Lona from Betrayed By God by Tristis WardSUMMARY: This is the introduction of Lona from the opening Chapter of Betrayed. It is not a story, but a moment that is intended to shed light on her situation. Lona is often hidden behind the character Silver. It is rather rare to get her individual perspective.***
She sighs as the darkness of the cellar embraces her with damp relief. Her head will quiet now. It is better to be without light. That strange quality disturbs the real of things. It adds a baffling layer of connotation to each object and place. She had not considered before that it should be a thing feared. The wizard has feared nothing of its ilk before, not sound, not cold, not the texture of air. There was even a life – it is several hundred years back now – when luminance was common and expected. But then it fit together with the other senses and behaved itself. It was not this riotous invader that drives a poor body down into basements and cellars for the mind's only peace.
The remedy will take time. What there is for magic in this world is potent enough, but strange. The withered hands that work it are unfamiliar, too, and so the task is slower. It will be a long while before she can create the tools needed to do battle with the forces that brought them all here. That is a dangerous thing, because now she is old. Shuffling footsteps echo along the corridor making each sound like a scratch in a symphony of clawing hands. The limestone mix that coats the walls is a thick paste of ancient dead that has its own ethereal glow and a host of necromantic spells are only a short distance of willpower away.
There is willpower, though, and so the wizard will only sleep tonight. Alone. House, family and her lover are spread to the wind, lost in the trap of this confusing lie. They are pained and confused, and each alone. It is painful to watch while so very nearly helpless. A change will have to come. Spells will have to be found that can free them, clear their minds and reset them in their bodies. Without this, there will soon be irreversible harm and even death.
"Bind you. Hold you. Bend you. Mold you," she chants in the language of her father. On its own it is only a little bit of spell, but she twists it to a stronger strand with the patterns she has gouged along the walls. As she walks, her fingers trace the shallow lines, and weave the deeper power into the net she casts to gather the house together. She must have them come - at least enough of them to be the live weight she will need to face the liar.
Her steps end. The part of her that has been counting tells her the cot is directly in front. It will have a damp mattress and the blanket will have the odor of this place to press against her. Better here than above. Better this than the comfortable warmth of somebody else's life with somebody else's children constantly checking and rechecking for her compliance. She sighs as she sits, bringing the weight of all her doubt and sadness with her into the creaking acceptance of the thin metal springs.
***
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