The Nature of HopePosted: September 19, 2009
((A brief excerpt of sorts from what will hopefully be my NaNoWriMo attempt. Fantasy, original world setting.))
Elysium, bruised and beaten, stared out through the bars of her prison with lifeless eyes. They had kept her there for weeks, and then weeks turned to months, and then months turned to years. She had aged as they bled the life from her, killing her slowly. Hope had faded, faded, faded, until it was nothing but a dull spark. She wondered, often, why that spark stayed. Why, as time progressed, the spark didn’t disappear for good.
Her once smooth and pale, lilac-tinged skin had been covered in wounds, some scarred over and some still oozing. For the millionth time – not that she was counting, really – she cursed her own mixed blood. Being half Fvelta and half Ruessa, Elysium was something no one had ever seen before. Or tasted. The humans – wretched, selfish, disgusting beings – that she was captive of were addicted to her blood. They bled her, dried her, laughed as they withered her.
Elysium cursed her blood again, this time out loud, and this time adding curses on Fveltans, on Ruessans, on her parents, on the war, on everything.
The guard, roused from his daze, kicked her and told her to shut up. Elysium had stopped trying to escape a long time ago, and so the guards these days were beyond pathetic. They even left the room sometimes, opening the door that was positioned tantalizingly close to Elysium. Every time that door opened and light rushed in, Elysium couldn’t help a sudden rush of hope of her own, a quick flare of the spark. Even when the guard opened the door to come back, she sat up a little straighter and glared a little harder.
Hope never faded. Someday, somehow, her Nathaniel would come. Or… someone would find her. She had only ever existed to Nathaniel, but surely – surely – there was someone else, if not him, who would see her. Free her.
For Elysium, hope sprang eternal.