past and present

Once upon a time, I was the brave hero.

But, once upon a time, I was of the bloodline of a fallen king.

There was a monster, sealed away under a grand palace aeons ago, who cursed my bloodline. When I came to that castle as the generation’s hero, I felt its pull. I heard the whispers in my mind, that only pulled me deeper into my own anger every time the reigning king slighted me, my people, or any other race that walked our world. I began to study the darker magics of the desert, because it silenced the whispers and fed the serpent of revenge coiled around my heart. If that king ever acted upon his racist impulses, I would be ready.

Because of him, the women of the sands were barred from entry into the green grasses on the grounds of being thieves. But we were driven to thievery by his policy, forced to steal for food, water, materials, and even mates. After all, men were very rare. And I, of course, could never be the hero of legend, because of what I was, and because I was a woman. But he chose to use me, to subtly enforce his racist policies. And when he was done with me, he summoned guards to cast me into the dungeon.

And then, the whispers became screams. My anger became unbearable. In my fury, I wielded that black magic like it was an extension of myself, throwing the guards away and cursing the king and his bloodline for his bigotry. He became a beast before me, a twisted thing that craved the blood of his own people. And then, all of a sudden, as I came back to myself... something else took hold. I was now a prisoner in my own body, while the monster under the castle acted in my stead. I had become the Malice of legend, a beast to be stopped.

All my friends and allies banded together to stop me. With my last bit of control, I begged them to seal me away. Many of them died. One lost her arm. All to stop my body from destroying existence.

And then, I was in a white void. Alone, or so I thought. Once, I swear I saw the ghost of an ancestor. The cursed king from long ago, whose bloodline I carried. I searched long for him in that white void, but never saw him again.

And now, I stand before a handsome man wearing the white dress of the legendary sage. The one that in legend is the one to seal the great beast away astride the hero. I’ve never heard of a man in that role. I want to know him. But I see the fangs when he speaks. He’s of the royal bloodline, the one I cursed so long ago.

As I speak to him, he seems curious and rational. He doesn’t judge me by my race, but by my character.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that he speaks to the very one that damned him.