I have known darkness before, in this life and the one before, the one I no longer completely own. But I never felt the darkness in my soul, choking. It is like the sound of the voice of the one I used to know. "You're an idiot." Yes, for so many reasons. But not for the ones you think, Beliel. An idiot for not seeing you sooner. I never knew how subtle you appeared to humans, how natural, as if your suggestions were the urgings of their own souls. "Do you hope to save the world from inside this cell?" Which cell, Beliel? Which one? The cold stones against my back? This burdensome, wonderful flesh? This tapestry of fate that I can no longer manipulate, the one I never owned, but that was under my care since my beginning? Yes, I hope to save the world from inside this cell. Is that so hard for you to understand? One person has ruined nations enough times before. Can't one person save it? "What are you doing?" I'm saving a friend. I'm doing my job. I'm righting the wrong I've done to Joy. I'm making the fate of Sankria my fate. You said it before, Beliel, I was born with the nation, and I'll die with the nation. But I was born in water and blood, and I'll die that way too. Tears and blood. "What do you hope to accomplish?" I don't even know myself. Peace. I didn't even know you until tonight when Joy...when Joy…. I never knew how much you warped people, Beliel. I didn’t realize it was you. I never let myself know who I had been. I was Ilysa. I am Ilysa. I'll die Ilysa. There is no difference between Ilysa and Yumina now. We are the same person. Has anyone ever done that before, Beliel? You've been alive so long, you say. Has anyone? Are they willing to do that for their nation? "Look at me!" Why? I saw the blood on Joy's hand, the look of terror and pain and hatred on her face. I've seen you, Beliel. "That's you in there, isn't it, Yumina?" Yes, it is. I never knew the end of the world would be so personal. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An Improfanfic begun by Lady Brick Chapter 15--"...for the old order of things have passed away." by Stuart Lem ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You push me away because I do not answer you. You have so many pawns, nobles and peasants, men and women, rich and poor. But not me. You hate that, don't you, Beliel? You hate it that I do what I want to do, that you do not control me. You can't control me, even now, even when I'm a human. I'm still more powerful than you are, until the day Sankria dies. You slap me, but it's not flesh hitting me, but something lifeless, like a board. Your touch excited me at one time, when I had never been touched by anyone. But the touch of Fate is cold and heavy, Beliel. Yours and mine. When Daric touches my hand.... Daric. I want to stop crying but I can't. Even if you continue screaming, I won't stop crying. You wouldn't understand. I don't understand. I can’t understand that he's gone, I think it's all a dream, like the visions of him in other timelines, but I know his death is as real as those timelines were. I see myself kneeling by his body, my dress in his blood. There are no transitions, just me there, at his side, then me holding his hand, or him touching my face, or us talking in a corner late at night. Scenes strung together like beads on a necklace, but the strings have snapped and the beads are rolling in disarray. I have nothing to say to you, Beliel. Everything's been said. We've repeated ourselves like the histories we maneuver. Listen to yourself, even now. "I can save you, Yumina. They will execute you soon. Corneria is coming. There is no chance for you. You will die and that will be the end. I can give you life again. I can give you nations to control. I can give you Daric. I can give you Joy. Once I have the power, we can reverse what has happened, and you shall have anyone you want as your own." I do not answer because I do not trust myself. I know that this is why you and I are different-to you it’s your plans and your world, your Daric and your Yumina. Is Sankria mine that I may give it away to you for my own sake? I remember Daric saying when I found out he was a prince, he said, "Strange quirk of fate, that. I guess that's what happens when your father happens to be king." Strange quirk of fate, this Yumina. I guess that’s what happens when a nation’s born. Oh, Daric…. I want to shut you out of my head, Beliel, shut the whispers from my soul. Are those my thoughts that tempt me or is it the gentle pressure of your influence? You promise freedom from all this, freedom from the pain and the death, the loss and the hurt and the burden. It’s all so heavy. Why can’t I just die? Have you ever been lonely, Beliel? I want arms around me, the warmth of another seeping into my bones where there is no peace. I want Daric. I want a hand on mine. I want a look, a smile. I want anything, Beliel, anything but this dark, dark cell, this empty, empty room and soul, and the words you speak, like a dream I wish to slip into to leave this barren insomnia. Hold me, Beliel. I’ll never speak it, but I would take even your arms. Even yours, if I did not know what controlled them. The days pass, with only uneaten plates of food counting the hours. You threaten me with beatings and tortures, scourging and disemboweling. I say nothing, but my heart shudders. I know you will do everything you promise. I know their minds will be conducive to you-I know you may not even have to encourage them. They hate me. They love you. But they are mine, Beliel. I do not own them, but they were given to me. For them, I will go ahead. I could leave this body now, Beliel, but it would not help. The world continues on as it always has. If I must die, I will die for Sankria. The door opens, a portal of light. “Prince Averny has arrived. He wishes to speak with you.” I nod and