She was the ripe age of seven. Seven months, that was. A little black bundle that was all legs and no meat on her bones. Eyes as big as dinner plates, burning with all the fury of Jymis’ eternal flame. Already shorter than her littermate, but twice as smart. Or so she thought.
“Shall we begin?”
It was only a voice that rang out from the cover of the night, but Lethe would soon come to know its face. And what a horrid face it was. Scars that seemed to overlap each other like a thousand vines stood out on a painfully blinding white face. Two bloodshot brown eyes seemed to send messages that maws could not. And like a whisper of smoke, her persecutor appeared.
The first few hours weren’t at all bad. Those were the hours in which the mercy of Aegis was shone with gentle words and not-so-gentle gestures. But soon, as the Scarred Wraith began to understand the bounds of her faith, the words cut deeper. Soon enough, more than his words were used to slice through the skin on her bones.
But Lethe would not. She would not concede when her fur was matted with the crimson of her own blood. She would not concede when her head was held under the numerous aqualine surfaces until she was sputtering and gasping for air. She would not concede when others were murdered in front of her for lack of her speech. Innocents and children far younger than she.
She would not when her claws were wrenched from the pads on her paws or when she was starved for a whole fortnight, forced to live on nothing but her own urine and repellent makings.
It was when Lethe’s face was held above a smoldering geyser that the Scarred Wraith subsided his rage. Brought her down from the slope, quivering and shaking with all the fatigue and weakness in the world. Laid her at the paws of her mother and father. Initiated her into Nijah’s Circle. It was that very moment when Lethe became more than a snivelling girl or even a determined wrench. She became a Shadow that night, under the darkness of Nijah. A fledged assassin worthy of service in Her name.
Because as young as she came, as small or frail or fragile as she appeared, Lethe had gone through Hell and back to be what she was today. Mistake her no more, dear readers. She would slit the throats of thousands before conceding to the light of Aegis. She was darkness, and it was then that Lethe had earned her first title by a servant of her mortal enemy. Crimson Flame for the blood that pooled at her paws. For the fires that burned in her eyes. For the dedication and service to the Mother, who in return had granted Lethe much more than a mere title as an assassin. She had granted her… well, that was a story for another time.
A bundle of darkness lay in the cavernous walls of the Grotto, appearing to be sleeping. But only a fool would believe it.
May 22, 2018 10:26 AM
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