Thursday, January 25, 2018

"Shattered Lives" Chapter 14: The Wizard's Legacy book 1


Chapter 14

Revealed Truths

Theron stood upon the northern tower and wind blew across his face. It whipped his hair and he drew his cloak closer to himself. Mist still laced the morning, and the cool white haze blanketed the horizon. The distant murmur of the city drifted up to their ears between dog barks and horse brays. A number of servants stood around Theron as they waited for Olivia. They talked in low voices as Elshender and his two knights stood close at hand.
Among them stood two beasts of might and beauty: griffins. Their heads were that of an eagle, framed with cat-like, pointed ears, and great wings were tucked close to their sides. Their front legs were birds’ feet, dark talons curled and scraping along the stone roof, and the hind legs were those of a lion. The torsos and tails were also of a lion, though their tails were tipped in feathers. The beasts stood alert, the wind wafting their feathers with each gust, and their heads moved in a jumpy, bird-like fashion as they whispered between each other. Two servants stood on either side of the griffins, and fastened saddles between their wings.
Theron looked out across the land toward Wraith’s Hollow far beyond his seeing capabilities. The dark tree line sent his mind back to the day they were attacked. How did he stray so far from her side? If only he could go back and protect her from whatever evil had befallen her. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, as he did before battle to calm his nerves. He looked up into the sky and saw pasty clouds drift past on a sea of blue. A hawk soared among them. He thought of The Wizard and wondered if he would help them. Let me find the truth today, he thought. Let this be my Olivia!
“You all right?” Elshender asked as he nudged his arm. Theron nodded. He looked to the large warrior and the knights beside him. Their weapons, one a sword and the other with a mace, were well hidden behind thick robes. Elshender studied his friend, and saw his rigid steps as he paced and his eyes leaping from one thing to another. He clapped Theron on the back, and nodded encouragingly.
Theron glanced away and cleared his throat, trying to quiet his beating heart.
“Ah! There is my darling, scrumptious love!”
Theron turned and saw Olivia walking toward him, Cedany, Krea, and Sobriina close behind. The she-elf glanced at Prince Theron and looked away before anyone noticed. She turned her purple eyes out across the land, gaze falling on an owl that flew toward the castle in wide arcs. Her shoulders bunched and her eyes darted away.
“Smile,” Elshender mumbled to Theron.
The prince grinned as he wondered if this Olivia was in fact not a someone, but a something. He walked toward her, his arms outstretched. “My dear.”
Olivia, her lips pulled taut in a wide smile, took hold of his cloak and yanked him close. Theron bit back a grimace as her lips pressed over his. His hair stood on end, and he resisted the urge to pull her back.
Olivia released him and smiled again, though her brown eyes did not look at him. “What is your delightful surprise?” she whispered. She curled a strand of his hair through her soft fingers.
“Um . . . well—” He cleared his throat and eased his hair from her hand. “You said you wanted to learn how to ride. Ride a griffin, and now . . . you can.” He motioned to the beasts behind him. “They are prepared and waiting.”
Olivia’s eyes flickered to the griffins and her smile melted. “Poisoned air—”
Theron gave her a sideways glance, the curse quite unladylike.
“Um . . . how sweet, but . . .” Olivia laid a hand on her brow. “I’m not feeling very well, as of late.” She looked at him, her brow creased. “I don’t rightly think it would be wise to take part in this thrilling and dangerous sport in the state that I’m in.”
Theron raised his chin, dread’s cold touch freezing his blood. “You seemed fine to me during breakfast.”
“Oh, it has suddenly come over me. You must understand, beloved.” Olivia grinned and stepped closer, her lips puckered.
Theron drew back and forced her to stand at arm’s length.
“Darling?” Olivia stared at him, alarmed. “Whatever’s wrong with you?”
Theron looked into her eyes and swallowed hard. “Remember when we first met?” he whispered.
“Oh yes,” she said with a sigh. “How could I forget?”
“It was so beautiful.” Theron willed himself to smile. “At Crown Haven’s gates, the sky bright and blue, with everyone around to welcome me. And then I kissed your hand. When we first met.”
“Of course,” Olivia said. Theron’s heart leapt into his throat. “I remember it well; it was not very long ago. What a delightful day! Well, once I overcame my foolish nervousness.” She smiled bashfully.
Theron gazed down at her, unable to move. His heart struck against him as though it tried to escape. “That’s where we first met?” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “Right?”
