𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙗𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙, 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚.
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A girl who is constantly at war with her past now faces humanity's greatest enemy, but she has not yet avoided he...
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|Year 840| Five years before humanity's darkest day. ━━━━━━━━━━━━
SHE STOOD IN FRONT of a contraption she had never seen before. The thin pink dress she wore was ripped at the knees, with dirt particles darkening the edges of the material, but it had always looked that way. Her shoes were too big, leaving enough room for her heel to slip out like a slipper with every step, but they could never find many specific sizes where they lived.
Her dark brown, almost black, hair looked even darker since it was coated in thick clots of blood that trickled past her hairline and onto her innocent, yet trembling, face. Her hands shook by her sides, almost ripping the dress she wore with how hard she clawed at her sides as her wide eyes tried to focus on anything besides the white light that stood next to the odd machine she had never seen.
She was terrified. Whimpering pathetically as a fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes, her back pressed stubbornly against the stone wall behind her. What she'd just experienced was unspeakable. The horrors she'd just witnessed and participated in, the paralyzing grief that shook through her body, also made her enraged. It stung harshly inside of her chest. Something she never thought she'd have to feel.
"Now, now." A deep, raspy, voice said as a shadow of a tall man came in front of the light. "We don't cry here." His shadow looked like how demons are described. A towering figure entered her vision, his aura reeking of death, blood, and nightmares, spreading goosebumps all over her body.
"Quit fidgeting, you'll ruin your greatest advantage." He ordered, glancing at the girl's haggard hands, her fingers ruthlessly picking at each other as he took a seat to the right of the weird machine.
"I-I need my—" The girl said, her voice coarse from the fresh air that surrounded her. Just another thing she had never experienced before. The air was so crisp it could cut her already scraped skin. She gestured to her thin frame and head, her anxiety building the longer she was parted from the items she so desperately desired.
"You will get your other clothes back when I see fit," The man dismissed. "How old are you?"
"F-five." She answered. She raised her right hand, showing the demon-man five of her frail and peeling fingers.
"Alright, dear," The girl could see the shadow cross one leg over the other. Her tears continued to fall as she coughed into her elbow, the air proving itself to be too demanding on her weak lungs, her thin body quivering as her bloodied hands hung back at her sides. "What did I just say about your filthy tears?" His voice was stern, and she could swear that his eyes glowed red as he demanded an answer that pleased him. The child quickly wiped her eyes in fear, not caring that her sunken face now had streaks of red blood that mixed with the sweat of her anxiety.
