The Vibrant Chronicles: The lilac letter
The subtle smell of lavender wafted through the room, and Penny, strapped to a wooden chair by means or rope, stared at her "brother" in disdainful curiosity.
"You wear...perfume?
He scowled and held up a letter.
"Scented."
"You're a terrible brother you know, you knocked me out and strapped me to a chair."
"Well, in fairness you tried to shoot me."
"In case it has escaped your notice, the world isn't fair. However, you're pretty oblivious so it probably has."
"Tell me again, who's in the chair and who's not?"
"Why, have you forgotten?"
"I could kill you."
"Perhaps, but you're a lunatic; lunatics never act as expected."
"I'm not a lunatic."
"I don't have a brother."
"Then who am I?"
"A lunatic."
He put his face in his hands.
"Now what does the letter say?" she inclined her head as her hands were tied up.
"I thought I was a lunatic? Perhaps I can't read? Perhaps I do not know what a letter is?"
"Stop being annoying."
"Of course, I endeavour to please."
"What does it say?"
"You're not asking the right questions."
"Enlighten me, then, as to what right questions are."
"Who wrote the letter."
"Alright, who then?"
"Your mother."
Penny leapt out of the chair, or tried to, and as a result slammed face first into the wooden panels.
"That really hurt."
"Why'd you do it then?"
"I didn't do it on purpose."
"The letter is from our mother, here, read it," he flung the unopened letter at her on the floor and then untied her hands.
But what was in the letter, in her mother's peculiar, unmistakable writing, was not a letter, but rather a story.
There was once a tree, a very ancient tree with roots that went so deep and spread so far in the ground, it was rumoured that its roots covered the entire of the Earth's core. It had leaves of such unusual and varied colours, it appeared black with iridescent streaks. It was not a good tree. It was not good because it kept vibrancy and colour alive, too alive, and so order began to disappear, began to weaken. Creativity was good, yes, but it was also chaos. And order was so much better.
In this time there was also a man, aged thirty five, he did not like being called by a name, so we do not call him by his own name, but rather, the Order.
The Order devised a way to cut the tree down, but this was difficult, as the tree's bark was the toughest material in the whole known universe. So the Order set out to make an axe so powerful that it would cleave the tree in two.
He knew that iron infused with fairies and scorpions sharpened with an amethyst would be sharp enough; rumour was, iron such as that, sharpened such as that would be sharp enough to cut through even worlds.
He had to kill the entire fairy population, but of course, fairies were wicked creatures bent on spreading chaos. Even though fairies were so wicked, he of course, grieved, as he was pure of heart, and willing to make such a sacrifice by carrying the burden of murder. He proceeded to mix the fairies with the scorpions into iron, and, after many moons, the task was done. Then he sharpened the blade and cleaved the tree in two. Order was returned.
However, there is rumour that a sapling still exists, and to preserve order, the Guild seeks to find it, and destroy it.
"Now tell me, sister mine, who is the good guy?"
"But this is a story!"
"Indeed, an ancient one re-written in your mother's hand. Now, who is the good guy, the hero?"
"I see no need to establish...."
"Who."
"I...don't know. The Order, I suppose."
"Exactly, because your mother is part of the Guild. They think creativity is chaos. Their "saviour" was a scoundrel who killed a population. Their beliefs are wrong. Has your mother ever bought you a book on fiction?"
"Come to think of it..."
"Has she ever indulged in painting? She's an accountant, isn't she? So is your father."
"Now I know you're a lunatic."
"I have the sapling," he withdrew a vial with a grey cork, and inside it, she saw the most incredible sapling. It was black, but with iridescent stripes, and somehow radiated magic.
"So you're not a lunatic?"
"No. But your mother and father found the axe, and we needed to retrieve it before they somehow managed to hop between worlds or destroy the sapling."
"Who are "we" exactly?"
"I suppose it's time for you to meet them. Catherine, Klaus, you can come out of the closet now," he looked back at her, "There are a hundred and sixty seven of us, however, there are only seventeen in this district. When our parents Sold me, guess who I was adopted by?"
