The Tragedy of Déméchrelle

As told by the Great Storyteller, Heseodorus.

Part 1

Light and darkness, love and hate; these entities all go hand in hand, diametrically opposed but forever intertwined. Is it any wonder that the more love one has for another, the greater the hatred becomes when something comes between those two? I can’t claim to fully understand what it takes to blur the line between the forces as it seems to vary from person to person. What I am fairly certain of is that I have the gift, or curse, to witness these triumphs and tragedies as they occur. One particular case sticks out in my mind more than any other; the case of a human girl who never had much of a choice in the path she took. Her name was Déméchrelle. Now, I’m not asking that you believe in my account of this girl’s life, I’m only asking that you let me share it.

She was a treasure, a diamond in the rough; a blonde haired, blue eyed girl with an angelic smile. It's a shame not many had the pleasure of seeing that smile. Growing up a noble in a glorious kingdom, Déméchrelle was accustomed to a life of segregation from those that were said to be beneath her but she had also suffered a life of being separated from those who were said to be above her. Namely her father, mother and two wicked half-sisters who bullied and taunted Déméchrelle to no end, never letting their youngest sister forget that she was the shame of the entire royal family. For the Queen was not her actual mother, no, Déméchrelle was the product of the King's indiscretion and infidelity. She was a glaring mistake that her father had failed to sweep under the rug. Incredibly, this life of rejection and scorn was not enough to dim the light that shined in the girl's pure heart. It held too much love to be conquered by hatred and her half-sisters knew it, much to their dismay. She was indeed special; so special that eyes from the deepest, darkest reaches of the underworld even took notice. Unbeknownst to the sweet nine year old Déméchrelle, the morning that the Queen was found dead, a pact was being made with those eyes; to spare one life her soul would be the price.

After a long day of cleaning up behind her sisters and meeting their every demand on hand and foot, Déméchrelle laid herself down for much needed rest in her chamber. Her eyes wandered the room as she was drifting off to sleep. There was nothing unusual about that night, the large room was fairly dark but the moon shined enough of its soft light through the window for the little girl to comfortably see everything but what was hidden by the shadows that lied in the deepest corners of the room. Her heavy eyes closed themselves and she was off to sleep.

With a subtle creek, the heavy door to her chamber opened enough for someone to peak inside at the sleeping girl. The person watched to see if something had taken place or was waiting for a sign that something was about to take place. Seeing that the little girl was sound asleep, the person closed the door and left with a hint of reluctance.

No sooner than the door closed, they came. Hands stretched out from the shadows in the corners of her room. They slithered up into Déméchrelle's bed and under her sheets. The girl was shocked out of her slumber by the feeling of ice cold hands gripping her, squeezing her skin, and twisting. Those hands squeezing her throat, wrists, and ankles could have killed the little girl on fear alone. If she wasn't so afraid, she could have screamed for someone's help. But then even if she wasn't afraid, those cold hands would have crushed her neck and smothered her cries. It all proved too much for the delicate princess to handle and those big beautiful eyes of hers closed.

The hands eased their icy grips and slowly retreated to their home in the shadows. Déméchrelle would not wake until the morning. After building the courage to set foot out of bed she saw herself in the mirror. The skin around her neck was bruised to the point that it turned black, so was the skin on her wrists and ankles. She had been marked. Dear Déméchrelle realized that her nightmare had not ended; it was only just beginning.

The years passed, now 15 years old, Déméchrelle had fallen ill. Her failing health brought on by all the years of being crippled by fear of those that moved in shadows. She was deathly afraid of the dark, so naturally the night was her enemy. In her room or outside the palace, the delicate flower tried to surround herself with as much light as possible; enough light to eliminate even her own shadow. Only then would she be safe from the cold clammy hands that reached out to remind her that they were still there.

In spite of her attempts to defeat the darkness, it always seemed to find a place to hide itself. Many times, Déméchrelle was awakened from her sleep by a mortifying scream from under her bed. It was a blood curdling scream, much like that of someone who had just looked upon the face of death, and it came from right under her bed. With their hair standing on end from hearing the scream, guards would rush into Déméchrelle's room to check on the princess. They would find her gripping her bed for dear life, breathing frantically, face paled, and sweating profusely. After searching the room and finding nothing out of place, the guards always arrived at the same conclusion.

