Destiny is the thread that binds the kingdom of Olumia together. Every child, every adult, everyone of any background, upbringing, gender, gift, and more has a destiny. Everyone has a fate decided for them by the gods. Peoples have fates of all kinds. Fates of good- healing, happiness, creation. Genevieve Delora's fate was one of destruction and despair. Her destiny is the bane of her existence- and every other person in the kingdom's existence. Her destiny is to conquer the kingdom and destroy the gods.
It was a curse from a haunted witch that sentenced an innocent young girl to her doomed life. A witch's vengeance that caused it. A curse that settled her fate and the fate of Olumia in a matter of seconds. Genevieve Delora was the one who suffered the consequences of her parents' mistakes. Genevieve Delora was the one who ended up cursed on that fateful day 8 years ago. Her life was ruined from then on.
Everywhere she went, people stared and whispered. The Delora family did their best to keep the secret, but you can't bury wrongness. In school, she was mocked by classmates and scorned by teachers. Neighbors locked their doors and wore anti-evil amulets around her. Bullies tripped her, taunted her, broke her chalkboards, pulled her hair, and threw rocks at her delicate skin until she bled. She endured it without question. She was meant to bleed.
Everyone knew she was different, that she was bad, but they didn't know they were tempting a demon. They didn't know exactly what she was meant to do in the future. Their hatred existed due to her gift- another secret she kept, another wrong she couldn't bury.
"Gen!" screamed a voice. Genevieve shot out of her desolate dreaming and awoke in an instant. It was early morning- the sky out their tiny window was dusky blue and it was still pitch dark inside. She felt around the bed, finding no small girl laying beside her. Fear set in.
"Mira?" she yelled, worry needling in on her skin. "Mira! Are you okay?" It was dark in their cramped loft. She felt around for the lamp but hit the sharp edge of her dresser instead. "Mira!"
"Gen!" said Mira again, this time closer. Light flooded the room. Genevieve blinked. Mira was standing in front of her, her bronze face pale from the dull glow of the lamp. "They're here, come down." 'They' only referred to a specific group of people in their kingdom.
Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. "Now? But-"
"I know," interrupted Mira, "But they came early. Change quickly and come down. The inspection will start soon."
"Are you sure-"
"Yes," she snapped. "Maya from next door saw them when she was out on her morning walk, now come on!" Mira was only 14, but she had learned like the rest of them to hide her weariness and to be strong in times of fear. Her black hair was tied back in a severe knot, her eyes were lined by giant bags (to match Gen's own), and her posture was as stiff as a board. She looked almost like Mother, even if they weren't related by blood.
The inspections were monthly events. Soldiers from the palace marched to the twenty-some towns all over Olumia to check on them. They scrutinized the houses, the people, the town- trying to see if people were paying their taxes and no one was participating in illegal magic. It was meant to prevent incidents such as the Greensdale Massacre a few months prior. Usually, they came on the last few days of the month, but it was only mid-February, Genevieve was a bit surprised.
It was difficult to change with only the dim light of a lantern as guidance. Gen slipped on one of her best dresses- navy blue- one of the royal colors of Olumia. It was best to appeal to national pride in situations such as these. Every inspection was a risk. Genevieve always had a trace of illegal magic on her- she was cursed for goodness sake. Her mother and Mistress Luna have scoured the town library as well as Celeste's Otherworldly Emporium for solvents and potions to hide her magic trace and they finally found one that works- Greta's Puring Salt. She always kept a gallon in a pouch under the bed. She quickly sprinkled the amber powder on herself now, praying it would be enough. Then she opened the bottom dresser drawer, and shoved the bag beneath the false bottom and under some blankets just in case. If they found that, she was screwed.
Every inspection was a risk for their family. Every inspection was a chance that Genevieve could be caught with the devil's touch. If they knew about the curse, if they knew what she was destined to do, she'd be sentenced to an execution immediately.
She slipped on her wool boots, already shivering at the prospect of going out into the freezing cold. She layered a wool coat over her flannel wrap, not giving a damn that it looked slightly odd. For safety, she wrapped a scarf around her neck. She surveyed herself in the cracked mirror that was tacked on the side of their tiny room. It was hard to see, but she looked sort of like a crazy person with her oily dark hair (there wasn't enough time to shower), pale face and dark under eyes.
"Gen!" This time it was Mother yelling.
"Coming!" she said. She raced out of the room, and promptly tripped over a protruding piece of wood and hit the floor. "Ow," she said, groaning. Shaking, she rose to her feet, and squeezed back some stray tears. Thankfully her many layers prevented too much damage from being done.
Just then, she heard a knock on the door. Every fiber in her being froze. Shit. She rushed downstairs, hoping there wasn't anything for her to trip on in the dark. She barreled her way to the front room where Mira was already standing. Mother was beside her, dressed in navy blue as well, her dark hair piled onto her head in a crown braid. She shot Genevieve a warning glance which she returned with an apologetic look. Being late to an inspection had dangerous consequences.
