Whispers of Dawn

It started small.

The smells slightly tainted by an undertone of rot. Voices cracking. The feeling of nothingness beneath my feet. Tongue catching nothing but oils.

The others couldn’t explain it. They said that I was just imagining things.

This wasn’t something that I could imagine. They never understood what it was like anyways, relying on everything but my sight.

Would they believe me if I could see it?

The shadow that lingers in the air around them. Pulling at their strings. The way the colors they describe to me are shades of what they once were.

How can I describe this feeling, this dread, when I cannot put a face to it? Would I even survive the seeing?

They laugh. As they have always laughed. Treat me as though I am a child to be led by the hand through every dangerous turn.

Can they not see the dangers now! Their eyes as unseeing as my own! Dooming them. Tainting them.

Whispering.

Soft. Sweet. Candied. Promises.

Death.

Why can no one hear it?

Hear the way it loudens when the others are near, seeking to drown them out. To take from them their very breath!

Do they just refuse to listen? They have never listened to me, were too busy trying to teach me, to protect me. Now I must protect them.

Safe.

The voice tickles at my ear. I can feel it there beyond my skin, beneath my very skull. It is a voice that stirs no breath. Panic tightens my chest, the Keeper warned me of this. Told me that I would have to remain vigilant, ever more as my eyes would never see true light of day to seek protection.

“Why me?” Is all I can think to ask. Feeling more at loss than I ever was in my world of shadows.

Because… I can make you see. I can give you power. They will never laugh again.

Temptation.

This is my first taste of it. How naive must I be to ever believe that a promise like that would come true. Infuriating that this beast would think me so easily bought.

“I am not weak. I do not need your power.”

Shame. A waste, you would have so much more potential. Perhaps I shall continue to taste these, who offer so much pride. They only taste so much sweeter when nearest you, save those who are bitter with pity.

My voice stops in my throat.

My kin, did it truly bolster them so to see me falter? Was I that much of a burden to my clan mates? I had learned! I no longer stumbled as I walked, my feet were no longer the enemy. I could cast alongside my keeper! My magic growing even stronger, and my will to direct it. The keeper had said they were proud of my growth.

Was it a lie?

Shaking my head does nothing to clear my thoughts, swallowing does nothing to wet my dry throat. I must fight, I must be strong. Then I can prove to everyone that I am not something to pity!

Yes, be angry. You must show them. Teach them to be proud of you. Teach them how far you are willing to go.

“STOP… please. Just stop!” Screaming loud enough to drown out the words. Loud enough to drown out the laughter.

When did they start laughing? How many are surrounding me? Too many voices, I can’t keep them apart. Roaring louder than thunder and bleeding together as a torrential downpour. I can feel myself begin to drown in the noise. It’s too much, I can’t think, I can’t breathe! Tears fall from my sightless eyes. Useless eyes. How could things so important be so deformed. Did the Creators have reason to hate me from birth? Did they know that I would choose to disbelieve?

They did this to me!

Them!

My clan!

What did I do to deserve this!

Why! Why! WHY!

Take my hand. We will show them.

I see it.

The hand forming in front of me.

It’s the first thing that has ever truly had color. Why this? Why should this be the first thing I see beyond half blurred images of shadow and light. Was I truly cursed?

I cannot accept this. I will not. I refuse. “No.”

Then it is a hand no longer.

Nails forming into sharp claws, edges keen as any dagger I have felt. Digging into my chest. Pain blossoming, and I see the red of my own blood.

“This isn’t real!” It can’t be real. I know that my eyes will never see. I can bleed, I have bled. It is copper on the tongue, and Iron in the air. The thick stickiness on my fingertips. The sound of my pulse jumping in my chest at the pain.

But this. I will never see this red. Not truly.

“You will not win me. I refuse!”

The whispers turn into a roar. Screaming at me. No longer temptation, but the anger of refused Pride.

YOU WILL TURN LITTLE MAGE! YOU WILL BE MINE!

I close my eyes. Willingly return myself to the darkness. Forcing my breath to deepen. My pulse to calm.

Green.

That is the color of this place.

That is the color of dreams.

The voice goes quite again, as my eyes begin to open.

I can feel the chill of morning against my skin. The soft warmth of my bedroll, the way the fur almost tickles my cheek. Hear the clan as they begin their morning rituals.

This isn’t over.

Again, I dismiss the whispers of Dawn.