"Surely, she had to be seeing a nightmare again and nothing more."

Then the guards would exit the room, closing the door tightly; leaving Déméchrelle alone in that world of fear. This poor girl was desperately in need of help but her cries were dismissed by everyone around her as symptoms of an overactive imagination.

Watching this unfold, I searched my mind many times but could never understand how a father could so callously brush his daughter aside. It may very well be something that only a man in his situation would understand; it was because of him that Déméchrelle was suffering after all. But even without her father's help, relief was on the way.

In the King's stables worked a kind young man by the name of Tolkin. He had always been taken with Déméchrelle's beauty and one day worked up the courage to confess his love to her. Déméchrelle accepted Tolkin's request to court her. The young man was no Prince Charming but he had what mattered most to Déméchrelle, a kind and honest heart. Tolkin learned of her Déméchrelle's torment and promised to stick with her through it.

For almost a year the two saw each other in secret. Both knew full well that if discovered their relationship could end catastrophically, but that’s what makes love such a dangerous emotion; it can overpower our reason and our instinct to do what we know is best for us. It can also help us conquer fear, which Déméchrelle was a prisoner of for many years. At long last, there came a time when those that hid in the shadows ceased moving, the torment stopped, and Déméchrelle's wonderful smile returned.

Part 2

While the shadows seemed to have forgotten about her those days, the truth is that they merely shifted their attention to someone else. Someone who's time to honor their contract was nearing.

He howled like a tortured animal, surrounded by books in the circular enclosure of his study. The King, normally a man of great dignity and composure, howled, roared, and threw books across the room in frustration. He was drenched in sweat as he hurriedly thumbed through the pages of many religious texts trying to find the one that could save him. All around him, the shadows grew increasingly restless.

"You will find nothing in those books that can break the bond that you made with us. Your obligation will be fulfilled tomorrow or your suffering shall know no bounds."

The King couldn't believe it. The choice he made almost ten years ago was so easy to make but now it threatened to destroy him.

"Why can't I do it? It's only Déméchrelle. Who would care if she died? It's her fault I'm here in the first place."

The King's words, however cruel, were not so far from the truth. Déméchrelle's birth was indeed among the long sequence of events that led the King to this to point. It was Déméchrelle's existence that vexed the Queen so deeply, driving her to near madness. She was utterly consumed with vengeful desire against her unfaithful husband until one day she tearfully gave into the longing inside, poisoning the breakfast that they both sat down to eat.

The King had not realized what happened to him when he awoke in the hands of a demon come to take him to the Underworld. Realizing his predicament, the King fought furiously to free himself until the demon dropped him into the river Styx far below. The demon dared not try to retrieve the King from that river of damned souls. The only thing that saved the King was the fact that he could deliver the only person that Styx desired more. From there began the journey that led him to this night, the night before Déméchrelle's 16th birthday, and the night before the fulfillment of the promise that he made with those eyes from deep within the darkness.

The sun rose on the next morning. Warming light entered Déméchrelle's chamber through her open window. Her soft face, with its subtle smile, was especially radiant on this morning. She was bubbling with anticipation on the inside. Because Tolkin had finally showed her what it felt like to be loved, this day marking the anniversary of her birth was sure to be greater than all those before it.

After spending nearly the entire day in her usual manner, serving her sisters with a smile... though her smile was noticeably bigger than before and that irritated her sisters quite a bit, she stealthily escaped the confines of the palace to meet her beloved Tolkin in the forest surrounding the kingdom. The tall, dark haired lad awaited the lovely princess with a surprise in store. In one hand was the reigns to a healthy stallion, while hidden in the hand behind his back was a long strip of fabric to be used as a blindfold.

Déméchrelle greeted Tolkin with a kiss and he gently wrapped the fabric around her head, covering her eyes. On horseback they rode for the last remaining hours before the sun touched the horizon. Déméchrelle wrapped her arms tightly around Tolkin as her mind filled with fantasies of what she was going to see after removing the blindfold. She was helplessly giddy, without a worry in the world. Coming to a stop at last, Tolkin helped the princess dismount the horse and took a brief moment to make final arrangements before lifting the fabric from her face to show Déméchrelle the big surprise.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of a candle lit picnic laid out on the mountain side. The sun was slowly tucking itself behind the ocean of trees that spread as far as the eyes could see. Few things in life could rival that gorgeous sight.

