Atara's Rise

A little girl named Atara who befriended the fiends

CHAPTER ONE: THE MADNESS BEGINS

ATARA'S RISE, BY N.A.A

The day in which the darkness crept about fiercely, and loved the core of the night, was grey in hue and purified by the tears of the heaven. It was marked as the day when the stars collided, the day of when my mother gave birth to me.

My mother, whom I loved dearly back when I was an innocent child and before I was washed in her blood, had a skin so soft, like an angel's wing and eyes as dark as the night itself. Her long golden curls hung over her shoulders. She smiled upon me and called my name in her silky, fruity tone, "Atara."

My father was a splendid man only in my mother's eyes; he smiled not and scarcely spoke of wisdom. His mind had abandoned justice. Father's land that he conquered before mother bore me, extended from the flaming sun to the realm of Oniss' moons. He wished for a son to claim the throne, to rule senselessly and recklessly as him.

Mother had bore three sons before I was brought to life.

Balthazar, Dawson and the soon to be king, Axel.

Axel was once told by a gypsy, that I assume was mad, of his greatness. She had shrieked and cried for my father, she yelled out, "I have news that will please you my king." The guards seized her and yet, for reasons that I cannot elucidate, my father answered her calls. She told him that a child of his own will rule it all. My mother's thoughts were fogged by her son, Axel; she had told my father that Axel was the one that the insane gypsy spoke of.

Eventually, we grew up. My brothers became as handsome as Balder, the god of light and purity. Nevertheless, I grew up malnourished. Unfortunately, my eyes had dimmed, my face became pallid, my voice sounded like vocals that a fiend had scratched with its claws. My soul had darkened. I grew colder each and every day. Mother had no time to be concerned for my health. She scarcely spoke to me, as she was buried with many tasks that will help, Axel, become a strong willed king.

Father was unavailable as well, he never was. He had taken too much time to train Axel.

And for that, I roamed the castle with a thirsty heart and a splintered, foggy mind. I felt lonesome and my soul felt hungry for a substance that I could not identified. My body would tremble, my tender, blue lips would get dry, each and every time I glanced at Axel.

The gypsy was mad indeed. As the child that she spoke of was me, not my brothers. The attention they gave Axel had sickened me.

 

CHAPTER TWO: SCRATCHES AND STITCHES

I passed by my brother with abhorrence in me, the hatred that made me tremble and fill up with anxiety. Every time my parents spoke of his greatness, it maddened me. Every time I heard his name or the sound of his cold, dry breaths I scratch my arms until I saw the red substance crawl out of them. And the maid would wrap my arms with stitches.

I tried to neglect the thoughts, but the demons had found my soul quite comforting, and so they settled down, and whispered to me in shrieks that I dreaded. And I scratched my arms some more.

CHAPTER THREE: THE CURSED SENSES

It was a dull day. Dreadfully dull. I have grown weary of my brothers, and those who surrounded me on my breakfast table. O, curse these loathsome sounds. The sounds forks and plates make when crushed against plates. That morning I abhorred those sounds more than I allow myself to. Ever since last night, my senses have grown sharper (exactly how the demons have promised me). My senses were so sharp that I was able to hear whispers that, for my sake, assumed belonged to the servants sharing a conversation.

Beside the forks and the spoons I heard footsteps recklessly scattered all around me. Their whereabouts were not identified as I could not see the sources of these noisy footsteps. I suspired deeply and hastily, almost uncontrollably.

My siblings' bickering over silly, ignorant little problems had finally sickened me! I believe it was more than that, I was violently ill. My stomach was troubled with unease feelings, and my muscles were contracting abnormally, as my hands were too stiff to be managed and my eyes offered my mind a dizzy sensation each time I tried to open them wider than I am allowed to.

This intoxicating atmosphere made me mad for a mere moment, as I have surprised myself with troubled thoughts of death and loathsome ideas of murder. I knew something must have gone wrong with me when I could not stand the silkiness of my mother's tone as she addressed me. I cannot elucidate what I heard, but I heard not words escaping her lips but beyond words, it sounded like breaths and yet it made unexpected, almost inhumane, mostly diabolic voices. My structure of a body was coated with cold sweat. I have not replied mother as I heard not her speech and neglected her rudely. I have not thought about eating my food, let alone touch it.

Father had addressed me as well, but I did not reply. My conflicted personality was convincing me that what I felt was something pleasant and that I ought to embrace it, but the other part had told me to panic. My brain was foggy and my heart felt thirty for a substance that I could not identify.

Those whispers, those footsteps and the terrifying, inhumane speeches of everyone around me were getting sharper and sharper, fiercer and FIERCER!

I have grown mad; I was dressed in despair and carved upon a medal of lunacy. I could not take the sounds any longer! They were all around me! There was no way to escape!! As they were caused by my senses!! My own senses have betrayed me!!! And I cannot destroy those senses!! Nor hide from them!!!

The sounds got louder and louder!! Louder and louder!! AND LOUDER AND LOUDER!

I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH!!!

CHAPTER FOUR: HUG ME

Then the night crawled in like the demons of hell would do. The silence grew in depth, and my mind worked scarcely. I had grown mad at last. O, when did god have forsaken me! I had witnessed my own hands, coated with blood, it was not mine, it belonged to my brothers. It was the night when I have finally satisfied the whispers in my mind, it was the night when I have finally killed my brothers. I could not resist integrating the mad murder by licking the blood myself. It tasted dreadful but I did not stop. I couldn't. I did not decline the whispers when they had asked for my mother's blood as well. And so the knife that I had used on my brothers was mostly pierced deeply into the woman that bore me.

The blood elegantly scattered around us. Four bodies rested in my room. They were my masterpieces, my pride position. O, I could not wait to show my father his beloved family as he had never seen them before. I laughed and giggled alongside the fiends. I even inscribed my name upon my mother and brothers' faces with my knife, it made them look even more beautiful as their eyes dangled and bounced on the floor.

This lunacy had driven an unprecedented feeling of gloominess and rejoiced memories. And so I laughed madly again. I have retrieved my sanity for a mere moment. It felt longer than a moment indeed. It was a moment when I had stopped the laughs and cried. I cried not for my family that I had killed, but for myself. I had lost who I am. The sorrow had weighed me down. I fell and scraped my knees. The red substance was pouring out from my knees. It got mixed with my family's blood on the floor.
I wept till dawn while wrapping my mother's cold, lifeless arms around me for the last time. Imaging her calling my name with her silky voice that my ears craved. I was just a confused, little child back then.
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What have I done?

 CHAPTER FIVE: CRAVING THE RED CAPTIVATING SUBSTANCE

It was the vassals that told my father about my mad act. I had imagined him spilling his anger upon me. But instead, and shockingly, he smiled. He told me I owed the right soul and heart to rule these lands. He told me that I had done to my family what he had done to his.

I had suddenly forgotten the taste of my bitter tears. I have suddenly forgotten all about my grief. And the sorrow soon stopped weighing me down. My heart fluttered at my father's words.

Years have passed---

And so I was the one that reclaimed the throne at last. It was not Axel, it was I, Atara. With thirsty heart for the red, captivating substance.

And that is the story of how I became the queen of all realms. As I have gazed for too long into the abyss and finally the abyss gazed back into me---it smiled---how pleasant, how mad, I have earned my demons' blessings. At last I am satisfied!

Author's Note

There's nothing I want to hear more than your comments on my short story. Tell me if you liked it and tell me if you didn't like it. I wont attack you if you give me some gentle criticism.