Every day of her whole life, she never once fit in with the village. Her black hair was one thing but her eyes were another. They gave off a dull sheen which unnerved the villagers.
During the day of her birth, when Lazari was first beset in this Corrupt Realm, her father, upon seeing her hair, was shooketh. Black hair was not something that any of the villagers had and commonly associated with Fallen Races and bad luck. Therefore, believing this daughter of his to be a wretched cursed soul, went to relieve her.
Though in the end, he couldn't put himself to do it. And it placed her parents in a shaky relationship. They were both herbalists who ran an apothecary together in the village, often collecting herbs in the nearby forest and bringing them back to distil into basic medicinal solutions.
"Haha, let's play monster hunting!"
A young boy squealed as he passed stones amongst his friends.
"But who's the monster?"
"Humph, there's one in town right now,"
Stories of old, passed down by the village elders told the myth of the Fallen that betrayed the gods and left the world in ruin. A folktale made to keep the little ones from misbehaving. Though as children would have it, the tale held as much truth as any other fact they knew.
"Hey, don't hit me!"
"Did that stop my uncle dying? Huh!?" A child vented his anger on the girl having lost his uncle many days prior. No one stood up for her, as they let this injustice slip past their eyes in silent consent. Rumour had it that the daughter of the village herbalist was cursed.
Coming home beaten and bruised her mother nearly cried. This was not the first time, however, it had not always been like this and it pained her to see her daughter treated this way.
Seeing her energetic daughter come home downtrodden for the umpteenth time, she could tell that today was different.
Lazari used to be a vibrant, outgoing girl who brushed up with anyone she met, but as she grew older, her old 'friends' started to look at her differently. No matter what she tried to do, she was always the little monster in town. Constantly beaten and pelted with stones, even if other children wanted to stick up for her, group mentality kept them from acting.
Now, Lazari was but a semblance of her previous self, where she once exuded a bright sunshine and rainbows atmosphere, she only gives off a dull vibe, like a broken puppet.
Her father was never truly a bad person, despite his previous thoughts. Seeing her state only pushed his endeavours to find a method to 'cure' her. As before, he still believed she was a cursed soul, however, he knew nothing about curse breaking or even curse identification to begin with.
Her mother on the other hand saw nothing wrong with Lazari, and she was the one to come up with the name Lazari. Never once, did she see Lazari as some kind of misfortune, but truly, as her very own daughter. And it hurt her to see the poor reception the other villagers gave her.
Every night, she would comfort her daughter, whilst telling her stories of bygone eras, but not about the disgrace of the Fallen but rather of the plight of the Forsaken. If nothing else, then this would be what Lazari ever found to be comforting, where she could let her imagination run wild. And an old family heirloom, a black knife, only added to this tactile imagination. Allegedly, it belonged to her great grandfather, who was an adventurous spirit who explored foreign lands and spelunked in old ruins. The black knife was something he had always kept with him when adventuring. Lazari's mother would become avid in her storytelling when it came to these parts of her stories.
If anything, she most likely was a carrier of some demon's bloodline.
Nonetheless, as days passed since that string of incidents, Lazari started to engage in the family trade, being herbalists. Her father would take her out to look for herbs every odd day, whilst her mother taught her how to distil them and make different mixtures out of them.
Though, sometimes, Lazari's father would leave the village for long periods in search of rarer herbs to come back hurt and sick. His determination was something to be proud of, as, despite his grievances with his daughter, he still worked to help her.
Which meant, he often made and fed her experimental solutions of muddled assortments of herbs, with a presumed effect of lowering her 'symptoms,' that being her red eyes mainly. Crimson eyes were not a natural human eye colour and the fact that it glowed at times showed that it was somewhat supernatural, justifying the father's cause to believe that Lazari was cursed.
However, it would come to show that that was not the case. And as days passed, more villagers became increasingly concerned that Lazari might truly be cursed seeing the lengths her father went to 'cure' her. The increase in monster activity didn't help her case, as they quietly prepared the stakes upon which to impale her.
But, fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately, that day would never seem to come.
"AhH!"
Women shrieked as cavalrymen swept through the village. They bore the crest of their local earl, who guarded the territory they lived in. This was sudden, too sudden. Why would their own earl attack his own people? It didn't make sense. Though the reality was, that these soldiers were killing and razing this village to the ground and they were intent on leaving no survivors.
Truly peculiar, quite evident that a conspiracy was afoot.
"Quickly! Go!"
"Don't Worry w-"
Leading Lazari out of their apothecary, her parents urged her to run as they blocked the passage of a footman. However, they were quickly cut down, the glint in his eyes as he waved his sword gave her chills.
But it also roused a primal instinct deep inside her. Kill.
Feeling swept up in the chaos, she let her instincts take over, as her previously dull red eyes shone crimson. She went berserk as she clawed and gouged at the footman. Stunned at the ferocity the girl displayed and enchanted by the now present glow in her eyes, he virtually presented himself to die.
As Lazari's blood started to pump, she slowly lost touch of her conscious decisions, like a drunk going on a rampage, she didn't think deeply behind any action. And after killing the soldier, she found herself drawn back to the apothecary she once lived in.
However, it was not the apothecary itself she was drawn to but rather something else. A black knife.
It was a small blade, roughly eleven inches, with a curved tip, and a jagged edge. It was a hunting knife of some sort. Holding it, Lazari felt a renewed wave of energy flow through her, like the blade was igniting a fire she lost.
*Crk!*
But, as she lingered, the apothecary was quickly enveloped in flames. Whilst mesmerized by the blade, coupled with her lack of awareness, the fire had managed to spread all around her, eating at the walls holding the building up. Before long the apothecary would surely-
*Crash!*
Collapse.