"Surely, it could get no better than this."

Déméchrelle was so lost in the moment that she was startled when Tolkin took her hands and kneeled before her. Gazing into those eyes shimmering with tears of joy, the young man asked the princess to leave her family and riches behind to runaway with him to a village in the west. Déméchrelle enthusiastically accepted Tolkin's proposal and wrapped her arms around him. The two of them fell over, embracing each other passionately until they drifted to sleep on the mountain side.

There they laid until the unnerved breathing and restless tapping of their horse's hooves alerted Tolkin to danger. Being careful not to awake Déméchrelle, he slowly reached for his knife and watched for any sign of a threat moving in the low moonlight. It was then he saw the shape of a man approaching on horseback only 6 meters away. Tolkin's heart was racing.

"Could it be guards from the Kingdom?"

He was positive no guards would think to search for Déméchrelle there but there was still a possibility; a possibility that carried heavy consequences. The approaching man dismounted the horse and drew a long object from his side. When Tolkin saw the moonlight reflect off the shiny metal object he jumped to his feet and held his knife out for the man to see. In a solemn tone of voice, the man warned the brave teenager.

"You've been in way over your head from the very beginning, boy. But I offer you this chance to escape with your life."

Tolkin woke his love with a shout. "Déméchrelle, run!"

The princess opened her eyes to the terrifying sight of Tolkin fighting off the sword wielding man with only a knife. He was surely going to die. For Déméchrelle, her choice was not so difficult to make; without Tolkin, her life would lose all meaning. She got to her feet and barged into the fray, pushing Tolkin out of the path of the sword's lethal edge. With a red mist filling the air, her lifeless body fell to the ground nearly cut diagonally in two.

Showered in blood, Tolkin wrapped his arms around the slain princess. His mind filled with memories of a face that radiated love and brought more light to his days than the Sun. The soft lips that once gifted him with hope for the future, now lifeless and painted as red as her entire body. He lifted her head to join their lips, praying that he would be able to feel that hope again, but all he found was grief.

The murderer... The concealed figure who had followed the two young lovers up the mountain side could barely control the trembling of his hands.

"She's all yours now. Do you hear me, wretched demons? Take my daughter and leave me be!"

Those wretched demons heard his cry. Emerging from the man's shadow like the dead risen from the grave, the deings of darkness scratched and clawed along the ground. Dragging themselves on their bellies and permeating with hatred, they scurried towards Déméchrelle's body.

Tolkin fought the paralyzing horror and swatted at them with his knife. It didn't matter how many he stabbed, they proceeded undeterred and grabbed hold of Déméchrelle. A subtle white light surrounded the girl's body. Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, the dark beings sunk into the ground taking the light with them. Tolkin was left embracing the lifeless body and wondering just what those things had just done to his beloved.

For the murderer, this marked the end of a ten year nightmare. His debt for being given a second chance at life was now paid in full. He was finally free. While mounting his horse, he tried to convince himself that the nagging feeling inside wasn't guilt or remorse over selling his daughter's soul.

Down the path that twisted and turned along the mountain side, the hooves of his mighty steed beat furiously. The man, the King, the father-- realized that he was still being haunted. The demons were not Styx however. This time the demons were his own. He could hear their relentless chastising clearly.

Murderer. Scourge of Gods and men. We'll be waiting for you at your end.

Tears streamed down his agonized face as he shouted into the whipping wind.

"Leave me alone!"

Part 3

She was a treasure lost.

Though her body was being held tightly in the arms of the young man Tolkin, Déméchrelle was no longer with him nor was she anywhere to be found in the upperworld. She was somewhere far away, taken by those that moved in the shadows.

Surrounded by complete darkness, Déméchrelle was sinking. Hands from all sides grabbed and pulled her downward violently. She remembered those hands. She had felt their cold grips many times before. They were just as terrifying as ever. She desperately reached upward for something that might save her. A hand from above met with her own in the lightless void. At first, she thought to yank her hand back, being startled, but she quickly realized that hand was not like the others; it was warm. So the girl grasped that hand from above with all her might and it pulled her out of the darkness.

Bright light flooded her eyes. Déméchrelle's vision soon adjusted to that light and she was able to discover the incredible world that lied below it. She found herself lying on the deck of an enormous boat. Judging by the craftsmanship of the wooden structure, it was quite obviously built by someone with great artistic sense. Maybe even greater than those that built her family's palace.