“Yes, my lord,” Olivia said, her head tilted to one side. “Why are you mentioning our first meeting?”
The prince swallowed hard. Goosebumps rose along his arms. He closed his eyes and gathered his nerves. This woman could still be Olivia. She may still be here somewhere. He took a swift, controlled breath. “I . . . I’m concerned for you.”
Olivia’s brow furrowed as she studied his face. “Oh, this is just a sudden yet passing chill I feel. I am going to be fine.”
“Are you?” Theron’s gaze sharpened. “You’re acting . . . different.”
Olivia blinked and turned away. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?”
Theron stared down at her as a thin string of hope gripped his heart. He turned her toward him and cupped her face in his hands, looking her in the eyes. “Olivia.” She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Olivia, I love you.” His heart pleaded for her to come back.
Olivia laid a hand over his and smiled. “Oh, my lord . . .” She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. “I will always return your love, tenfold.” Theron embraced her and felt her heartbeat against his chest. He closed his eyes and laid a hand between her shoulders. He questioned his doubts as he felt her beside him. A fool! That’s what I am. A fool for questioning her! This is Olivia, my bride and—
            Theron’s eyes flew open. His hand, on the back of her neck, stiffened as he felt her smooth skin and . . .
His heart skipped a beat. His fingertips brushed small, taut strings crisscrossed down her spine, like the cinching ties of a dress. Olivia swiftly inhaled and drew back with a sudden jerk. She touched the back of her neck and placed her veil over the stitch work. She smiled weakly, but looked away. “A horseback riding accident, my lord,” she whispered. “It embarrassed me, thus I long to conceal it. Also why I don’t want to ride such frightful beasts as griffins.”
Theron rigidly stared with bulging eyes and mouth half open, realization draining him of color. After a silence, which was far too quiet, Theron shut his mouth as his eyes narrowed to darkened slits. He looked to her nose, at the corners of her mouth, and her ears. He noticed that, beside her left ear, stitches were crossed along its high corner.
Olivia tensely stared at Theron. She glanced at the griffins, the servants, and the men-at-arms. She eyed their weapons and looked away. “What are your thoughts, my lord? Share. If we are to be one—”
“I told Olivia to call me Theron.” He looked her in the eyes. Brown eyes, they were brown. He lifted his chin, clearly remembering Olivia’s vivid emerald eyes! “Theron. Not my lord.”
Olivia stared up at him, then giggled. “What are you talking about, my love? Why say I told Olivia? I am Olivia!”
A muscle in Theron’s jaw twitched, vehement loathing emanating from his gaze. Olivia’s smile disappeared. Sobriina glanced between the two, her mouth half open.
Theron reached forward and grabbed Olivia’s face with one hand. She screamed as his fingers dug into her eye. He pulled and skin tore free. A shriek fled Olivia’s lips, shrill and wild-like. She fell back, her hands pressed over her face and collapsed to her knees, wailing. Krea rushed to her lady’s side, screaming, as Cedany followed. Sobriina did not move as she watched, her hands held behind her.
Theron, his eyes cold and muscles tense, looked down at his hand. A misshaped shred of ivory skin flapped in the breeze. It had two holes in it, one for an eye and one for a nostril. Theron looked back at Olivia and listened to her whimpering howls.
“Flesh Thief . . .” he whispered darkly. His chest heaved as color rushed into his face. “Flesh Thief!” He raised the skin in his hand so all could see.
The servants yelled and flinched back. The men-at-arms drew their weapons without another thought. Krea stared at the strip of flesh, her cries suddenly caught in her throat. Sobriina covered her mouth and stared at the woman on the ground.
Olivia shuddered and looked to Theron with her good eye. “W—what?”
Krea backed away and seized Cedany. She would not let go.
A tear fell from Olivia’s eye. “Why speak such horrid things—”
“Take it off,” Theron seethed.
“My lord—”
“Take it off, by the Silver Eye!” His face trembled and his eyes burned. He drew his sword and held it in a firm grasp.
Olivia gulped and sobbed, looking to anyone for help. No one moved. Olivia turned back to Theron with trembling gasps. He stood over her unmoved, eyes cold and murderously dark as he adjusted his hold on the sword.
Olivia sighed and her eyes lost their horror. She glanced away and shrugged with a sniff. “Shame,” she muttered as she stood. She faced Theron and his heart missed a beat. Half her face was Olivia, but the other half was a mess of shredded skin. No blood dripped from her, but a darker shade of skin peeked through the gore. She grinned and her eyes narrowed. “Took you rightly long enough to figure it out!” She smirked.
