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It's dark.You can't see anything and you're not sure why, but something tells you it's not supposed to be this way. No, it's supposed to be warm, with heat from machines that spit out hot air into well constructed homes, to chase the chill of winter away. Warm and Bright. But it's cold, so cold, and very, very dark. Dirt bites into any exposed skin, and you know it's also not supposed to be that way, because you're supposed to be on a bed, with a mattress and many, many blankets and pillows to keep you warm, with two purring bodies to keep you company in your quiet room.You slowly open your eyes, and it's a bit brighter, but it's still dark. The sun must be ready to sleep. You feel life creep into your limbs, and you realize your eagle-spread in the middle of a dirt road. Slowly sitting yourself up, you swat away long, black strands of curly hair, and take a look around. The road to the left of you curves upward and dissappears with a hill, and to the right below you, the road slowly peters downward into the distance. In front of you is lots of tall grass, and just a bit farther you can see the road turn into a small village, with lots of torches for lighting. Scrambling to your feet, you wipe some dirt off of your dark skin and look around once more, a bite of loneliness chewing at your heart, and your memory strains in trying to grasp at why.Someone...Someone is supposed to be with you.In your minds eye, you catch a glimpse of ridiculously long blonde hair, pale skin stretched over bony limbs, and a jovial grin sent your way. A figure next to her, a bit rounder, plumper in structure, with short, wild cranberry hair and a contagious giggle, The pale lips belonging to this person-- this girl-- open and she calls for you, but you cannot hear what she says. The other beckons you with an outstretched palm. You suspect that she is saying your name.You want to call out to her, to them.You don't.You hear music.You turn your head, eyes wide, and see a group of carriages coming your way and, by god there are so many colors. You stumble back, your spine hitting a tree behind you, and you slide down, eyes wide in wonder and shock as a circus passes by you. Elephants poke their trunks out curiously at you, and there's the distant growl of a tiger in the back cars. Upon seeing you, clowns begin to call out, acrobats stare coldly down at you and the carts stop. The wooden wheels creak from the strain, and it sends an ominous feeling into your chest. A few men step out of the carts, and you feel your stomach twist. You begin to tremble at the sight of a whip and cuffs in one of the mens' hands."It's a lil' negro." One of them call out in a jovial voice, and you flare up. Negro?! That's racist! How dare they call you negro! This is a time for equality, what is this the 19th centur-Something clicks.You examine their attire, and then the wheels of carts, the carriages, and you remember the dirt road and the villages and the suddenly distinct absence of noise and business, replaced by quiet. That's when you realize.Yes, this is the 19th century.How did you get here, you wouldn't know until later on, but for now you could only look up at the men in horror because this is the 19th century, the 1800's, you are an African American, slavery is still around, they probably think you have a slave master, they probably think you ran away, they could kill you if they wanted-The ringmaster steps forward, and you visibly shrink in terror. "Please don't hurt me," you plea hoarsely. "I don't have a master, I'm not a runaway, please don't hurt me." He kneels down as you whimper pitifully, there is no being heroic or extravagant now, because you are small, and weak, and at their mercy, you are powerless, and one wrong move could mean your inevitable death. "No master, huh?" he growls out, and his breath smells like smoke, and beer and your mind tells you that this is what certain death smells like.
He begins to examine you, much like a dog would be in a dog show, and you have to hold in your anger, and hold in your fear, and hold in your disgust. He pulls you up to your feet and steadies you, harshly jabbing your back so you stood at full height. "It's a beauty, looks strong too. It would go for a hefty price if we demanded so, hm?" One of the men muse, and you have to swallow down a few choice words, fire raging in your belly. "You're right, smart boy," the ringmaster concurs "She would go for a high price, if I had any interest in selling her."The men sputtered in disbelief at his words as he unbuttoned his coat and draped it across your shoulders. You realize how much you'd been shaking up to this point, and you are momentarily grateful, even more so as you realize he's not going to sell you, and is likely not going to hurt you. "Tell me negro, what can you do?" he asks, and you gulp to wet your throat so it doesn't come out quite as dry. "I can..cook and clean..." you say, keeping your eyes low. Submission is key, you remind yourself.A hand is placed on your shoulder, he tells you to look up. You do, and look him straight in the eye, and you realize how young he is. He examines you, and then sighs. "Alright. Put her in the Elephant cart. We can't have the bureaucrats seeing a slave in the front carts hm?" he orders, and you are roughly grabbed. Your hands are pulled behind you, and you feel cold, unforgiving metal clench around your wrists. You yelp, and the fight in you floods your system, and you struggle. You snarl at the rough treatment, and kick out your feet when they are grabbed, hitting one of the men square in the face. A crack of a whip sounds, and your ankles burn, and another crack causes your knees to buckle. You huff out in pain as you are dragged to the cart with the elephants. You turn your eyes on the ringmaster, your master, but his eyes are as cold and calculating as the acrobats who watch from their cart. Your side aches as you are thrown into the cart, and the steel bar door slams shut behind you, sealing your fate.Or so you thought.Soft, leathery skin touches yours, and the elephants feel at you with unabashed curiosity. They can only reach little, with being chained to the other side of the cart, so you scoot further away. You curl up, and stare longingly out as the carts begin to move, and there is an unsettling quiet among the animals. You sigh, and stare at the road, and catch a glimpse of yourself in a puddle in the path.You jump back and blink, then dart forward straining against the bars in a desperate attempt to take another look, but the puddle is too far, and getting farther. The unsteady carriage jolts and throws you back into the center, and you roll, straight into the trunks of the elephants. They feel at you, and you let them, as your mind numbs you, and you drift away to your thoughts.Distantly, you wonder if your eyes had always looked that way.
