Moonlark Turned Evil

Inktober Special: Chains

This is one year after "Inktober Special: Angel"

gethen is seventeen, fintan is ninteen

Damn i've only been writing about them lately-

Uhhh getting to some serious stuff kind of

I found this website called "teenfic" and did some digging about it. It looks like it's set up to copy everything on wattpad, from the amount of reads and votes on a book to what fics are on the website and all that.

It sounds like this is an ongoing issue, i found a reddit post from three years ago discussing this very same website.

Ideally I'd like to have the website taken down, but obviously that would be a hard thing to do. The person who set it up might have made it with the intention of trying to get money by having people interact with their page, and there are a great deal of ads and redirects and stuff that appear on the site.

So yeah i was kinda depressed about that for a good part of the day-😃

If you want to look up the website please be careful because it's a sketchy platform, and the ads that appear aren't really . . . kind to the eyes, let's say

Anyhow enjoy the new chapter

Corpses.

Fire.

Broken down doors and smashed furniture.

It was like a nightmare repeating, it was a nightmare repeating, it was Fintan's memories of the worst day of his life playing on repeat, but unlike the last two hundred times he had lived through it, it was real.

Not a dream this time.

Not something he could awaken from with a few shoulder jabs from Gethen.

Not something that could be shaken off with some hot soup and a few minutes of quiet conversation between the two of them.

Again. It was happening again.

People were being killed in front of him, windows cracked and curtains torn. The village was in chaos, and there was blood everywhere.

Fintan saw his family in the fallen bodies.

The girl coughing up blood beside the town's only inn, decrepit and only used by the few travellers who passed through once in a while, looked like Edna. His mother was lying dead at the ruined door of a house near the gate, his father was stabbed through the chest with a sword that went into the wall behind him—no, these weren't the same people.

This was a different village, a different day, a year after Fintan's world had burned to the ground.

And yet it felt the same.

Gethen, ever the kind of person to worry about others when he was the one in the most pain, squeezed Fintan's hand. "Are you alright?" he whispered, and his voice penetrated the persistent ringing in Fintan's ears in the softest way possible.

"I'm fine, I've already . . ." I've already what, been through my village being destroyed? Fintan opted for silence, and instead squeezed back.

They were huddled behind the house, hiding in the hopes that the soldiers wouldn't find them. Neither of them really believed that such a thing would work, but being found after the slaughtering was better than being cut down by a sword in the heat of the moment.

Hopefully.

It took not even five minutes for everyone to be killed in cold blood.

Fintan had read extensively about how elvin minds couldn't stand the guilt of murdering someone. He'd believed it, at the time. He'd devoured the science of it, the possibilities, how far you could go before you would break, the mind itself, if it was possible to heal such a thing.