At the oars on the left and right side of the boat were six bulky men rowing in unison-- they were constructs, also crafted in wood. Crowded onto the boat with Déméchrelle were many other creatures of many kinds and many origins. They were all without clothes, just as Déméchrelle realized she was. She covered herself the best she could with her hands.

The only one among the crowd that was clothed and the one that stood out the most was the cloaked figure that loomed over her. Déméchrelle was reminded of the concealed man that just took her life and became very afraid. She watched, trembling uncontrollably as the grey cowl was pulled back and the face underneath revealed.

"Fear not. I have not come to harm you, for I am Xanatos, a psychopomp. I am only interested in seeing that you find rest where you rightfully belong."

Déméchrelle looked upon the face of the angel. He was dual-toned, one side of his face was white and the other was red, but he was also very handsome so Déméchrelle was not frightened by the strange sight of his skin colors, although he was nothing like what the young lady imagined angels to be. Soon she was touched by curiosity concerning his statement.

"Where I rightfully belong, you say? May I ask where that might be?"

Before answering Déméchrelle's question, Xanatos held out his hands to show the girl what lied on both sides of the pitch black river they were sailing on. On the shore to the left were golden gates guarding a land full of light and emanating feelings of happiness. On the shore to the right were gates of twisted iron with spikes and razor sharp blades designed to keep in any soul foolish enough to attempt escape from the land of despair and torment behind them. Many of those foolish souls wound up impaled at the top of the gates and were left hanging there, shouting warnings to others contemplating escape that it was not worth the risk.

"To the left, angelic psychopomps take souls that are rich with positive energies, such as love, to spend eternity in paradise. To the right, demonic psychopomps take the souls brimming with negative energies, like greed for example, to be tormented without end. For those souls that are far too balanced to judge, the aforementioned psychopomps typically leave for me to collect."

Xanatos holds out a coin for Déméchrelle to see.

"Keep this under your tongue. It will repel the unaligned angels and demons called Rogues that roam this vast world. The Rogues do not abide by the laws of Heaven nor Hell and they have no preference in the polarity of spiritual energy, thus they will devour any soul that they find wandering unclaimed."

Déméchrelle cautiously placed her hand over Xanatos' and lifted the gold coin. She brought it close to her eyes to study and even rubbed it between her fingers; nothing about it seemed enchanted to her at all. Naturally she had reservations about blindly believing what the angel was saying. Still, she did as Xanatos instructed and placed it under her tongue. Barely had she the time to register the feeling of the metallic object in her mouth before the boat stopped and Xanatos spoke again.

"Asphodel Island; here is where you and all the other un-judged souls shall reside until you have sorted yourselves out. At that point you will be taken by the other psychopomps to your final resting place in either the land to the left or the right of the river."

Déméchrelle stood to examine the island called Asphodel stretched out before her. To her relief the island looked nothing like Hell but it was also a far cry from Heaven. It was nothing more than a vast sea of grey sand. The population of passengers steadily streamed by her, then off of the boat and onto the dock. Some of them were visibly relieved to set foot on the island, some were disappointed, perhaps believing they deserved to be Heaven by now.

Déméchrelle stood as still as the wind in focused observation of the overwhelming images her eyes were bombarding her with. She wasn't ready for this.

"Why? Why am I here? Have I done something wrong?"

Xanatos was not quick to answer any of Déméchrelle's questions that day. I suppose anyone who has fielded such inquiries for so long would be this way. He only raised the hand holding his staff to point the girl in the direction of the dock. Déméchrelle joined the stream of souls flowing off the ship, fighting back the tears welling up in her eyes. There was an uproar the moment she stepped onto the dock. Styx, the river of darkness that had claimed so many unfortunate souls desperate enough to attempt swimming it, was crashing thunderously against the dock and hull of Xanatos' ship. The terrified new arrivals hurried away from the shore while voices of protest rose from the river.

"You've taken what was rightfully ours Xanatos. That girl was acquired through a fair exchange; throw her back to us immediately."

With the darkness swelling and the nightmares within it threatening to leave their main body to reclaim Déméchrelle, Xanatos reminded them of their limitations in that realm as the prized girl looked on in silent terror.