The Flesh Thief took a fistful of her blonde hair and pulled. Her face stretched until it tore in two. It fell away and hung limply down her back, the golden locks dragging upon the ground.
Krea screamed and one of the servants fainted. Theron flinched and stared, forgetting to breathe as he stared at who lay underneath the disguise of flesh.
Nan’s grin broadened as their eyes locked. “You know, boy?” She scratched her forearm. “Yous be a good kisser.” Her nails dug into her arm until the overlaying skin began to tear. Krea turned away with a guttural cough, bile rising from her stomach. Nan laughed and ripped the skin from her arms. It fell to the ground in dead heaps. “Oh, and I’m a Wilder! Shade Kin, if you must know. Just like everyone thought. Surprise! Ha! Ha!”
Renewed hatred washed over Theron like a boiling wave. He had slain Wilders before, one more would make little difference. “Where is Olivia?”
“You’re not the best kisser, I say,” Nan continued. “A Charnelic would better the best, or even a werewolf! If there’s enough meat in his belly, that is. But you’ll do.”
Theron stepped forward, his breath coming in rapid bursts. “Where is she? Is that her skin?” His voice cracked despite himself.
Nan absentmindedly glanced at her hand and picked the skin still attached to her fingers. She flicked it to the ground in little flakes, humming.
Theron’s eyes darkened. “What have you done with her!”
Nan shook her head and sighed. “This was the bestest thieving.” She grinned. “Even better than when I were in that wolf’s hide and went to that village. Learned throats rip out nicely with a good set of fangs in.”
“I will not ask you again!” Theron yelled.
A chuckle lifted from the Wilder’s throat and rattled its way to her lips. “You’re cursed, king of dung!” she sang high and loud.
Theron blinked.
Nan looked at him. “Cursed. From them stones Unki the Firm sits on—”
“Is she still alive—”
“Cursed! By the ground! The sun! The moon! The holy stones!”
“What have you done to her!”
Nan’s eyes narrowed and a smile rounded her lips. She pointed a finger at the prince, half covered with the tattered, stolen skin. “May your eyes be gray. May them be dark like a Wraith, for a Wraith you’ll become!”
Theron straightened his back as his grip of his sword tightened.
“Be always bad! Always cursed! And may all your lovelies be ripped from your heart!” The Flesh Thief’s smile grew. “I, Fyss, Flesh Thief of Unki’s Fist, curse you in and out!”
Theron lifted his chin, yet his blood chilled. He could not breathe.
“Nan,” Krea gasped, a puddle of vomit strewn beside her. “What, what happened to you? Why are you so . . . This is not like you! Did Lord Demus curse you too?”
Fyss gave the pale girl a cold look and shook her head. “Nothing’s changed in me. The disguise is gone, off at last! I ain’t that mother-like lady, Nan. I don’t care about you! I be Fyss! I’ve attacked a village because they sold my daughter! My little Nadira, little shadow princess . . . I’m a killer, a true Shade Kin! I be a Wilder! Hail Unki the Firm! May he stick your jaw!”
The Flesh Thief grinned as Krea flinched away, coughing again. She shook her head and glanced back at Theron, her head tilted to one side as the dead scalp and long hair shifted in the wind. The shredded skin’s face stared blankly at those around it, hollow and unblinking. “Foolish man—”
“Answer me!” He hissed. “Where is Olivia?”
Fyss lifted her chin. “Where you left her.” She absentmindedly motioned to the horizon, to the far off black line of Wraith’s Hollow. Theron’s stomach flopped on itself.
Cedany gasped suddenly, her face white. “Valsara,” she breathed. “You killed Valsara. That’s her skin. You killed and skinned Olivia’s double. That’s why we couldn’t find her. Oh, Wizard save us!”
“But why go after her, huh?” Fyss asked. She shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. “She’ll be used by that man who’s got her. He’s a smart one, he is. Will come up with new things to do with her pretty little self.” Theron’s skin crawled as his hand tightened on his sword. “Once she’s spent, he’ll get rid of her. She’s probably half eaten by wolves by now—”
“By the One in Red, I will saw you in two if I must!”
The Flesh Thief stared at Theron, stunned. She threw her head back and laughed long and hard. “You? You, saw me in two! Like a log for the fire?” She chuckled and shook her head. “Not your day to kill, oh cursed prince. Not yours!”
Theron stepped forward, his sword lowered to the level of her heart. “You will tell me—”
“He sees all!” Fyss cried. “Knows all! Knows you see my face! Knows I’m done here! That Spellbinder! That horrid, wonderful, beautiful—”
The Wilder cried suddenly and fell to her knees. She gasped and collapsed to the ground. With a shake of her head, she chuckled. “See? I speak and his powerful hand strikes.”
Theron stared at the Flesh Thief, his eyes wide and brimmed in darkness. “No. . . . Wait!” He dropped his sword and raced to her side. “Speak! Before it’s too—”
