[WIP title] Cecilia's Journey

Part 1: Fire and Lightning (8)

In the midst of the crowd, Cecilia stood, fear and anger and confusion written across her whole body. But nobody cared, nobody listened.

No matter how she cried, no matter how she pleaded, she was shunned and hated by the villagers who had just lived through hell.

It wasn't me! She cried. But nobody listened. Nobody cared.

Cecilia was the scapegoat. She was new to this village; she had only stayed a few months. Most people here didn't even know her. To them, this girl, Cecilia, had randomly turned up in their home, with nothing to her name, then this tragedy struck.

She was the obvious suspect.

But Cecilia had a burning feeling in her chest. She knew who did it, who must have done it.

That god, Vierra Velis.

Cecilia tried to explain this. She tried to explain how Vierra's presence was evil, how she had to have done this, the way she taunted Cecilia as she fell asleep under the bridge.

But nobody would listen.

Their God wouldn't do it. Their God couldn't do it.

All Cecilia was to them was an unknown factor, an enemy, a liar.

There was nothing left of the life she had.

Everything Cecilia had built up over the last few months in this world was gone. 

Gone was Issac, who had trained her, surrounded by his own failed attempts at prolonging his life.

Gone was the excited nature of the village, washed away in a sea of blood.

Gone was Cecilia's innocence, torn apart by swords and arrows.

Gone was Victoria, Cecilia's first friend in this world. The first person who cared.

And the last.

All that remained was Victoria's raincoat, now tattered and torn, stained with blood; Cecilia's sword, now crying tears shared with the swordsmith, crying for their lost brother.

And the mark on Cecilia's back.

The burning, painful feeling in Cecilia's back had left a scar. A strange, symbolic scar. Left there by that devil Vierra, who drew it on Cecilia the night everything ended.

She fell for the trap, but Cecilia hadn't died. Vierra wasn't a hawk, spying on its food from afar, looking to decisively catch it. Victoria was a cat: she played with her prey, tormenting the mouse and watching it react.

Without knowing why, that cat had taken hold of the little mouse, taking what little the mouse had. But now the cat was full, and it let the mouse go.

But the mouse would not forget. The mouse would not forgive. Now the mouse plots and waits, like a hawk, to pluck the evil cat up from the ground.

But the hawk wasn't evil, it wouldn't play with its food. Toy with its emotions. The hawk would kill the cat in one fell swoop, leaving the corpse behind for the scavengers.

Now the hawk sits in the crowd, watching the cat, sitting upon its throne of mice.

Cecilia crouched down to the ground, feeling the magical energy enter her, moving to her legs. As she drew her sword from its sheath, she concentrated the energy in her feet.

Her sword was the same as the one from four years before. Now, after years of neglect, it was chipped and scratched, nearing the end of its life. But it had a purpose to fulfill first. It didn't even have a name anymore, the writing on the blade having long been sanded off.