REVOLUTION: A Rebel Among Monsters ✔

One••Welcome to Cerule

Melaynia dipped her quill into the navy ink, then scratched it against the paper.

"I'm going to die. Chosen to die for a cause. For our planet. To save Cerule from a deadly fate. Chosen among others like me, and... eaten by our founders, leaders, protectors. To restore their energy so they may keep the rest of the population alive. It'll be an honor to my family; but to me, it'll be a punishment."

She set down her writing utensil. Her room felt brighter than usual, and its large window covered by a cloth curtain didn't shield her as well as she hoped. A gentle breeze came through, soothing her from the heat; like a temporary relief before her official death announcement.

She groaned. No, the weather had no clue what would happen. But fate? Fate knew. And maybe the gust of wind was Fate's way of comforting her in her last moments, her last days of breathing.

"I should have known," she said to herself, shivering as the wind rippled up her bare arms. "Trespassing... spying... touching things that didn't belong to me. But... do I deserve to die for it?"

It shouldn't have surprised her, with her luck. 

The sacrifice ritual took place every year. One eighteen-year-old male or female was supposedly selected at random and fed to the creators of Cerule—the Eldian Monsters—to give them the strength needed to keep the world thriving. To ensure healthy soil for crops—soil that the Eldians controlled and fed on, having been born in it, and bound to it until they perished.

Which, according to historians, couldn't happen, else Cerule would die with them.

She slammed her journal shut and stood, her legs wobbling from the abrupt motion. Or was it from the incessant bad dreams she'd had, predicting her demise? She saw them take her to the Monster's underground Lair, thank her for her service, coat her in the customary sugar scrub, and devour her. But was it a dream? Or... a vision of what was to come? A premonition?

Whatever it might have been, it prompted her to wake that morning convulsing, ill, frozen to the core, as if death itself crawled along her skin. And Jorco weather was too hot to wake freezing.

At once, she sensed guilt wrapping around her intestines, as if squeezing her to make her realize; she caused the vivid flashes in her sleep. She disobeyed—she ventured into a zone no Ceruleans were allowed to.

Of course, I must pay the consequences, right?

She grunted. "No." Staring at her wooden desk's scratched surface, its sturdy shelves holding all her books and notepads, the baskets of colored quills and trinkets, she realized her break-time was over. Sneaking her diary into the secret compartment at the back of one of her drawers, she brushed a fingertip over her collectibles. The herbs gathered around her town, drying in a silver tin. A scribbled note from her boyfriend. A battered, beaten-up diary she'd never dared open. Though she yearned to read it now, she had homework.

Atop her light bedspread, her book "Cerulean History, Volume Four" rested open at the page she'd left it, her essay scrawled over it.

And since she needed to recite said essay out loud, she plucked the paper and cleared her throat. "The Eldians and their counterparts, the Impians, created Ceruleans from elements of nature as they came to life. Molded shapes and sizes, invented ages and colors, and placed their creatures around the world to see if they'd reproduce. And they did."

For a moment her wall covered in sketches and maps caught her eye. The landscapes she drew, the fantasy continents and pretend worlds from her dreams. The quotes from her favorite writers written in thick black ink.