“Fool!” the Flesh Thief choked. “Was too late the day—” Her back arched as pain riddled her face. She groaned and blood seeped from her nose. “—the day . . . Olivia was taken from you . . .”
Theron’s heart beat wildly as he watched the life being pulled from Fyss’s eyes. He seized her shoulders and jerked her this way and that. “Talk! Where is Olivia!”
The woman grinned, her eyes narrow and filled with amusement. The next moment, a gray emptiness dulled them, and her body fell limp in his arms. Theron blinked as he stared down at her, heart racing with dread.
“No, no, no, no . . .” he moaned. He shook her shoulders. “Come on. Come on! Talk!”
No one moved as they watched their prince’s frantic efforts. He did not care; all he knew was Olivia was gone. Dead in all likelihood! Killed, left in some shadow or behind a rock, her clothes torn by hungry hands. He swallowed hard, but the lump would not leave his throat.
A hand lay on his shoulder. “My lord?” Sobriina whispered. He did not respond as he stayed focused on the dead woman. “Theron?”
“Get away!” he hissed.
She withdrew her hand, but did not move from his side. “She is dead.” Theron closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. “No further insight can be drawn from her.”
He stared down at the Wilder and realized her blood stained his clothes and pieces of stolen skin had flaked onto him. He looked into her rolled-back eyes, hoping life could still be found in them. He glanced away and stood with shaken hands. Still, no one moved as they stared at their prince. The breeze whipped between the gathering and chilled them all.
“Get rid of it,” Theron ordered Elshender before turning and thundering away. He rushed downstairs, his steps strong and loud as he stomped down the hallway. His thoughts twisted and collided until they were a tangled mess. His eyes darted to everything that moved, and his fists were clenched. A servant almost collided with him as he rushed around a corner. She threw herself against the wall to avoid his piercing gaze.
Theron had told himself there was no such thing as Spellbinders, no such person as Lord Demus. But now there was? And he, the future king, had left her. Left his betrothed, his Olivia, to be used. To be killed! What kind of king was that? Who leaves their woman defenseless in the horrors of Wraith’s Hollow! Not a king worthy of Tulaun. Not worthy of any land.
Theron burst into his chamber, the servants inside jumping as the door banged against the wall. “Everyone out.” They stared at him in stunned silence, staring at his bloodstained tunic and clumps of flaky skin. Theron met their gaze and his stare darkened. “Out!”
They dropped everything and hurried out the door.
He paced the room and his heart pounded in his throat. He wiped his mouth again and again, remembering the fervent kisses he had given a Wilder. A fool, that’s what he was! He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
How long had Olivia been gone? What if she was taken before they were even in Wraith’s Hollow? Crown Haven could have been the last time he had seen her. Or worse! What if he never met her at all? Lady Olivia could be a mere name from a sick-minded fiend! A fake! Could she be nothing but a well-disguised sham? Theron shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. It can’t be! He loved Olivia! She loved him! She could not have always been that Wilder! But if she was . . .
Olivia’s smile, her laugh, her lips, her words, her life . . . all a lie? She betrayed him. She was a lie from the start—
Theron shook his head. He groaned and took hold of the bedpost. The Flesh Thief’s blood made his fingers sticky against the wooden frame. He felt the hard wooden engravings against his fingertips; it was something solid, something real.
Olivia didn’t betray me, Theron told himself. She is real. The Wilder is to blame! He took in a deep breath and forced himself to think rationally. As he rigidly stood, like a warrior on the verge of war, his heart bowed under the weight of pain. The glassy surface held together with all its might, but it could not withstand the burden. A crack lined its side and shards fell and stabbed him. Theron flinched, but did not hear the fracture of his heart.
He turned toward the window, looking in the direction of Wraith’s Hollow. He knew she was still in the demented woods, still alive. He could save her. Yes! He could bring her home! Marry her! There was hope! And he would rid the world of this so-called Lord Demus. The Spellbinder was a fool to have taken his bride!
Theron lifted his chin and straightened his back. His eyes narrowed as he stared toward the horizon. He could almost feel his sword in hand, and the required force to lodge it through Demus’ stomach. A shadow darkened his brow. Yes, he would go back to find Olivia and bring her safely home. He only prayed she had the strength to survive long enough for him to find her.