"Do not leave that chasm, Styx, unless you want to face the wrath of the entire hosts of the Underworld again. You're already playing with fire by having attached yourselves to this girl's father and by entering the Upperworld. While you all may have gotten away with that, your so-called ‘fair exchange’ has been hereby invalidated and there is no way around that. The reasons why fall in line with the Underworld’s laws regarding the ‘age of innocence,’ or the ‘age of accountability,’ if you will. That man agreed to give his own daughter's soul to you all in exchange for his freedom; as long as she was under his household there would have been little contention. But on the night of the exchange, the girl had already made up her mind to leave her father’s household, making her accountable for her own actions and her own soul. Therefore, the exchange becomes unlawful and the only soul you all may lay claim to is that of the girl’s despicable father, but you’ve already let him go free.”

Hearing the words of the high ranking psychopomp, the nightmares receded into the shadowy mass. Already infamous for the feelings of unbridled hatred and envy emanating from their light devouring body, the frustration of Styx was combustible. Losing the greedy, scum of a father mattered little to them. But to lose Déméchrelle, a damsel so fair and brimming with enough love to stalemate with their own hatred; well, that was unbearable. They weren’t done yet. No, they hadn’t waited so long just to watch such a prize walk away. For timeless days, the darkness of Styx and those within warred amongst themselves until they reached a consensus; if strong hands weren’t going to force Déméchrelle back, then perhaps submissive hands would bring her to them.

The prize that those nightmares had been awaiting with agonizing anticipation for so long was lying face down in the grey sand as she had been for timeless day after timeless day. Where was her beloved Tolkin? She wanted so badly to feel his embrace and the grey sand offered little to aid her imagination. It pained her deeply. Desperation threatened to take a foothold in her, and it was a powerful energy. Now that she had settled down on this expanse of featureless land, she was able to sense energies like never before. Every emotion a person felt gave off either a positive or a negative energy, and they all had their own little differences, or flavors. She could feel the love that she had for Tolkin and the hope thoughts of him filled her with, but she could also feel an intensely bitter hatred for that love; it was as persistent and distracting as a bad smell. She came to understand that this lingering hatred came from her contact with Styx and was balanced with the positive emotions she was feeling.

”This negative energy clinging to my aura is what kept me from entering Heaven already.”

Other discoveries were being made on Asphodel then. Feet aimlessly scooted through the sand; the owners unable to think of ways to prove their worthiness to enter the paradise visible across the river of darkness. Some tried meditation to fill themselves with positive energies, only slouch over in exhausted defeat. Some discovered that doing good wasn't the key, it was actually being good, and there was apparently no fooling the senses of the nearby angels and demons. It was going to take timeless weeks and maybe even timeless years for them to sort themselves out, for some. For a few, it was not going to take so long. For one, he was well aware of where he was eventually headed and thought it was best to enjoy a few more carnal pleasures before he is eventually taken away.

Into the view of his wandering eyes was a sight too good to be true; a lovely lass, hugging the sand in desperate loneliness, possessing a body like those he use to dream of in his former life. For his last "hoorah", he would fill the role of the man that the girl was obviously longing for. He slowly approached her, marveling at her superbly molded form while trying to contain his excitement. He kneeled beside her, beside himself with conflict over where he wanted to begin caressing the girl. The most immediately gratifying spot was staring him right in the face but it was best not to jump to that or things could deteriorate. This type of thing was best handled with patience and restraint. To the area between her neck and shoulders, the man sent his hands to lovingly massage.

”Lust, hmmm, an especially strong energy. And not the typical ol’ horn-dog lust either. No, this is full on, hardcore vice… I could feel it from Tartarus. You’re a keeper!”

The gigantic succubus, pleased with her find, picked the startled man up between her finger and thumb then flew away with him to the land behind the horrid twisted gates. Finally snapping out of her lonely daze with the commotion happening around her, Déméchrelle rolls up on her side to locate the speaker she just heard. Finding no one near, she returns to dreaming of her beloved’s comforting warmth. Now, it’s been said that a love can overpower nearly any force, including reason and even fear. As it had in her past, love was going to show Déméchrelle just how overwhelming it could be in face of the nightmares clinging to her shadow.

“Don’t you want to see him again?”