"You wear...perfume?
He scowled and held up a letter.
"Scented."
"You're a terrible brother you know, you knocked me out and strapped me to a chair."
"Well, in fairness you tried to shoot me."
"In case it has escaped your notice, the world isn't fair. However, you're pretty oblivious so it probably has."
"Tell me again, who's in the chair and who's not?"
"Why, have you forgotten?"
"I could kill you."
"Perhaps, but you're a lunatic; lunatics never act as expected."
"I'm not a lunatic."
"I don't have a brother."
"Then who am I?"
"A lunatic."
He put his face in his hands.
"Now what does the letter say?" she inclined her head as her hands were tied up.
"I thought I was a lunatic? Perhaps I can't read? Perhaps I do not know what a letter is?"
"Stop being annoying."
"Of course, I endeavour to please."
"What does it say?"
"You're not asking the right questions."
"Enlighten me, then, as to what right questions are."
"Who wrote the letter."
"Alright, who then?"
"Your mother."
Penny leapt out of the chair, or tried to, and as a result slammed face first into the wooden panels.
"That really hurt."
"Why'd you do it then?"
"I didn't do it on purpose."
"The letter is from our mother, here, read it," he flung the unopened letter at her on the floor and then untied her hands.
But what was in the letter, in her mother's peculiar, unmistakable writing, was not a letter, but rather a story.
There was once a tree, a very ancient tree with roots that went so deep and spread so far in the ground, it was rumoured that its roots covered the entire of the Earth's core. It had leaves of such unusual and varied colours, it appeared black with iridescent streaks. It was not a good tree. It was not good because it kept vibrancy and colour alive, too alive, and so order began to disappear, began to weaken. Creativity was good, yes, but it was also chaos. And order was so much better.
In this time there was also a man, aged thirty five, he did not like being called by a name, so we do not call him by his own name, but rather, the Order.
The Order devised a way to cut the tree down, but this was difficult, as the tree's bark was the toughest material in the whole known universe. So the Order set out to make an axe so powerful that it would cleave the tree in two.
He knew that iron infused with fairies and scorpions sharpened with an amethyst would be sharp enough; rumour was, iron such as that, sharpened such as that would be sharp enough to cut through even worlds.
He had to kill the entire fairy population, but of course, fairies were wicked creatures bent on spreading chaos. Even though fairies were so wicked, he of course, grieved, as he was pure of heart, and willing to make such a sacrifice by carrying the burden of murder. He proceeded to mix the fairies with the scorpions into iron, and, after many moons, the task was done. Then he sharpened the blade and cleaved the tree in two. Order was returned.
However, there is rumour that a sapling still exists, and to preserve order, the Guild seeks to find it, and destroy it.
"Now tell me, sister mine, who is the good guy?"
"But this is a story!"
"Indeed, an ancient one re-written in your mother's hand. Now, who is the good guy, the hero?"
"I see no need to establish...."
"Who."
"I...don't know. The Order, I suppose."
"Exactly, because your mother is part of the Guild. They think creativity is chaos. Their "saviour" was a scoundrel who killed a population. Their beliefs are wrong. Has your mother ever bought you a book on fiction?"
"Come to think of it..."
"Has she ever indulged in painting? She's an accountant, isn't she? So is your father."
"Now I know you're a lunatic."
"I have the sapling," he withdrew a vial with a grey cork, and inside it, she saw the most incredible sapling. It was black, but with iridescent stripes, and somehow radiated magic.
"So you're not a lunatic?"
"No. But your mother and father found the axe, and we needed to retrieve it before they somehow managed to hop between worlds or destroy the sapling."
"Who are "we" exactly?"
"I suppose it's time for you to meet them. Catherine, Klaus, you can come out of the closet now," he looked back at her, "There are a hundred and sixty seven of us, however, there are only seventeen in this district. When our parents Sold me, guess who I was adopted by?"
Comments
Post a Comment