___________________________________


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 “We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”

~ 2 Corinthians 4:7
Our hearts are fragile.
Fragile like glass.
Hearts of glass.


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Tuesday, January 23, 2018

"Shattered Lives" Chapter 13: The Wizard's Legacy book 1


Chapter 13

Whispered Plans

Olivia was acting odd. It was the little things that were different—nothing important, however . . .
            During the following morning, the castle’s royalty slowly awoke, whereas the servants, guards, stewards, and Seers had been up before the sun. Theron sat at the dining table and listened to the buzz of activity around him. It was the first day in a long while he did not have to wear his sword, but he strapped it on anyway. Without it, he felt naked and ill prepared. His food lay untouched as he watched Olivia drinking from a horned cup. His mind spun with unsettling thoughts.
A half-eaten piece of venison lay on her plate, for she had said mere bread and milk in the morning would never fill her. Her hair was up in braids and wound in a blue veil. He wondered why she kept putting it up even though he had told her, on the balcony in Crown Haven, that he enjoyed it down. Customs, he reasoned; she had to follow them. But, he remembered that she enjoyed her hair down as well.
            “Are you all right, beloved prince?” Theron turned and found Sobriina’s purple gaze studying him. He nodded and turned away, wondering if he was the only one who noticed the new quirks of his bride. It was as though she had forgotten herself and was somebody new. It was strange, so very strange.
            Why had she changed? Did the attack in the forest make her . . . He had no word for it as he glanced at his dear lady. Perhaps she was troubled by the blood and death she saw. She had never seen it before; she would not know how to take in such an experience. He must help her somehow. How could he distract her from the memories of Wraith’s Hollow? The death of Nan. He sat for a long moment as he watched her.
She was so beautiful.
An idea lit his eyes and a smile spread across his lips. Elshender noticed his sudden change in mood from across the table, but said nothing. “Olivia,” Theron whispered and grabbed her hand. “I want to do something special for you.”
She flinched at his touch, then smiled and took his hand. “Oh, a surprise?” She clapped her hands giddily.
            Theron’s jaw tightened. Her mouth curved up in a grin, but her brown eyes were anything but smiling. He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Yes, that’s what it is . . . a surprise. An hour after your meal, meet me on the northern tower and go to its flat roof. I’ll be waiting.”
            “I’ll be there,” she whispered, her scarlet lips pursed. Theron forced himself to keep his smile and stood. He turned to leave, but stopped. His eyes narrowed. He looked back to Olivia and stared at her, his head cocked at an angle. She laughed with Countess Primis about something and took a huge bite of meat. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on hers.
Olivia looked up at him and her smile wavered. “My lord?”
Theron said nothing as he peered into her eyes. Brown. They were brown.
“My lord?” she repeated. Olivia looked to the others at the table and giggled. “Has my beauty enchanted you, rendering you speechless, my prince?” Countess Primis and a few of the other women laughed.
            “Your eyes . . .” Theron pointed. “They’re brown.”
            Olivia nodded. “Indeed, as they have always been.”
Theron blinked and shook his head. “No. They were—”
“Were what?” Olivia lifted her chin. “A different color? And how, my lord, could that be?”
Theron, his mouth open, shook his head.
Olivia smiled and glanced back at her food. “I will meet you on the rooftop in an hour or so, my lord.” She blew him a kiss.
Theron stared at her. “Why’re you calling me my lord?” he whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Theron bowed and walked out of the room. Once outside, he stopped and ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair. Two guards stood at the doorway behind him and a few servants passed in silence, but all kept their eyes downcast and left the prince to himself. He shook his head and looked up to the high-arched ceiling. With each heartbeat against his chest, he felt the glass organ would leap out of his throat. He swallowed hard.
            “My lord?” a voice whispered from behind. He turned and Sobriina stepped through the door and walked to the prince’s side. “My lord, her eyes are discolored, are they not?” Theron shrugged and glanced at the floor. He shook his head again and breathed out heavily. Sobriina studied her friend.
He saw her brows knit together. “What is it?” he whispered. A servant walked by, his eyes downward, but Theron knew he still heard them. The she-elf waited until he was gone.
            “Please tell me,” she said, her voice hushed, “that I am not the only one troubled by Olivia’s new ways.”
The prince blinked in surprise and smirked. “I thought I was the only one.”
Sobriina shook her head and glanced at the dining hall door.
“Come with me,” he whispered. Theron grabbed her arm and led her down a hallway. They walked through a large room into a small chamber.
Weapons lined the walls, and a rug of wolf’s fur carpeted the stone floor. A bowl filled with oil sat in the midst of a wooden table; a flame danced above its oiled container. No one was in the room, save the two friends. Theron shut the door behind them and the fire’s orange glow lit their faces. “Tell me what you’ve noticed,” he said, facing her.
Sobriina warily stepped further from the door, her eyes shadowed with concern. “My accusations may be flawed, my prince,” the Lunaris whispered. “But . . . I dare say Lady Olivia has changed.”
            He nodded his head. “I’m grateful you see it too.”
            “Indeed.” Sobriina wrung her hands. “The Lady Olivia I know is not like the lady we just sat with. Small things. Simple things, that is all I have noticed, yet they stand out and look me straight in the face!” The she-elf shook her head; she looked pale. “Olivia is not like this, this woman. Not so sharply changing in her temper, such as how she snapped at you when you mentioned her brown eyes! Also, the Olivia I love did not always embrace you at every possible occasion. She was very reserved about her feelings toward you.”
Theron glanced away; he did not want that aspect of Olivia’s new character to change.
            “Her vocabulary is different,” Sobriina continued, “and not like her. And how she acted when Nan was horribly slain! She barely spoke of the woman who was like a mother to her. Not even a tear stained her dress! No, she is acting as if she is not disturbed for the fallen creature!”
            “I agree.” Theron nodded. “I would think Nan’s death would put her in a mournful state.”
“My lord, I fear for Olivia!” Sobriina cried suddenly as she took hold of his arm. “I do not know what has become of her, or if a spell has taken hold of her, or . . . or—Ah! I don’t know!”
A muscle in his jaw tightened.