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- Years in the future, but not too many -
You look up at the moon.You ache terribly. You heart aches for Yaegar, and your emotions ache for revenge on the Noah. He had taught you much in the short time you had known him, and you deeply regret the inability to keep your promise to him, and him to you. He naught' have the mind to mourn that loss, so you took the burden of doing it for the both of you, with a smile on your face.You soul aches, for a different reason entirely.Lately, the faint smell of romance had been going along swimmingly, especially in towns, and the recent bump with Krory and Eliade had left you wondering if you had an 'other half'. You have no interest in the women out there, however beautiful. You'd thought about being with Lenalee before, but the thought never stuck with you. She was pretty, but you didn't feel for her, you wanted your heart to be in it, not just your mind.Quietly, you ponder the possibility of your Queen existing in this world.You splutter, blinking disbelievingly at your reflection in the glass window. Queen? Did you just refer to her as Queen? It was subconscious really, and you let out a sigh of defeat at your suddenly warring thoughts. You settle down in your bed, and admit to yourself that Queen fit her quite nicely, whoever she was, whatever she looked like, it fit perfectly in your head.You have a staring contest with reflected silver pools, that only show signs of giving up when you do.You close your eyes, and wonder what her's look like.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Lys Blanc!"
You blink open your eyes and sit up, yawning. Light filters through the slit in your tent flap. You run a hand through long curly black hair, huffing slightly. You have half a mind to just go back to sleep, seeing as it's just barely morning, but... "Lys Blanc! Wake up! Don't even think about sleeping through your job, slave!" You hear one of the stage hands shout, and you flinch at the emphasis put on your social status. You hurriedly get up, changing into your ruffly men's dress shirt and tight knee-high slacks. You stop to admire your dress shirt. You like it, because it reminds you of the type of shirt pirates might wear. Quickly, you tie up your corset, then wrap bandages around your feet. Socks and boots are a luxury you haven't quite earned yet. A small note: For a circus slave, you were actually quite spoiled. You push away the flap of your tent and step out. You almost rush out, but then you pause. "I'm forgetting something..." You mutter, then jolt and disappear back inside, popping back out just as soon as you were in, a jewel cravat secured at the collar, hands busy tying up your hair with a white ribbon, and white lily's stem held between your teeth. You hear the stage hand shout once more and you run over, darting between tents until you see a scowling face, curly brown hair and dark eyes. You skid to a halt in front of him, swiftly sticking the lily in your pony tail in it's rightful place, before giving the man all your attention. "Your late." he hissed, and slaps you upside the head. You grit your teeth, but take the blow without a word. Complaining is a death wish. Besides, all you got was a swat to the cranium. You're fine. He could've done worse. "I apologize sir." You whisper, and the man snorts. "Forgiven." he sighs flippantly. "Today, You need to collect fire wood, prepare breakfast for the Camp, feed the animals and clean their cages. Then and only then may you eat. Afterwards, Shirley will call you up for the rest of your chores." He orders, and you nod, eyes kept down on your feet. He dismisses you off with a snarl and a well-placed, bruising hit, and you scuttle off. You hurry to the tent containing all the supplies needed for your trip into the woods, minus food. You grab up a hatchet, and a small satchel, before taking off into the woods. A little ways in, you stop, and begin to hack at a smaller tree. You watch it with sharp, careful eyes as it creaks and tilts, and jump out of the way as it suddenly tilts and snaps, falling towards you. You stare down at the pine, then begin to hack it into easy-to-carry pieces. An hour later, you've chopped down many trees, and have collected an acceptable amount of wood. You wipe sweat off your brow, limbs shaky and weak, but you continue, now splitting the wood to save the other stagehands the trouble. You'd probably end up doing it in the end anyway, so might as well do it now. Chest heaving for breath, you finish up the last of the wood and sit down for a moment, body covered in a layer of sweat. Your stomach rumbles, and you pat it appealingly, mumbling a rueful, "I know." Standing up, you glance around, and spot a bush full of familiar berries. "Blackberries!" You sigh in relief, scurrying over and picking a handful. You sit down and pop a few in your mouth, chewing gratefully. You hurry with your small, traitorous meal, finishing off a few more handfuls of berries, before licking your slightly dirty hands clean of any trace of food, and wiping your mouth, cleaning your hands off on your thankfully black slacks. You scoop up an armful of wood and pack them inside your satchel, grabbing another few pieces. Then, with some rope that had been at the bottom of the satchel, you tie a few more blocks of wood to the bag, and sling it onto your back. You scoop up some more into