Music suggestion: waste by Kxllswxtch
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In the east lands, near the royal seat, lay a modest shantytown named Ascot. Through its paths did wind the frail body of a fair damsel. Trailed closely by a woman, who clutched her bonnet tight, trying to fight against the harsh wind, whilst the other hand was holding her skirt up from the ground. Malevolent chatters arose after the passage of these two, who dared to disturb the stillness of the streets in the early morning. Yet, it was a truth known to all that there was never a constant peace in Ascot, the cursed town was always subject to disturbances.
One might wonder why the sudden appearance of the young maiden's and the woman's have brought such chattering, but it is of no doubt that even a stranger of Ascot would understand the reason. Hence, the maiden was besmirched in a strange black fluid similar to blood from head to toe and the other one was the subject of very vile and loathsome gossips. Such that one couldn't dare to speak of it loudly, lest the ill repute might cause damages to their town if they came to acknowledge it. But one simple-minded, or simply foolish, you might say, person had managed to utter words that were feared by some. Indeed, on a rusty balcony of one of the streets, where the two women had hastened through a moment ago, stood two elders. One who might appear to be in the blood of her fifties, and the other, who appeared to be nearing her latest years of life.
"See how she's again covered in this strange substance, Ms. Green'' whispered the younger one.
"I might be old Ms. Sharp but these eyes know when they see evil. There's no doubt, she was born cursed."
The other woman recoiled in amazement, her palm shielding her visage and breathing in a hushed whisper. As if she didn't dare to speak after this revelation, but too curious she couldn't hold back any longer.
"Oh my ! Let us hasten to summon the Knights Templars, that we may - "
"Hush ! you foolish wench ! Do not utter this name with such levity, you don't know who's listening. Do you wish to bring ignominy to our burgh by making known her execrable existence?"
"What ? Nay ! I will never wish for something like that Ms. Sharp, I was but adhering to my duty as a pious Catholic."
"Please remain quiet if you do not wish for the whole town to be accused of heresy. The Holy Office would see our whole settlement reduced to ashes. Though we may be a devout Catholic town, we are but humble folk of a mean abode."
The fair maiden, whose name was none other than Delilah, possessed the curious ability to discern with ease other people's feelings. Though it may have seemed as a gift at times, it came, alas, with a misfortune. The unfortunate ability to uncover the hidden mysteries of the heart, be it directed towards her or others. She was inevitably cognizant of how she was considered in the town, and yet she didn't give away her true feelings about this situation; she was nonetheless weighted by the folks misjudgment about her. She was a simple creature, hence, she seeked for the admiration and approval of the neighborhood. Yet, she was fully aware that she was far from normal, and as much as she yearned for approbation, the old lady wasn't wrong, she was indeed cursed. And while these treacherous thoughts were plaguing her mind, there was something far more uncanny subjects that required her attention, than her self-centered desires to be loved. But, before she could lose her footing, Miss Pelegrina Jenkins ceased her plethora of ominous thoughts by taking her shaking palm in hers.
"A little wisp of a young lady as you, shouldn't burden herself with unending reflections." Gently said Ms. Jenkins.
"I, sometimes, found myself wishing I could cease my own thoughts. It seems that it is beyond my understanding." replied she, "Let's not talk about gloomy subjects anymore, little miss. We should rush to your sick mother as fast as we can."
Ms. Jenkins herself was a woman who was once plagued with endless introspections. But as she grew older and became a mother, she understood the means behind every word and behaviors from others. Hence, the reason why such gossips couldn't reach her heart anymore. They lived in a world where misery was omnipresent, some even said the dark times were nearing, and one couldn't escape the burden of it. Everyone had their own way of relief, and it didn't matter in whatever forms it may come. And the presence of the Knights Templars commanded by the supreme pontiff was the main reason people felt miserable. Their unceasing hunts of heretics slowly put folks farther in the abyss.
"Before ending this conversation Ms. Jenkins, I shall warn you of something. I heard rumors from the folks, the Knights Templars are preparing for a witch trial. The greatest one they say."
The moment she finished her sentence, they took a shortcut, approaching Delilah's house. As they did progress along the path, they could not but notice the mire that did engulf their worn-out shoes, making an unseemly squelching sound with each step. There was also a foul odor that did hang in the air, and at some corners of the unstable walls, were drunken men and women taking naps or they might even be dead. From some of them, was a strange liquid oozing out. Dark smoke billowed out from some houses while they passed by, the smell soaking their tattered clothes. And as they hastened down the decaying street, the previous thoughts of Madam Jenkins were once again proved.
"Burn to hell witch !" Came the vile voice of a drunk man. To his words, Ms. Jenkins could only but smile.