“We’ve gotta figure this thing out,” said a new voice.
Sobriina and Theron whirled around and saw Elshender standing in the doorway. They hadn’t even heard him enter. The warrior looked at Theron, his jaw clenched and shoulders back. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
Sobriina opened her mouth to object, but Theron nodded before she could speak. She shut her mouth and frowned.
Elshender closed the door and they sat at the table. He glanced at Sobriina; his eyes ran her up and down with a scowl. He turned to Theron and stuck a thick thumb in Sobriina’s direction. “You’re asking this woman for advice?” She glared at him testily.
Theron looked his friend in the eyes. “She’s not a woman. She’s a she-elf. There’s a difference and I value her words. Respect her.” Elshender looked down and shifted his weight. He grumbled something under his breath, but fell otherwise silent.
Sobriina eyed Elshender and lifted her chin. A small grin pulled at her lips and she turned to Theron. “May we speak frankly in this counsel?”
The prince nodded.
Feet thudded past the closed door, and everyone stiffened. They listened until the footsteps carried on, and their shoulders relaxed. No one spoke for several moments until Sobriina motioned to Elshender.
He gave her a firm look, but glanced away before Theron noticed. “There’s lots of things that could be the answer,” Elshender said. “For one, maybe she is just being more . . . queenly like. Coming to Henricien could’ve reminded her she’s to be queen. She might be afraid, and not know how to cope with her new identity or something. I don’t know, women act strange for no reason sometimes.”
“Yes, but that does not explain her callous response to Nan’s death,” Theron said. “I know Olivia. She should be heartbroken.”
“Beyond even that, I trust.” Sobriina nodded.
“Nan could’ve been a mere slave,” Elshender suggested. “That’s what she was anyways. Or even she could have stopped Olivia from being her real self. Now that the slave’s dead, Olivia’s being herself.”
Theron’s eyes narrowed. “You know that is not true.”
Elshender looked at his friend and saw his stiffened shoulders and balled fists. The soldier sat back in his chair and held up his hands. “To be honest,” Elshender said, “I was not with the lady that much. I don’t know her as you two do. But, really, none of us has known her for long.”
Theron glanced away from Elshender before he said something rash; he knew Olivia, and he loved her.
Elshender eyed his prince for a moment. “What? You don’t like this new side of her?”
“This is not her!” Theron’s eyes locked with Elshender’s once more. “This is . . . is trickery! It is a cruel game of sorts.” He shook his head. “It’s not her . . .”
“She completely loved Nan,” Sobriina said as she shook her head. “Without a doubt.”
Elshender looked away from Theron, and the prince uncurled his fist. “Or . . .” Elshender’s eyes narrowed. “She was raised in a really peaceful place, right? No fighting. No death. Not like anything in Wraith’s Hollow. That was new for her. The attack could have, you know . . . shaken her up too much.”
            “Yes,” Theron muttered, “I’ve considered that.”
            “No, I mean . . . She was shaken up a lot. Might have done something to . . .” Elshender motioned to his head. “You know . . . There might be several reasons for her new strangeness; this could be one.” He snapped his mouth shut at Theron’s cold stare.
            “But it isn’t,” Theron whispered.
“You don’t know that.”
“She’s not crazy!”
“She’s a woman. They’re crazy to begin with. Don’t rule stuff out so quickly.”
Theron gritted his teeth, but looked away. His heart pounded; Elshender’s words were too disturbing. He looked straight before him and breathed out a slow, loud sigh. “What else? Yes, your suggestions are worth hearing, but what else?”
            Elshender and Sobriina glanced at one another, but neither responded. Elshender cleared his throat and scratched his nose. Sobriina stared at nothing in particular with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “What about a spell?”
Elshender glanced at her.
Theron’s brows drew low; he did not want to consider it. “Do you really think it’s possible?”
            Sobriina nodded. “A spell could have been set on her shoulders.”
Theron sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. This was absurd! Wizard forbid such an awful thing!
Elshender shook his head. “Just stories—”
“Consider it.” Sobriina leaned forward, her eyes intent on Theron. “Lord Demus’s blood is laced with power from Wraiths themselves! Perhaps this is why her eye color changed! Demus’s eyes changed to gray when touched by dark magic; maybe our lady’s eyes did as well.”
            “Sure, if he was real,” Elshender muttered.
            “That Spellbinder’s an old wives’ tale,” Theron said and shook his head. It was not real, none of it.
            Sobriina’s eyes darkened. “What if it is true! Something is shady and sinister within Wraith’s Hollow. Even the meager horses sensed it! Whatever it was could have made her someone else. Or, taken a piece of her glassy heart away! Even placed a darkness into her core self.”
Theron lifted his chin and eyed his friend.
            “You are suggesting . . .” Elshender’s eyes narrowed. “Lord Demus changed the woman? I thought you were smarter than that!”
            “Possibly,” Sobriina said, then gasped. “Possibly before you even set your eyes on her, my prince! How are we to know if Olivia is truly who she claims to be, even from the beginning? There might have never been a girl named Olivia—”
            “Enough of this!” Theron slammed his fist on the table and rattled the oil bowl. The two silently sat back in their chairs. “I asked for your advice, not a child’s tale!”
            Sobriina raised her head and looked the prince in the eyes. “Lord Demus did this.”
Theron held her gaze, but did not reply.
            “How are you sure?” Elshender questioned with a smirk.
            Sobriina took in a deep breath. “What other explanation lies before us?”
            “She ate something wrong, and that’s what’s making her different,” Theron said, his eyes darkened.
            “Her new skin, or way of being, began the moment Wraith’s Hollow lay behind us. Something happened between the trees of gray; I am convinced.”
“Obviously!” Theron scoffed.
Sobriina’s eyes narrowed. “A side of you wonders if my words are true. It frightens you. That is the only reason you disagree; there is no other.”
Theron’s jaw clenched as his eyes darkened still. “I disagree because it’s ludicrous!” He turned away, seething with clammy hands. Sobriina and Elshender watched him, and Theron felt the weight of their stares. He cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. Maybe Sobriina’s right.
“Then test her.” Sobriina relaxed in her seat. “Test her and see.”
Theron closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. He stared at the oil flame and watched as it flickered without a sound. He sat in silence and the other two waited. Theron lifted his chin and breathed out a slow hiss, nodding. “A test, then.”
Sobriina grinned.
Elshender leaned forward. “What? What is it?”
“And how can we lend a hand?” Sobriina added.