Not as feminine and playful as the voice she heard a moment ago, the unified voices Déméchrelle was now hearing were rather troubling. She knew exactly who they were and where they were coming from. Déméchrelle pushed herself up off the sand to peer into the darkness of her own shadow where Styx had attached itself.

"Do you want to see him again? We can take you back to the Upperworld, even now."

Déméchrelle's was shaken to her very core by the unexpected offer. The prospect of being immediately reunited with Tolkin was far more appealing than lying in the sand and waiting for paradise, even if she had to brave a perilous path. There was nothing wrong with her ability to learn from past experiences; she knew there was likely going to be a price to pay for accepting Styx' offer, but at that point she was willing to pay any cost.

"What do you ask of me in return?"

Hearing the young lady's response to their question and seeing her readiness to cooperate, the beast approached the princess with its tail between its legs.

"We wish to serve you, your Highness. Join with us and our power will be yours to command. But you must act quickly, time passes quickly in the Upperworld."

As advised, Déméchrelle hurried to her feet. She concealed her gifts as best she could with her only two hands while making her way to the river bank. She came upon the dark waters and stood there, weighing her decision one last time. If it were not for the powerful longing clouding her judgment, she could have made the wiser choice - turning back. Styx beckoned her into its abysmal depths.

"Come, Queen Déméchrelle. Your beloved awaits."

And so it happened, she stepped waist deep into the river and the darkness began entering her. Many hands reached out from the shadowy pool and touched all that wasn't already covered by a hand on the girl's body.

One of Asphodel's vigilant angelic psychopomps eyes the event as it is happening. She spreads the impressive bird-like wings on her back and takes flight. She has seen many souls go into the murky waters, either escaping Hell or trying to reach Heaven's gates from Asphodel; none of them made it. They were all dragged by the soul devouring nightmares down into the bottomless, hate-filled abyss that is Styx. Each was drained of all they had and left only with hatred and envy of those who still had a shred of hope within them. Swooping in, she extended her hands to the girl who was slowly being pulled deeper into the river by those nightmares.

"Reach out to me, child, and I will deliver you from them."

But the young woman had no interest in being rescued by the angel, for the angel could only offer paradise. But a paradise without her Tolkin might as well have been called Hell as far as Déméchrelle was concerned. She was now embracing the hands of darkness as they pulled her deeper, towards the entrance to the Upperworld. At last, she was going to be reunited with her beloved.

Part 4

Déméchrelle had returned to the Upperworld. I, Heseodorus, saw her wearing the exquisite pearl-white dress she had optimistically slipped into earlier that night; it was now tragically soaked. Her dainty face, hands, and legs were all stained. Her entire body was dripping wet with that heavy, crimson rain. It was the same rain that was flowing through the cobblestone streets under her bare feet. Its scent thickened the air as it splished and sploshed with every slow step she took.

"Where to now?"

She contemplated her options while, for a brief moment, the nightlife in the city had gone silent. Then she heard what sounded like screams. Women, children, and men; she heard them all. They came from a number of homes not very far ahead of her on both sides of the narrow street. They were all horrific screams, much like the screams of someone who had just seen their worst nightmare. Déméchrelle was arrested by the sound.

"Who could it be?"

She wiped the tears streaming from her eyes away from her crimson painted face. With her eyes dried, she eagerly examined what lied ahead and allowed herself to become hopeful for one second.

"Could it be him? Or maybe it's him..."

Alas, those hopes were dashed when a herd of misshapen shadows came trotting wildly out of the houses. They stopped to gesture at her; the ones that their queen was searching for weren't in either of those homes. She would just have to continue as she had been all night, leaving no stone unturned and no blood unshed.

Once again, sadness welled up and tears flowed from Déméchrelle's eyes as she walked the streets amid the mangled corpses of the city's inhabitants which were strewn about from the gutters to the rooftops. Her footsteps were followed by a rolling black fog that swallowed all in its path. Solemnly, she marched towards the feelings of love and happiness that were still out there somewhere, she could sense them very well, though they were not meant for her; they never were, it seemed. She was the only person in the world not meant to know those two basic things. She was meant to know only the pain of being fated to live in lonesome misery...

"I can't stand it. It's not fair."

... and the darkness born from that pain had all but consumed her. From her neck down, any portion of her body that was not blood-stained skin was blackened by the demons that had eaten nearly all of her natural flesh away.

