and bound to the world.

Strange beings like mist before dawn, vanishing as her dreams caught their evanescence.

And, one night, she dreamt with great precision about the pregnancy of their Ansai's daughter, Selessannea, whom she foresaw would return accompanied by her fanged friend. Selessannea, however, did not return, and still Niskania's visions were dismissed as mere dreams. By then her parents had long ceased paying any real attention to her, and Niskania didn't mind: she'd never sought their acceptance to begin with.

Niskania had learned, at a very young age, that she was different from the others. She had not her mother's potential for healing, nor did she grasp the fluctuation of magic within the world – yet she saw the stars, the 'little lights' as she called them, through the thick foliage, and whomever had seen the outside world was quite stunned by how precisely she was able to describe the stars' positions. She was a child of the world, a part of the grand scheme of things, and from the solitude of her home she saw far more than anyone would ever see in their entire lives.

Niskania was still a child, about a century old, when she foresaw their Ansai's daughter's second pregnancy, as well as great sorrow. Few paid attention to her; only one Syrilae, Ansai Nefahtil herself, had been all ears for the girl's words. Despite having given up on her daughter Selessannea five short Human years ago, when Selessannea had chosen the dead over her own kind, Nefahtil was still the girl's mother at heart. To hear of great sorrow, Nefahtil anticipated but one possible outcome: her daughter was about to die.

The second night, Niskania foresaw the return of Selessannea's fanged friend; mid-dream, the vision abruptly blurred – red stains splattered across the darkness.

Niskania awoke, gasping, jolting up straight with a hand to her lips. There was no trace of blood. What she had felt, what she somehow believed she would have seen – she was unable to describe anything. There was a pain in her heart, inexplicable; a loss, a void, a sorrow greater than justice. She spoke of this dream with Ansai Nefahtil, who was unable to fully determine what Niskania tried to tell her… but she could take a hushed guess.

The following night, Niskania's dreams were no longer the pleasant visions and beautiful worlds she had grown accustomed to.

Her heart had been cracked; a darkness had seeped into it, a worldly flow she'd been spared from until that fateful vision. Blue rivers slowly turned to red while indigo skies were painted black with smoke and the end of life. She saw horrors without name, defying description for a child of the forest. She felt the beating heart of dying worlds, of lives come to an end for an ideal, for greed and lust and darker emotions still…

A child whose life ended in its mother's arms, as metal glinted above her head.

A man whose life ended as metal crossed metal and his enemy fell with him.

The tragedy of mortal suffering, as a woman forlorn sold her own body for but a night of warmth and compassion.

The empty eyes of the living, as their fragile forms shriveled in the wake of flames.

Every night anew, horrors haunted Niskania.

And every morning she'd wake, screaming, struggling against the nightmares. Inasia and Gorae were unable to assist their daughter: there was nothing to heal, nor was there anything wrong with the flux of her power – quite the contrary. Their love for their daughter dwindled with every scream, as every nightmare reminded them they'd made the ill-fated choice to have her, to bear the risk of fullblood childbirth.

In desperation they turned towards a friend, another wielder of water called Nasieca, and asked if he would do for them what he had done for fellow Syrilae Giounai and his elven woman Martha: to take in their child and raise her, for they were unwilling to keep watching her suffer. Nasieca, one of the oldest Syrilae to have remained in the village, was quite reluctant to take on another child, especially one with powers such as Niskania's. It was Giounai and Martha's son, a young Syrilae boy of about 50 years of age named Kristofa, who convinced Nasieca to accept, if only so he'd have someone to play with. Defeated by the innocence of youth, Nasieca accepted to bear responsibility for Niskania, wondering how he, a man who had never wished to have any children, had somehow ended up with two.

But Nasieca was a caring man, devoted to the Syrilae way of life; he taught the children the rudiments of their kind's magic as he'd learned to understand it over the course of life's extensive and thorough journey. His magical prowess was extraordinary and astonished both children who, if only during those moments, forgot they were unwilling orphans devoid of parental love. Nasieca was able to cast his mind into the waters themselves and create the most amazing of creatures animated by his sole will. Some of these creatures Niskania thought she recognized from her dreams; but whenever Nasieca inquired as to what was wrong when she went quiet, she always replied 'nothing'.

To Niskania, these fantastical  creations were proof that her dreams were real: Nasieca was a Syrilae of the world, a traveler, experienced and knowledgeable. What he showed them, she knew he'd seen with his own eyes. Therefore, every horror that she dreamt of…

"Why do you scream every 'night'?"

"…"

Kristofa and Niskania sat side by side next to the serpentine river that crossed the village, running their fingers through the pristine waters and along the several silver fish who knew not to fear the forest elves. Niskania shifted her stance, uncomfortable, unwilling to share the darkness of her mind with a child half her age. Kristofa looked up at her with large brown eyes, innocent and curious and eager to be of any help to her. She strained her lips into a smile.

"Because… I have bad dreams," she said, looking away from the boy.

Kristofa cocked his head and asked, "Every 'night'?"

"… ia," she added, and immediately deflected any further inquiry with a question, "I know what you meant, but what language is 'night' from?"

"Elven," Kristofa replied, running his fingers along the bluegreen grass, "malia is Elven and she says I'm pretty smart because I already learned to speak so well."

Niskania's smile was less strained this time. "Will you teach me?"

"Ia!," Kristofa grinned, "palo said I'm good at telling people what to do."

Niskania smiled a little more. Kristofa forgot what they were talking about, amusing himself by naming in Elven everything he saw, throwing in numerous pleasant anecdotes about his mother and father.

Niskania felt sorry for the boy. Clearly they had loved him – why, then, had they left?

This she asked Nasieca the next day, and he explained to her that their Ansai had grown resentful of foreigners when she'd gotten word her daughter was 'dead'.

The term 'dead' did not exist in Syrilae language; death was as foreign a notion as the passing of time, and vaguely referred to in Syrilae language as 'the end of life'. It was the Vampire, Selessannea's fanged friend, who had brought the Human word into their midst along with a new understanding of what the end of life was like: cruel, merciless, and futile.

Niskania learned that, a while ago, the Vampire had returned to the village in the company of two children: Selessannea's daughters. Instead of welcoming her granddaughters, Nefahtil had declared them unwelcome and renounced any affiliation with them. Shortly after their departure, Nefahtil had decreed all foreigners unwelcome in their hallowed sanctuary.

"That's why Martha had to leave, and Giounai followed her. And why Kristofa lives with me; Giounai is a very old friend, a dear friend, and I could not refuse him.

"I tell you the entire truth because I know you see far worse," Nasieca continued, "and because you need to learn to cope. Your power drowns your senses. You must learn to understand what you see, and to control the power within you. Otherwise, it will annihilate you. You understand what I mean."

Niskania's eyes were wide, fearful. She took a step back. "How… would you know…"

Nasieca sighed. "Forgive me child, but it was necessary for me to understand your suffering. I delved into your dreams. I saw the same… events. You see the outside world, and it is not meant for your eyes."

"You had no right!" she shouted, feeling violated, "this is my mind! This is me! You had no right! You had no right!"

"I know," Nasieca calmly replied, "and I can't apologize enough. But understand, Niskania: you have someone to talk to now."