___________________________________


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 “We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”

~ 2 Corinthians 4:7
Our hearts are fragile.
Fragile like glass.
Hearts of glass.


If you have any comments, critiques, or concerns, please comment below!!!

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Help! I'm Depressed and Don't Know What to Do!!! Part I

Depression used to be a taboo, but now it seems quite prevalent. It is something everyone seems to struggle with in today's modern era. I must be honest with you, depression is something I have rarely faced throughout my life. However, things have changed. For the first time, I have been feeling that looming monster of depression creep up behind me like an encouraging stocker. It is a very ruthless master, for once in has you stuck in its snare it is almost impossible to overcome. Emphasis on almost.
I have recently faced this well renowned enemy called depression. I felt like I was being dragged down into a dark, bottomless pit. It’s very cold down there, very lonely. Nothing I did seemed to matter and everything was a monotonous rat race from one scheduled event to another. Everyone was smiling on their Facebook pages while I'm stuck in my pit wondering if my ambitions are worth pursuing, if this life has any meaning, and if I am even worth fighting for. 
I would like to share with you how I overcome depression. I am not a physiologist. I am not trained in this field. I am not diagnosed with clinical depression. I’m a fantasy write who has lived life, been beaten down, and learned how to rise up again. I am by no means trying to force my views on you, I'm simply giving you an option of how to make a ladder to climb out of your own pit.

1. Admit I am depressed.
I am the queen of denial. It is very difficult for me to admit defeat. When I finally suck it up and lay down my pride, I acknowledge I’m depressed. I can never change unless I know something is wrong. I don't think I'm a prideful person, but when it comes to admitting my faults I see how prideful I truly am. I'll be honest, admitting this isn't fun or easy. But nothing in life worth fighting for comes easily.

2. I Don’t Ignore the Problem
I usually do this really "logical thing" and instead of dealing with the problem I saturate my days with things that make me feel good. It sounds quite fun, but the pain never leaves. That's not how you would treat a broken arm, ignoring the pain until you are so familiar with it, it is now numb and not a nuisance. However, that’s what I do with my emotional pain. It just hurts too much to face it. Way too much. But ignoring a broken arm won’t fix it. In fact, it will make more problems that would hinder me in the future. So, after I find out, once again, that feeling good does not erase pain it simply buries me deeper in the pit of depression, I decide to do something about it.

3. Discovering Depression Roots
Next, I need to discover what brought about my depression. What happened to make me think these dark and dreary thoughts? How was I hurt? Who and/or what hurt me? For me, most of my despair and depression comes from intense emotional pain I experience.
I'm a devout Christian. (Again, I am NOT trying to impose my values on you. I am simply stating what has helped me.) As a Christian, I have been taught to “give my anxieties to God because he cares for me.” (1 Peter 5:7) That’s very good and healthy, but sometimes I’m buried by such a big mountain of pain I’m not strong enough to left it up and give it to God. I simply get press down by more and more pain.
Understand, it’s not that God has failed me, it is because I don't trust him to take care of the pain for me.
But why would I give my pain to God? What’s He going to do for me when it feels like He’s not saving me? Well, He draws near to the brokenhearted, binds up their wounds, heals them, and saves them. (Psalms34:18, 147:3) Isn’t that what we’re all looking for? 
A comforter? (. . . God of all comfort, who comforts us in our affliction - 2 Corinthians1:3-5
A healer? (I [God] will heal my people and will let them enjoy abundant pace and security - Jeremiah 33:6) 
And someone to rescue us? (Do not be afraid - I [God] will save you. I have called you by name-you are Mine - Isaiah 43:1)

4. Let Myself Feel
After I discovered what the cause of my pain is, I can more efficiently deal with my depression. This is when I try and suck it up and ask God for help. I'd like to say I humbly get on my knees as angels start singing and a light from heaven shines down on me. What really happens is because I'm so scared, mad, and confused I scream horrid cuss words, hoping no one’s around to hear me, and that I'm not ticking God off too much. I will admit, I do not swear in real life, but I sometimes pray like a sailor so to speak. God is the Savior of my soul, the reason I live, therefore he should see my ugly, unpleasant side in vivid picture. 
There's a fine balance between respecting God by being humble at his feet and being uncensored, messy, and lost. He likes to hear form us, even the gorse, ugly things. Because of this, we can confidently approach God. "If we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that He ears us - whatever we ask - we know that we have what we asked of Him." (1 John 5:14-15)  He wouldn't have been tortured and killed on your behalf just to let you suffer and trudge through the grime of life without Him there protecting you and fighting for you.
After turning to God and admitting I can’t do life alone, I seek help from someone who is not emotionally imbalanced and who is wiser than myself. Or, just a friend who I can vent to and we can sort through my off-the-handle emotions together. This is the time to feel all the feels, to cry all the tears, to scream whatever needs to come out. Let go. Be real. Be broken. It’s messy, so be with someone you trust in a safe environment. Trust me, it’ll be okay.
This is half the steps I take when facing depression. Now is the time for you to sit back, consider what you've just learned, and act on it if you're so inclined. I strongly encourage you to. I'll post Part II next Wednesday. Until then, be brave and dare to admit you are depressed, don't ignore the problem, discover what caused the depression, and find an adviser/trusted friend to cry/scream with. Don't forget to ask God for help, He's the only one who really can heal anyways.
Hang in there. Its not over yet. 