How did such an enchanting star among us mortals fall so far? Just when did the dam break? To find the answer, we must revisit an earlier point in time; a time when the wounds that caused this flower to wilt were first inflicted.

There we had a king; a king who like so many other men had compromised his own soul through selfishness and greed. His path paved in immorality eventually led him to a crossroads where he encountered a horrible darkness. There he agreed to take the life of another to save his own; an agreement that would haunt him for years to come.

Since the fulfillment of that agreement, the tormented king hid himself in his chamber with a window as his only view to the world, never sleeping a wink at night. Only in the secure enclosure of his well lit chamber would he be guaranteed safety from a dangerous world that provided death with countless ways to sneak up on him. He was convinced that as long as he could avoid those dangers, he would never have to atone for his past sins. To say the man was afraid of his own shadow would have been an egregious understatement. He was a frail shell of his former self. It was quite clear to all who had seen him that the king was no longer fit to rule and many were not hesitant to raise their voices...

"His highness has lost his mind. What good is he to us now?"

But not everyone spoke so harshly of the broken man. To his remaining pair of daughters, Jacqueline and Antoinette, the king was merely mourning the death of their youngest sister Déméchrelle, as her loss was also being mourned throughout the Tenebra Kingdom... by very few among the few who knew of her, that is. For the good of Tenebra and everything that he had created, the king was coaxed into proclaiming a successor to the throne. He proceeded to relinquish his authority to Jacqueline, the elder of his two remaining daughters, and naming her the new Queen regnant in an unusual coronation in the security of his chamber.

Life couldn’t have been better for the new Queen of Tenebra. The death of her youngest sister Déméchrelle was nothing short of a blessing in Jacqueline's eyes. While not particularly known for her charity, she became noticeably happier and kinder as the undisputed holder of sovereignty. Even when facing the young lad charged with slaying Déméchrelle, she allowed him a chance to escape punishment for the crime that was pinned on him.

Without a hope of proving his innocence, the former attendant to the king’s stables could have been thrown in the jails for the rest of his life if he had not decided to be silent and leave the kingdom, as Queen Jacqueline strongly encouraged him to. He left Tenebra behind, pressing the great suffering over the loss of his precious Déméchrelle deep down inside himself.

I find it hard to imagine any young man in his shoes not making that same choice.

But as somewhat expected, he didn't stay away from Tenebra for long and this did not escape Jacqueline's eyes. The brave lad risked his life by returning once a year to the place on the mountain side where his darling Déméchrelle was murdered. Every visit to that place brought vivid memories of that heartbreaking night to mind. Taken captive by those visions, he would stand for nearly an hour and gaze out at the horizon that Déméchrelle once looked at with so much joy in her eyes. Every time, he found himself vexed by the cruel reality of life; the fact that we don't always get what is deserved but we often get what isn't.

For many years that life and others had continued. Numerous things remained unchanged, while numerous things did not. Not everyone cared to look back over the decades that came and went. The events of the past were just that, the past; just as the dead that were buried remained buried... normally.

A new era was in full swing for the kingdom of Tenebra. It was a rich period of great happiness. Love bloomed and the population boomed. The half-century mark of the Queen’s reign seemed like a wonderful time for the Tenebrans to celebrate their prosperity. Invitations were sent to friends and family across Felarya before the people went to work in the city streets with dreams of a grand festival unlike any other before it. Every woman, child, and man did their best to transform the already illustrious Tenebra into the closest place to paradise in the natural world. Each wore smiles stretching from ear to ear while setting the stage for a monumental event to take place in only three days. There was much to do yet. The people worked tirelessly with the winds of optimism at their backs. Without a doubt, there was definitely something special in the air of Tenebra as the people sang joyously.

”This shall be a day that won’t soon be forgotten. This day shall be recorded in the pages of history.”

That much anticipated day arrived with the thunderings of fireworks and other pageantries preceding the sun’s light over the horizon. People flooded into the streets to begin their celebration. Guests marveled at the culmination of the many days of hard work put forth by the united people of Tenebra.

”It’s too good to be true.”

