beloved of grace

Chapter 0 - May You Be Ever Blessed

A thundering collision rang through the room drenched in the bitter cold. A man held a scowl, void of consciousness or guilt, and engulfed in raw fury. Eyes of one who does not know compassion leered, mouth curling into a vicious snarl that bursted throughout the growing darkness. And then he spoke, words like sizzling crimson venom of fallen grace, "You insolent child! Can you do nothing?"

Then another collision, and then another. Time and again did blows reminiscent of merciless shipwrecks land upon young skin until the sun descended into the ocean. But not once did the child falter, not once did she speak nor did her body react to the pain.

When the next day came, the child was nowhere to be found. And along with her disappearance, was the vanishing bitter cold.

--

The incarnation of beauty once stepped onto desolate land, with every step it was as though transcendent frost premeated from her skin. Onwards did she move, turning a blind ear to the gapes and whispers of astonished passer-bys, the air of coldness around her protecting her like a shield and blade, away from the evils of the world. With a few more steps, slow and steady, overflowing with immaculate grace and motions of unmatched refinement, she halted.

There did she stand and stare for a long time. A home demolished, it's tale long gone, without luster and of broken bonds under her gaze, it's cobwebs overgrown, and the grave-shrouds that once flustered a bond upon her, now nonexistent to all. Traces of what may have been held close to a pure heart, now forever simply a forgotten fragment of the past. When she returned to her abiding place, her steps were slow but meaningful indeed.

Had they known what the future would entail, perhaps they wouldn't have let her go so easily— alas, just as spindrift, she shall never return.

- -

When two souls meet, something is born: a proverb you've heard once a long time ago. The encounter between you and the boy with crimson hair, like brilliant smoldering flames, his attitude like intricate ephemeral vermilion cyclones. His name was James Lee.

Between streams of blood and the shriveling world, turning into ashes upon crackling, bursting flames, only queled by your bitter cold, a bond was born that day. He was the first to teach you, hands stained of blood, that it still retained your warmth. He once called himself your friend.

"Open wide."

"What on earth are you doing, James?"

The boy's persistent grin did little to reassure you, even as he held up a pink lollipop to your face, "Offering you a treat. Don't you want it?"

"Hmph." You crossed your arms, holding your head away from him- a reflex of yours the boy has become more accustomed to than you thought he could've been, "Why do you keep offering me that lollipop?"

He shoved the peice of candy closer, paying no mind to your harmless antagonistic words, "I thought of you when I saw it."

Voice exasperated and expression deadpanned, you gave him a pointed stare, your hand moving mindlessly, "Pray tell, how could a lollipop possibly remind you of me."

"Let's see. . ." James glanced heart shaped treat, moving it closer to him, right next to your face before his eyes. His grin grew, untamed like explosive fireworks, "Hmm. . . it's just like you."

"Are you listening to me?"

"Why don't you guess what flavour it is?"

". . . Are you listening to me?"

He waved the shaped lollipop around, "I'll give you three chances to get it right."

With a dragged out sigh, you played according to his whim, ". . . Strawberry."