[Writing] Sisters Eternal: Dreams, Memories, and Angels
Posted by Khatharsis on August 15, 2011
This was an idea that came to mind. It focuses on Talan, the eldest of the Sisters, and their first encounter with the angelic race in the world they’ve been sent to. She has a complex past (childhood) beneath her current calm and collected exterior. I hope it also shows the darker side that she struggles against and where it originated from.
Flash. The feeling of a strong emotion. Betrayal? Anger? Loss? …
Flash. Pain. Overwhelming pain.
Flash. Dark. Why is it so dark? Don’t want to wake, to realize the pain …
Flash. Running. Red tinges everything, like blood running in the eyes …
Talan sat up. She could hear her heartbeat, elevated. She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Dreams, nightmares, memories? She wasn’t sure, but the taste of it felt bad. She had a feeling that something was coming for her, for them, her Sisters. She shook her head. They had jumped planes to this unknown world when their father sent them away, concerned for their safety. No one should know they were here. Talan swiped the blanket aside, letting the cool night air dry her skin.
—
It was the ultimate humiliation. She was unmasked and the one she was supposed to protect showed no grief, but some dark humor that she didn’t understand. Next to the angel were two of her closest friends, also angels of high rank. They giggled, sharing some unknown humor.
She had no strength. She was on her knees, arms outstretched and held in place by iron cuffs. Her wings … wings? … staked to the ground. She felt pain all over, but she was most hindered by the pain in her wings. Then, she realized someone was plucking the feathers from her wings. No…! They couldn’t find the leather beneath the feathers…
Talan woke again, but did not sit up. She was laying on her back, eyes open to the ceiling of her room. It was still dark out. As the dream faded away, so did the phantom pain that accompanied it. She still felt weary, that bone-tired exhaustion took longer to wash away. But once it did, she rolled on her side and fell asleep once more.
—
One of the angel’s lackeys tugged on one of her wings, spreading it out at an uncomfortable angle. It was black, dark as night, and nothing like a bird’s wing. Spikes like elongated fingers provided the support while a thin membrane connected each spike, slightly translucent and she could see the blood vessels where the light hit it just right.
“Chop them off,” the angel said. Her voice was cold. There was something wrong. Disbelief, a misunderstanding, surely… “Let’s see how the demon survives her Fall from the Mountain.”
No! Blood pounded in her head, but she couldn’t speak. There was something wrong with her face, she realized. One side felt savaged, ripped by talons. Or angels’ nails. A distant part of her, the more current her, wanted her to rally, to fight back, but the dream part was in shock and none of her body parts would obey. However, she did struggle when she heard the familiar sound of iron being pulled from a sheath. No…
Talan woke for a third time. This time, she sat up, her blanket falling to rest in her lap as she raised a hand to the right side of her face. The scars were still there. These were memories, once locked away when she had Fallen, and time had dulled their effects, but she still felt a rising anger from within. A more rational side of her wondered why she was having those dreams now. It pushed away the anger and tried to think, but she was exhausted from the dreams and sleep sucked her back in.
—
It was dark. It also smelled rank, like a dungeon. Beneath her was a thin layer of straw and beneath that was cold stone. That was the only assessment she was able to make before pain overwhelmed her and sucked her back down into dark oblivion. Dark, like her wings had once been… once? She thought she dreamt she still had wings, silver feathered things, but as she flew, the feathers fell away to reveal ugly, black ones. She cried.
…
She wasn’t sure where she was. It was a desert, desolate except for the demons that plagued her like a pack of hounds. The sky was grey, not from clouds above, but time of day. Her hands were caked with blood, fingertips ending in sharp pointed claws, mouth stretched in a menacing grin. She urged the demon-hounds to attack her. Red tinged her vision and all she felt was an unquenchable anger. And the thrill of the kills, each one reassuring that she was still alive even when she wanted to die.
…
She found herself facing that gray sky. Her back was on the sand, which felt cold against her back. She wondered if she was finally going to find the rest she sought. The anger had finally burned out. She lost count of how many demons she had run into, how many had fallen, and how many had fled. In its absence, cold, chilling wrath remained. She sought revenge, rest could wait for later. She wasn’t sure when she last felt in control. It felt years ago, before the humiliation, before everything began to go wrong.
She became aware of something shifting by the rustle of clothes. She tensed, trying to spring up, but only managed to roll onto her side. A fire blinded her vision and she became aware of its warmth and crackle. Soft, gentle hands rolled her onto her back again. She felt blind in one eye and whoever the hands belonged to stayed on her blind side. Her quickening breath or heartbeat gave away her second attempt to rise, and the gentle hands returned, this time with a soft cloth that made her skin sting. She tried to express the sudden pain vocally, but nothing would come out, but the wheeze of her breath.
She opened her eyes, after shutting them against the sting of the salve, and caught three silvery-white figures in the sky. A third attempt to rise made her dizzy, but whoever was tending her voiced her thoughts.
“Angels,” it said, almost like a snarl.
Talan woke for the last time that night. Angels. They were, no are, here. They were coming for her, for her Sisters, for them. She rose from her bed and looked cautiously out the window. The moon was clear tonight and reflected off of the wings of three angels. The less rational side of her sought the revenge that was long buried away. To feel their silvery feathers between her fingers as she plucked them one-by-one. The urge was strong, but she suppressed it, like she did every other emotion. Cold rationality took over and she woke Certia.
It was time to teach her little Sister how to Hunt.