"Indeed, there's a witch trial nearing. Be careful these days, miss, for dark days are at hand, and you wouldn't wish to be around." At these words, the damsel did reply, "I wish I wouldn't be around, alas, mother lieth abed. She is too weak, I would not be taking such a risk by moving her around. To take such a risk would be a cruel torture, for her legs do not work."
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When they had at last arrived at the wooden door of her house, they paused before it. Yet, before Delilah could reach for the door handle, Ms. Jenkins put her gentle palm on her shoulder.
"I ought to preced you, little Lady. It might be better for your mother if she sees me alone." And saying it, she quickly stepped in without looking backward. Delilah clasped her skirt tightly, seeking to sooth her nerves as she leaned roughly against the door, her breath shallow.
On the far side of the door, Ms. Jenkins, who was well acquainted with the place, knew which way to go. With hasty steps she did make her way towards the lone bed, where Delilah's mother was bedridden. Though she did try to reassure herself, Madam Jenkins could not deny the fact that Dalia, her dear friend, was drawing near unto death. In an attempt to draw close, she was quickly stayed by Dalia's weak words.
"I did not wish for you to see me in this state, Pelegrina. It fills me with shame" said Dalia, though she had stayed Ms. Jenkins from drawing closer. Yet, Pelegrina stepped further into the suffocating chamber and took her seat beside the timeworn bed, her hand meeting her scrawny and pallid fingers. Chills did run down her spine, for the touch of her fingers was so cold as to seem almost death itself. This realization did cause her heart to ache with a ghastly feeling and yet strangely familiar. For, death was a close acquaintance of hers.
"How can I call myself a friend, if I do not permit myself the sight of this fair Dalia ?" Madam Jenkins did ask, her words causing Dalia to emit a mirthless laugh. Alas, the laughter was quickly cut short by heart-rending coughs, blood covering her bare teeth and dripping from her lips to her bony chin. Though she did try to hide it with her weak hand, she lacked the strength for even the simplest movements, her own body betraying her. "Burden not yourself with false pretense, my dear. I know very well, henceforth, permit me to release you from this pain." Madam Jenkins spoke kindly.
And verily, her eyes which once reflected a soul in distress, became filled with resignation, "I have not the heart to battle against what awaits me, for it is nothing but fate, mine dear friend, and you cannot and should not fight against fate, for, it shall always come back like boomerang. Yet I shall ask for a favor, a final boon, veil the chosen one's mark. Indeed, for the ghosts have told me that the hour has not yet come." Ms. Jenkins furrowed her eyebrows, hence, remembering well that it was not long past when she had veiled the mark of the chosen one. It shouldn't be unveiled yet. "If the mark already revealed itself, mine dear, it can mean but one thing; that someone does force its revealing."
Dalia asked her, "Could it be ?", at this she replied; "We must not be hasty in our conclusions, but it is well that we take precautions. I shall spare no effort to see it done."
Delilah, who was still on the other side of the door, couldn't bear to wait any longer, for the anguish had taken mastery of her. She drew a final deep breath to muster the remaining courage that lingered within her, to confront her own dreads. She stationed herself before the wooden door, her nose almost colliding with the rough texture of it, her mouth was stretched in a near-painful grimace. Shoulders tensed and her back straight, she did raise her palm to touch the door handle but couldn't bring herself to turn it downwards. On a last moment of frailty, she cried out. "It hurts, it aches me deeps down, mama."
With uncertain steps, Delilah approached the chamber, her heart heavy with grief. Despite the passage of time since she stood outside the door, the tears that had threatened to fall finally overflowed, streaming down her cheeks as she beheld her mother's smiling countenance. Though she longed to gaze into her mother's eyes, to bask in the fond memories of their shared past, Delilah could not summon the fortitude to do so. The fragrance of the sweets they once ate together during summer, the fanfare of the spring festival, all served only to remind her of the burden of her existence, of the sorrow that lay heavy upon her heart. Yet her mother had never complained, never raised her voice in anger, not even when Delilah had begged and wept before her.
She must have to recall the sorrowful days when she desired to rend her very own flesh, for bearing such a vile mark. Her mere existence was cursed with the mark of The Chosen One, she was beset by the Hellhounds and no matter what she did, she could never escape their pursuit.
To dare gaze upon her mother's eyes, would bring forth a memory that she had entombed deep within her heart. She could near hear the reverberations of that fateful day, "Alas, I implore you, O my Lord! Hallowed be your name. I confess my sins, and do beseech you to receive this offering of my flesh, the very blood that courses within this accursed heart. Let me rend my own flesh as proof of my words, O my Lord! Mark them, for I shall not depart this world with my body soiled by the flames of hell. Let me be a martyr to the miseries wrought upon the earth, and may I repent for the transgressions of all whom you had allowed to exist. I BEG YOU, O MY LORD! I BEG YOU, O MY LORD! Spare me not a moment longer in this body, reduced to ashes and death."