rise. It’s hard to stand when your shoulders support the falling sky. As I walk toward the light, and the dark figure there, you ask again that question you have always wondered, the one that tells me that I am not as much like you as I once feared. “Why, Yumina?” “For Joy.” You don’t understand. You wouldn’t. I don’t think you could. * * * * * * “This Ilysa was a friend of yours, correct, Joy?” Prince Averny asked me again. He looked haggard. His eyes were bloodshot. He stood stiffly, not as one in authority, but as one who was trying to hide his exhaustion. I nod meekly. I tremble. I think my bones will snap and I hug myself, trying to hold myself together. But I am not fragile. No, not fragile. My daddy tells me I am strong. Alone, I can conquer nations. I will be queen, he says. Then I will be just and no one will die. He tries to touch my shoulder. I jerk away, screaming. “Don’t touch me!” Touch is useless, my daddy says. He never touched me. I’m too strong to be touched. I’m too hideous. Both, my father told me both. I’d shatter. I’d shatter like glass, hurting everyone. They led Ilysa in. She looks worse than Averny, almost like a shell of a woman. But she is calm. She is not shaking. Why am I shaking then? I sit down. I don’t need to stand in her presence. It is necessary that she be held responsible, so that my father may take control of this wicked kingdom. Averny questions her. “Are you Ilysa?” “Yes.” “Did you kill Prince Daric?” “You have heard the stories.” “Why did you kill him?” Her glance flickers to me. “I chose to.” “Are you working for Corneria?” “No.” “Who are you working for?” “Myself.” Prince Averny suddenly loses his temper and slaps Ilysa. I do not flinch. Why would I flinch? “Did you hate him that much? He loved you! I rarely received a letter from him, but they the ones I did spoke of you. Did his love mean nothing?” “Hate is love misdirected.” “Whip her,” I say, without knowing why. Ilysa does not deserve to say such things. I am in the room with her. She has never asked for me since they imprisoned her. She has never accused me. I am ready for her accusations. They mean nothing to me. I am innocent. Prince Averny nods slowly. But why does she not accuse me? Why does she remain silent? “Let me do it,” I add in a whisper. Prince Averny looks at me with his dead eyes. How can he not feel? Why can’t I have a soul like his eyes? I force myself to speak again. “I want justice to be done, your Majesty.” “You don’t think I can act fairly in this matter?” he says quietly, deadly. I shake my head. There is a long stretch of silence. I am glad I am sitting. My legs would not hold me. He sighs. “I cannot act fairly. If you are willing, you may do it.” He smiles then, a slight smile. It makes me feel sticky inside, like Daric’s blood on my hands. “You will punish a friend and reprimand a king. Your pursuit of the truth impresses me, Joy.” Truth? What is that? * * * * * Initiates and priests of both Temples stand outside to watch the execution. It begins with the scourging. Joy, a delicate girl none of us knew well, held the whip. Each lashing was an extension of her body, as she skipped and threw herself forward. Ilysa cried out in pain as the lashings increased. The pain was on her face and in her voice. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, we count to ourselves. It was rumored that Prince Averny would talk to the High Priest of the Lord of the Frozen Wastes tomorrow. Corneria was approaching for war, and Sankria had to be prepared. We had to be united. We would take whatever allies we could find. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, we count to ourselves. Prince Averny-we should call him king now, but he has not taken the title-he says we are to make an example of Ilysa. We are uncertain what the example is, whether it is against Corneria or evil or injustice or personal loss. But it is good we have an example. In these dark times, when all minds are on war and death, we must be united for the greater good. The price of peace is blood, we tell each other. Thirty-one, thirty-two, we count to ourselves. The girl named Joy is slowing, she is crying. Tears stream down her face. It moves our hearts to see her so passionate. She becomes our symbol, Lady Justice weeping for those she punishes. She screams before each lashing now, with a power that seems to jar her. The sound of her own raging voice pushes her forward, lends strength to her arm. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, we count to ourselves. And it is finished. * * * * * It is an intriguing thing to watch humans go about killing one of their own. They do it with all solemnity whether if it be a friend or an enemy or a stranger. They die every day, the humans, hundreds of them at a time, yet they never cease seeing it as a big deal. The arrogance, believing they are worth anything. They don’t realize how much they are just pawns. Soon, they’ll all be my pawns. I look over my shoulder again, then berate myself. Yumina is there, being led to the execution block. There is no one behind me, though I have expected there to be throughout this timeline, no one come to lecture me. Sometimes I was sure she was watching me, planning. But she was not. She is dying, as I promised her. And before me is the crowning jewel of my whole plan, the wonder of it all, my Joy leading poor, poor Yumina to her death. It would be even more entertaining if Yumina would stop playing the martyr. What I wouldn’t give to see Yumina explode in rage, to see her kill Joy in cold-blood. But this will have to do. She will not join me, and I am tired of waiting for her to die. They put her head to the block, and she meets Joy’s eyes. She mouths some words, as if they could save her now. Joy collapses like an unstrung marionette, which she is of course. I don’t need