"By the Gods Gen," murmured Mira.
"Screw the Gods," she muttered back. The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Mira gasped.
"Girls," warned Mother, shooting Gen a lethal look. She clutched her praying bracelet, probably sending an apology to the Gods for her insolent daughter. Gen rolled her eyes. She stopped believing that the Gods would save them years ago.
Gods were for innocent, good people anyway.
"Good morning soldiers," said Father, opening the door. "We didn't expect to see you this soon."
The soldiers didn't answer. Two entered the room. One was tall and blonde with icy blue eyes and a sharp face, while the other was shorter with a dark face to match his dark hair and dark look. Genevieve frowned. Usually there were four soldiers that came to inspect each house. They were able to survey the room quickly and more efficiently that way, with the families standing outside waiting for the results.
"You'll see that our house is perfectly devoid of any illegal magic, and we've been paying our taxes every month," said Mother cooly. They were one of the lucky families. The ones who could afford a roof above their heads, food on the table (though scarce and cold), and to pay the monthly taxes.
The taller soldier spoke first, "We're not here for an inspection."
Their entire family froze and Genevieve cowered. Immediately she knew- they were here to arrest her. One of the neighbors or perhaps one of her classmates tattled on her strangeness and they've come to investigate. She was going to the dungeon.
Mira grabbed her hand and squeezed. Genevieve was only 16. She was too young to die. A cold chill settled on her body. Maybe... Maybe they knew about her curse? On the dawn of her 17th birthday- she will destroy the kingdom. But how could they have known? The only people who know are Mother, Father, Mira, and Celeste from Celeste's Otherworldly Emporium. But Celeste wouldn't sell them out, would she?
The second soldier cleared his throat, "We saw the sign out front." The sign. Heather Delora's Palm Shop. A different fear set in. Heather, her mother, wasn't actually a palm reader. What if they figured that out and arrested her? Genevieve was the real talent- she was a prophet. She was the one who used her powers to read the futures of her mother's clients. She passed the information to her mother who presented it to the customer in a haunted (slightly overdramatic voice). But they had good business- her omens never lied.
Reading the future. That was her gift. Unfortunately it was also her burden. Her power was what revealed her cruel fate in the first place. It was the first vision she received when she was a slip of a girl- 8 years old. Sometimes she wondered if it were better to know, and not be able to do anything about it, or to continue through life oblivious to her dark future and find out when the time came.
Her mother always told her prophethood was the gift of the Gods, but she disagreed. Maybe other prophets had the gift of Gods. But she was touched by Demons- the foes of the Gods. The Gods stood for Creation, Love, and Goodness while she, like the Demons stood for Destruction, Hatred, and Evilness. No one knew if the Gods were still around. They used to bless Prophets with dreams and omens and grant miracles to those who came to pray at the Immortals Tree in Old Olumia. People used to feel their presence inside them wherever they went. But those days were gone. Or maybe they never existed. Mother would slap her if she said such a thing out loud. But it was pathetic for a cursed girl to believe in salvation from immortal beings. If the Gods were real, they would have abandoned her the moment she was cursed.
"Yes," said Mother finally, filling the empty void of silence.
"Are you Heather?" asked the tall one. She tensed.
"Yes." A beat of silence.
Genevieve fidgeted with her dress. Arrested. Tried. Scorned. That was the fate awaiting her mother if she really was being suspicioned. If she had more time and less sense, she'd read the future right now to see the outcome of this day. But future-reading wasn't that simple.
"Is that your daughter?" It took a second for Gen to realize they were pointing at her. Her breath was stolen from her and the pace of her heart increased to a stampede. She clutched the skirts of her dress with clammy fingers.
"Yes." Mother looked pale. Father looked just as gaunt.
"Genevieve Delora," he was looking at her now. "According to the Royal Registry, you are a prophet."
Her voice was raspy as she said softly, "Yes." They know. They know. They know.
"The town mayor, Oliver Cren tells us that you've assisted him a few times with town matters," said the taller one again, studying his clipboard. "Is that true?"
"Yes," she said, her voice trailing off.
"He says your power is very powerful," he said, eyeing her like she was some sort of creature on display. She shivered.
"A fortnight ago, Leonard Baz passed away," said the shorter soldier. Her heart skipped a beat. Leonard Baz- the Royal Prophet of Olumia. "The royal family has waited for the appropriate period of mourning, but it's dangerous to continue ruling without a prophet's advice. King Alastair is searching for candidates- young and powerful ones for the job."
Her parents exchanged glances. She knew what was coming.
"Genevieve Delora- you have been chosen as one of three candidates to be considered for the highly respected, highly paid position of Royal Prophet to Olumia."
And just like that, Genevieve's world fell apart.
a/n: Thank you for reading Prophet of the Gods if you made it this far. I'd really appreciate it if you'd consider giving a vote or commenting (even for feedback, it's always appreciated). I always reply :)