:)


Help! I'm Depressed and Don't Know What to Do!!! Part II

The other day, I wrote about my first few steps in facing depression. First, I admit I'm depressed, I don't ignore the problem, I discover what my depression is rooted in, and let myself feel. How did it go for you in taking these steps? Was it hard? Yeah, it's always hard for me too. But it's worth it. (Because you're worth it.)

Here are the last few steps I take. Hope this is helpful for you.

5. Focusing on Change
Once I receive advice from a wise counselor and/or sorted through my emotions with my trusted friend, I have reached one of the most challenging stages of facing depression: I must now change. Instead of overloading my life with things that make me feel good, I must focus my time and thoughts on the truth. I believe the truth of God's word, therefore I lean on what God has said about my future and my identity.
  • I am loved with an unchanging love that lasts forever. (Psalm 136:26)
  • I have a God who's obsessed with my well being. He's happily with me, gladly rejoicing, and calming me with His love. He will encourage me with singing. (Zephaniah 3:17
  • I have a hope filled future full of prosperity. (Jeremiah 29:11)
  • If I hold onto my trust in God, I am blameless, holy, and free from accusations. (Colossians 1:21-23) 

There must be a distinct separation between how I feel and what is real. Pain is real. It cannot be ignored or thrown out of the way. However, pain should not overcome my life. The only time I fully feel the despairing pain is when I am with my wise adviser and/or trusted friend. Once everything is vented and expressed, it is time for me to flight and hold onto the truth and the facts instead of how I feel.
Did you catch that word? I wrote fight for a reason. Fighting is work. Fighting takes time. But you're worth fighting for. (Just nod your head even if you don't believe it. My God died a criminal's execution, went to hell, and battled death for you! You're completely worth fighting for!!! Because your worth is not in who you are, what you did/do, how you feel, and so on. You're wroth is based on what Jesus did for you and your decision to follow Him. (Romans 3)

6. Confront, if Needed
Now, because I am holding fast to the truth and facts, hopefully with my feet a little bit under myself, it is time to confront. If my depression is rooted in a hurt inflicted by another person, I need to face that person. Not to kill them. Not to make they suffer (although sometimes that would be fun >:) ) I confront to respect the other person and respect myself. What if they have no clue they wounded me so deeply? It's obvious to me, but it may not be to them. 
I'm always afraid to do this part. Every time. I practice what I'm going to say so that it doesn't come across as attacking or vengeful. (This is because I suck at verbal communication. If you are the type to plan ahead and strategies what their response will be and make an answer based on your made up response, don't plan out your conversation. Playing the 'What If' game will hype you up, stress you out, make it worse, so by the time you confront the person, you're ready to bight their head off before they say a word.)
I try to say "I feel" instead of "you did____". I prefix the conversation by stating I don't want to fight, I want to make peace, and I apologize if I say anything disrespectful/unloving I may say. 
Sometimes a mediator is needed. That's okay. A good mediator would be your wise adviser and/or trusted friend. Don't gang up on them now. Be civil. Be mature. Be uninfluenced by your emotions. (I usually cry a lot though. And maybe yell. And cuss a bit. So . . . I'm still working on the mature part of confronting.)
I have to do this process more then once because more pain resurfaces the more I reveal it. I may have several conversations with the same person to make peace or have to return to my wise adviser/trusted friend and vent and cry again. And that's okay. I just cannot let myself give up.   

7. Intentionally be Unselfish  While I'm fighting to hold onto the truth, I usually discover I've been very selfish. My depression is always accompanied with selfishness. Therefore, I try to go out of my way to be selfless. I attend to my pets and plants (it's amazing how needy they can be!) I give my husband a message, ask how I can serve him after he worked all day, and try to encourage him. I also tell him what I've been struggling with and ask him to encourage me and reassure me I'm loved. I volunteer to help out at different functions. I also surround myself with uplifting, undepressed people.

8. Repeat steps 4-8 Until Freed
I don't isolated myself.
I don't let myself think my efforts are hopeless.
I don't continually complain, both to others and within my thoughts.
I refuse to let the bad that happened ruin the good that is happening now. 
I acknowledge how I feel, yet understand feelings are not truth. 
I fight. 
I continue to the end. THE VERY END. Like, months down the rode. Years even. It takes what it takes and you'll get there.
And, with God's strength, I succeed. 
Beating depression takes time. It took a long time to be sucked into the grimy pit, it will take a long time to climb out. Don't get frustrated if you're not "getting over it" faster then you think you should. Everyone has their own pace of progression. As long as you are progressing bit by bit out of depression, you’re doing it right.
So, that's what works for me to rise above depression. It takes a lot of people. It takes a lot of work. It takes a lot of trust in God. 
I hope this works for you. You are worth fighting for. You do not have to be conquered by how you feel. You can rise up. You can be free. You are worthy of love and honor. You are not defined by what you do, but by who you follow. Follow God. He won't get grossed out by your pit of depression. He's an expert in going into dark, horrid places, because the Light always shines the best in the dark. 
I'll leave you with this encouragement that lifted me out of my own pits countless times:

I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in Him.





I believe in you because I believe in my God and He's eager to fight for you. He always is. (Exodus 14:14)