her anymore, either. The axe raises, clink!, and off rolls her head. It’s almost not dramatic enough. “I have never liked interfering in other people’s business.” I turn around, and the Silver Lady is there with a blade in her hand. She notices my look. “Yes, the moon kris blade. Did you think the human one was the original?” She grabs my arm. I try to leave, but cannot. The blade plunges into my gut. “When a Fate dies, all power is unstable.” She pulls the blade out. “That’s one.” The blade sinks in again. “Two….” * * * * * I see Joy collapse as if boneless. She is weeping uncontrollably, clawing at the ground. I approach cautiously. I barely notice the execution as it occurs. I kneel down beside Joy. “Joy?” I don’t think she can hear me. “It’s Averny.” She turns away, crawls away, as if repulsed by me. I grab her without thinking and pull her close, like a dad does to a rebellious child. She kicks and screams and flails but I refuse to let go until she tells me what’s wrong. I want to help her. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, so sorry, sorry!” she screams violently, passionately. I am soaked by her tears. I want to cry myself. I can feel her despair trembling within my arms. “Why are you sorry?” “I killed her. I KILLED HER! I killed Daric and her, but she wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t try to escape. I deserve to die, I should be there, I SHOULD BE THERE!” she screamed, the secret parts of her heart exploding. “I, I, I….” She gasped for breath. I don’t understand what I’m hearing. I can’t understand. I won’t. My arms loosen their grip. “Hold me,” she says breathlessly. “Hold me or I might break to pieces. Crush me. I’m broken already. Crush me until I’m no more than dust.” If she had…I couldn’t think it. If Joy had…and Ilysa hadn’t…. My mind latched onto a moment I had barely noticed, a movement in the silence of the execution. “W, what did Ilysa say to you?” Joy stopped struggling, and she was only the tremors of her frail body. She swallowed and tried to catch her breath. When she said it, I could barely hear her. It was as if she were revealing some grand secret, something she treasured, something that frightened her so that she could not speak it in the light of day. She said: “She said she loved me.” I tightened my grip around her, holding Joy close. “Then so do I, Joy. So do I.” * * * * * What the history books record is that there took place a battle between Corneria and Sankria. The Temples of Light and Fire fought side by side, brought together by the death of Prince Daric. The battle was fierce-history books say very little about battles themselves, being more concerned with the events leading up to them and the consequences that occur afterward-and Sankria won. Thousands died, but Corneria was turned back. Scholars have argued the exact reason for Sankria’s victory, but all agree that it should have lost. Corneria did not attack again for many years, but secluded itself again, waiting. Prince Averny took the crown and eventually married Joy, against the advice of his advisors. The two Temples remained separate-it was too much to ask Kindar and Phair, though they were friends, to give up the authority each held-but, slowly, cooperation and interaction grew between the two Temples. What the history books do not record, however, is that on the day of the battle a red-haired woman roamed the field among the soldiers unseen, encouraging, comforting. It is not recorded that the Silver Lady saw this woman and wondered at her. For this woman was something new, not Yumina whom the Silver Lady could not find, nor any other Fate she knew. “You cannot win,” the red-haired woman yelled across the field, though the Silver Lady was hidden. “These are my people.” And this seemed to be true, for at her urgings the soldiers and priests fought harder, more fiercely. The humans seemed to agree with her readily, submit to her invisible suggestions, as if she understood them better than any Fate ever had. And so the Silver Lady pulled back, content with her victory over Beliel. He was not dead-creatures such as he would exist as long as there were humans to follow him-but he was crushed. He was as near nothing as a living Fate could be. And what the history books do not record, what the Fates themselves did not know, is that the red-haired woman was one whom the humans called Ilysa when she was alive and one called Yumina before she was reborn. For though Ilysa died, Sankria did not. And because Yumina had taken Ilysa’s body, she still had it. The two were one. And, on the pages of the history books and in the lives of those the books reflected, peace reigned. THE END ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s Notes: Um…well, then. What do you say after all that? I guess first I’d like to put a disclaimer. While the Ilysa-Yumina thing was inspired by the Incarnation of Christ, do not try to make any specific parallels. If you do, I’ll be guilty of approximately 32,891 heresies. For example, just of the top of my head, Jesus is God and Yumina most certainly is not. Oh, and all three chapter titles are from the Bible. (The second is more of a paraphrase.) Enough on that. I guess I’ve always seen this impro not so much of a good vs. evil conflict, but a sorrow vs. joy conflict (yes, Joy is psuedo-symbolic for all you literary people.) So the individual people always interested me a great deal, especially since you can play with them doing themes and variations. I’d like to thank Lady Brick for starting this impro, which was a great idea, and everyone who wrote. And thanks to the people who suggested me for the end. It’s an honor to be requested, and I’ve had an end-this end-in mind (in hazy forms) since about ch. 6, I think. :-) Well, that’s it for now. Send any questions or comments to stuartlem@hotmail.com.