The Epic Prophecy

In which the prophecy of much epicness is revealed.

So basically, there's this prophecy that some oracle gave about an emerald-eyed girl from Torr rising up to slay the Dark Lord. It's really long and wordy, and I don't remember most of the second part; but the gist is that the heroine is orphaned and something that relates to trials and suffering and her true love showing her the path to the Evil Lair of Doom or summat like that.

It also rhymes for some reason. But I s'pose oracles don't really have all that much else to do.

Not like me.

"Endrisackdra!" calls Ellen from the house, her hands on her hips menacingly as her eyes blaze with fire.

I roll my eyes. Ellen is the only one that insists on calling me Endrisackdra. Most other people just call me En, Dri, Sack, or Dra. It's really a whole lot simpler, and I don't see how in the name of Zeus she has the patience to say that tongue-thrasher of a name each and every time she wants to talk to me. Or yell at me, rather.

"What is it, Mother?"

Ellen gets all sour when I call her Ellen, so I never say it to her face. It's normally just in my internal monologue. "Are you finished yet?"

Does it look like I'm finished? I glance around at our wide fields of grain, only a small section of which is harvested, the section I've been working on for the past hour. Well, if I was only supposed to do this corner, then yes. Otherwise, not really.

"Not yet!" I call back with a smile.

Smiles annoy me, but if I don't smile enough, Ellen throws a fit.

Not the pleasantest farmwife, that Ellen.

She groans like a child and slams the door to the house. She may as well just leave it open. She has to know as well as I do that she'll be back out before the hour's up to ask me why I'm such a slow, lazy, useless girl. Or perhaps she's hoping that I will miraculously gain the superhuman ability to harvest grain with only a cheery little whistle.

I say whistle because I can't actually whistle, but that would be just the sort of thing Ellen forgets about her own adoptive daughter.

Oh and by the way, I'm an orphan.

I have green eyes.

And I live in Torr.

Now one might think, based on these blatantly obvious facts, that there's a possibility that I would be the girl the prophecy mentions--with the nonsense about defeating the Dark Lord and all that--but it seems that nobody else in the village can see any chance of the connection.

Hence, I am harvesting grain while being yelled at by my not-mother, with my not-father sits in the house wasting his life away and guzzling something alcoholic.

I s'pose there's a good reason nobody thinks it's me in the prophecy, though. It's because of Fir-Angeli'ka, the other green-eyed orphan girl currently residing in the lovely little farming village of Torr. It's sort of inconvenient that there's two of us, innit? It would be a lot simpler if Fir-Angeli'ka simply didn't exist, or was blasted off the face of the earth by a magic firestorm or summat.

I'm not all that fond of her.

I admit, it's partly because of my petty jealousy. After all, Fir-Angeli'ka does have perfect hair, flawless skin, piercing verdant eyes, and the heart of any farm boy she could ever want. The heart of just about anybody, now that I think about it. Except me. Why?

Well, because she's obviously just a prettier, wittier, less acnefied and tooth-decayed version of me. Who would ever choose dim, average-looking regular Dorkian teenager Endrisackdra over the beautiful, courageous, prophecy-fulfilling Fir-Angeli'ka, unnecessarily punctuated name and all?

So basically, I hate her because I'm an under appreciated, ugly, angsting orphan.

But I also have a good reason. She stole my boyfriend last week.

Rot in hell, you stupid flawless green-eyed orphan W***E.

Author's Note

OH THE ANGST. Anyone who does not feel sorry for poor, orphaned Endrisackdra does not have a heart.

P.S. Author's notes in all current and future chapters will be supremely sarcastic unless otherwise noted.