Even the former king felt compelled to leave his safe house as the sights and sounds of life in a perfect world entered in through his window. The temptation gnawed at the scrawny, bearded man but the fear was still too strong. All that death needed to take him was one careless misstep; then the demons that waited for him in the Underworld would have what was left of his soul for supper. He couldn’t afford to let that happen now. He would never let his guard down. No matter what, he had to remain in the safety of his chamber. There was no way that demons or nightmares could find him there; he was certain of that. He was convinced… until ominous winds carrying a deathly cold chill silenced the outside festivities. The former king wrapped his arms around himself for warmth against the invading winds and peered out the window to find the meaning of the sudden silence. What he saw in the town square far from the window of his palace robbed him of every shred of certainty he still held on to. The horror of that sight took his breath away as he could barely utter her name.

“Déméchrelle!”

After fifty years, she had returned and she was not alone. The former king recognized the chilling auras surrounding Déméchrelle; they belonged to Styx, the hateful river of lost souls and nightmares. They who devoured light and lurked in shadows were hiding themselves in Déméchrelle. The former king felt his heart sank into his gut, for he knew that he was no longer safe. He unbolted his chamber door and began a desperate attempt to get as far away from the kingdom as possible. He fled hastily through secret tunnels with the knowledge that Déméchrelle was bound to seek him out. Fortunately for the terrified man, he was the furthest thing from his daughter’s mind as she appeared before the people of Tenebra. All who saw the half naked girl stood in awe of her. She had barely managed to cover herself in one of the many flags that she was lucky enough to find waving before stepping into the center of town square. The people whispered amongst themselves about the strange girl.

“The audacity that young lady has to step outside exposed in such a manner; it’s unthinkable.”

”Who is she? I’ve got a really bad feeling about her.”

”What’s wrong with her skin? What are those black patches all over her arms and legs? Is she diseased or something?”

”Just look at all that creepy black hair of hers; I think it’s moving… almost as if it’s alive.”

There were so many questions surrounding the mysterious lass. But none of those questions meant as much as the questions burning in the minds of Déméchrelle’s half-sisters, Jacqueline and Antoinette, who watched from a decreasingly comfortable distance while surrounded by knights. Oh, the horror that gripped their hearts. The nausea that rolled their stomachs. Why had that beautiful eyesore returned? Why wasn’t she a skeleton buried under layers and layers of dirt and worms where she belonged? What manner of power brought her back to that world? They were at a complete loss for answers, yet unable to bring themselves to ask any questions. Déméchrelle laughed to herself at the silliness of their expressions, courteously hiding her grin behind her hand.

”You all look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Neither Jacqueline nor Antoinette knew how to respond. Déméchrelle examined the enormous festival spread as far as her eyes could see.

“My, it sure seems everyone was having a wonderful time without me. I must admit, I feel somewhat left out. I don’t know how to say this exactly, but… I kind of feel like I could just kill each and every one of you.”

It was almost as if the air had been sucked out of the city then because everyone stopped breathing upon hearing the strange girl’s worlds. Loved ones embraced each other in the girl's frightening presence. Gazing at their worried faces, she once again laughed at their reactions.

”Where is your sense of humor? I’m just kidding!”

The masses breathed cautious sighs of relief.

”Or was I?”

And just like that, no one dared to finish the sighs of relief that they had started a moment ago. Déméchrelle’s half-sisters, however, had caught wind of her games. Antoinette slammed her foot down to draw the attention of the people.

”I don’t know how you got here but I couldn’t care less as of right now. All that I want to know is how we can make you go away.”

Déméchrelle took the blunt question and did as she always had; she suppressed the pain and forced her smile to the surface before answering.

”Well, I’m actually only here to meet a dear friend of mine; his name is Tolkin. Neither of you may remember him but he once worked in father’s stables. If anyone here can tell me where to find him, it would really speed up my search. I’m very eager to meet him again, you see. I promise to leave if I find him and you all will never be bothered with me again.“

Naturally, returning such a response required a great deal of positivity and self-control, and these were two things Déméchrelle never lacked. But even she would not have made it this far without the hope that was still burning in her heart. She knew that truth deep down inside, as frightening as it was. She knew that and so did Styx, but they were willing to wait for their treasure. Déméchrelle’s request was discussed amongst her sisters while the crowd of onlookers hung in suspense. Her elder sisters appeared to have reached a decision. In spite of her disdain for Déméchrelle, Jacqueline had been persuaded to help.

”Very well then. I will tell you where your friend can be found but I must first warn you-- there are reasons why those that die are best left buried.“

(Story unfinished. Originally posted on the Felarya Forums here.)