your arms and stand turning to set off. A shiver goes through you, and you turn your eyes onto the woods behind you, narrowed and scrutinizing.Someone's watching you. Suddenly paranoid and cautious, you hurry back to camp, breathing out a small sigh of relief as it comes into sight. An enticing voice whispers at you, and you slow. "Why don't you just leave?" It hisses, and your feet shuffle. "You're in the forest, concealed from them as long as you stay among the trees. There are plenty of berries here, small animals too, and the entirety of it is far and wide. Why not just leave? Your chance is now! You have a hatchet, and wood for fire!" Another small note: This wasn't the first time this sly voice had spoken to you. It certainly wouldn't be the last. It made sense. But... "I cannot." You whisper back, eyes lidded. "I may have the means to survive, but for how long? How long, until they find me, or until someone finds me and I'm a slave again?" There was no point. In the circus, you had food, shelter, and protection. Of course it wouldn't come for free, but at least you got something in exchange for eternal servitude. Frankly, considering the condition of your clothing, and the fact that you get your own tent, you know your situation is quite luxurious compared to what other slaves from this time go through. It is difficult, you admit quietly to yourself as you start up walking again. Even after a year with this circus, these group of people, this world, you still have trouble adjusting. Sometimes, when the men address you with a racist slur, you'll go off on them, mind suddenly back in the 21st century. Then you are suddenly reminded of your place. You've earned more than enough lashings from those outbursts alone. Not to mention the few times the reciprocating crew would personally punish you... You shiver and shake your head to dispel the memories. You couldn't begin to imagine the consequences of trying to escape. You wouldn't risk it. It's not like the crew and members of the circus were cruel to you all the time. It was just period-typical. What else should you expect? To be treated like a Queen? A word of taunting fate: Those words are gonna bite you in the ass. Not now of course, later on. For now, you continue to transfer the wood to camp, taking 3 trips before all the wood is collected and stored. You hurry to the camps Galley, where you find the Cookey. You are immediately greeted with a painful swat of the ladle, and harsh words spat at you. "Bad day?" you inquire gently, and she sighs, nodding once before handing you a crate full of potatoes, and points at a basin full of salt water in front of the Galley's entrance. Nodding once, you hurry over and begin peeling potatoes. As Mother Nature's earth apples slip to and fro in your hands, you allow your mind to wander. What has happened to your family? You don't entirely remember your old life -- you had never had the greatest memory to begin with -- and lately, being away from those familiarities has caused your past to...rot. You remember your mother, your brother, your two cats, and the tight-nit group of friends that you spent most of your time with. You remember days spent writing, be it paper or otherwise, in ink and charcoal and lead, and drawing. Much of your time spent in a room, warm and isolating, where you slept for hours on end -- days if you were allowed. On occasion, your orbs would be gracing page after page of an old tome or two. A somber note: But from there, everything falls into black. You cannot remember anything further than that. This saddens you greatly, and you aren't sure why. --------------------------------------- You curl your lip as the disgusting aroma of elephant dung. "Seriously guys, I love you and all, but this has to be my least favorite way of spending time around you." You hiss at the mammals the only response you get is a proud trumpet as they munch on their lunch. Huffing, you return to using the broom as a large scrubbing brush, cleaning away dirt, grime a feces. Soap bubbles, grey and droopy due to filth, float by you and pop, staining your clothes, much to your displeasure. An hour later, your done, and you sigh, propping up the filthy broom against the wagon. "That's the last one." you say, a pleased smile gracing your lips as you realize that you finally get to eat. Scurrying back to the Galley, you carefully scoop up the left overs from the rowdy breakfast from earlier that morning. After your scavenge, you retreat into your tent with a sigh, and settle down on your mat, carefully tearing off the bitten parts of left over sausage, bread, eggs, and the occasional bacon piece. Fruit are abundant in your meal, as it seemed no one very much liked the fruit. "Lucky me," you say absently to your conversing thoughts, biting into an apple heartily. You finish up your admittedly large meal, especially for one made completely of leftovers. Licking your lips you clean up the plates, dumping them in the wash basin set up in the Galley before scurrying off, carrying a spare basin, extra clothing tucked under your armpit. You step out of the camp grounds before retreating into the forest, intent on finding your destination. You push past brambles, and low hanging tree branches, before sweeping aside a moss curtain, feeling your muscles relax at the sight of your little hideaway, still uncompromised. Your hideaway is a small raveen, tucked deep into the forest, surrounded by thick underbrush, successfully keeping it from prying eyes. A waterfall runs down the tall stone walls, falling into a small pond. Reeds and lily pads frame the rippling water, and it all drains into a calm little stream that trickles away further downstream, into unexplored territory. Feeling relatively safe, you strip, and fill the basin, dumping the offending articles of clothing into the cool water. Slipping on spare undergarments and a shirt, you roll up your sleeves and set to work, cleaning your clothes and washing away today's grime. Once finished, you spread your wet clothing out on hot rocks, and dump the dirty water into the underbrush, where you know the combined water and fertilizer would be appreciated. A sarcastic meandering: This was your little paradise, and you damn well were going to take good care of it. Slipping off your clothes, you quickly slip into the water. It presses and caresses your skin gently, like silk, and you sigh as your muscles relax. The chill never did bother you, and it was a welcome sensation to any bruises. You poke gently at fading marks that litter your thighs, and torso, and shudder at the memory that comes with them. Small fingers poke at the few newer welts, and you count five in total. "Only five?" You whisper, gratitude staining you voice. You pull out the lily in your hair, and kiss it gently, before releasing it into the water. You watch it float away, stray leaves and forest debris circling it as the flower is swept up in the streams currents. Pulling the ribbon out of your hair, you tie it around your wrist, and dip your body back, feeling the liquid silk slide into your dark strands. Sitting back up, your rub and scrub at your dirty skin, feeling the dirt release its grip on you. After a good while of cleaning your skin, you turn to your long, rowdy hair. Your fingers rub at your scalp and slide through your strands, pulling out knots and rubbing out clumps of grime. You dare to stare down at your reflection in the water. Dark skin, plump lips, curly, dark hair weighed down by water. Long, curled eyelashes. But your eyes. Your eyes were everything like looking up at a galaxy, or staring into the face of the most colorful sunset. Your pupils were small, black, but were near invisible among the circle of red that mirrored that of a sun. Many would mistake those red pits to be your pupils. At the top, blues of every dark shades massed, then faded downwards to the bottom of your iris with purples, pinks, violets, yellow, and oranges. You loved your eyes. A reminisce: One upon a time, your eyes had been dark. Deep, warm brown pools of chocolate at your best. Pits of black and rage at your worst. Yet you had learned to adore the eyes that stared back at you in your reflection. Now they've changed. You sigh, and climb out, basking in the sun and soaking in the warmth for a while, your body drying before you pull on your clothes, securing you drying hair into a pony tail once more and squeezing out any excess water. Folding your clean clothes and storing them into the basin for easy carrying, you slip on your pendant cravat and prepare to leave, when a whimper reaches your ears. You freeze, and glance around, eyes sharp and focused as you try to pinpoint the noise. Setting the basin down, you stalk towards a large tree, and hold your breath, listening intently. Another whine fills the silence, and you inch closer, peeking over the side of the trunk. In that moment, you heart shattered into a million little pieces. A large wolf had its head crushed in a bear trap, the jaws of the traps biting brutally into its skull, broken bones pieces and blood staining it's white fur. Next to it, a black wolf hung from a snare, its tongue lolling in a grotesque doggish smile as it hung in it's death sleep. Around them, bony pups of white and grey pelts surrounded them, all in various stages of starvation when they died. A small note: Hunting wolves for their hides hadn't quite died down yet in the land of the free. It was a grotesque business in your most honest of opinions. Your eyes zero in on a trembling, bony, black ball, whining and whimpering for a savior. You coo at it, and weakly, it turns its head to you, its whines growing in frequency. You inch forward, and gently rub at the space between its ears, cooing and hushing its cries. You look deep into its eyes, and see a swirl of blue and green and yellow. Momentarily, you are blinded by it and a bright light, and power thrums in your veins, but it's gone as soon as it's there. Blinking dazedly, you look back down at the pup, who whines once more. You had once thought your fate had been sealed by the cold slam of an iron door. You were wrong. As you scoop up the trembling black body, and scurry back to your things, creating a small bed from your clothes and the basin, then marching back to camp, you brought with you, the key to that iron door. Another Small Note: Unknowingly, your fate had been sealed, the moment you had locked eyes with a pup containing Innocence, the piece taking you in as its accommodator. This however, would not come back to haunt you until 30 years later, when you had outlived your Master without aging a day after 15, met the Thief and the Eve, and was saved from torture by the man who would be the love of your life. A little Announcement: And that, my friends, is where our story truly begins.