Author Topic: The Glaucus immortal dynasty - Prologue II - When you heed a certain call  (Read 908 times)

Offline Emily Redbird

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I saw all these amazing stories on this site and decided to try my hand at one. I give a special thanks to Tilia, who supported and inspired me to write this.

This is my first attempt at writing fiction in English, so there may be some mistakes. Feel free to correct me if I make any lingual mistakes :)

This dynasty will take the names from Greek mythology, and if you have a minute, try and look up "Glaucus". He was a human from the mythology, and I thought his name fit perfectly.

I had only planned to write a few lines to introduce the characters from the prologue, but before I knew it, I had written quite a lot. I just hope the other chapters don't demand being so descriptive. Otherwise I will get nowhere.

Oh, and by the way, I used a de-aged version of my founder for the prologue. Rest assured that my founder and the neighbourhood will be fresh when I begin the challenge :)

Enjoy, and please tell me what you think ;D

Prologue - Bright eyes

I was only eight years old when the Simpsons adopted me. Eight years old and yearning for love. A love I had never fully experienced. I never did at the orphanage. But then again, Mrs. Whool did have thirty three children to take care of. I'm not really sure why it went as it did – never was. All I know is that my parents had been driving one day in the summer, to a restaurant in town on a date and never returned. No-one could find any trace of them, and so I was sent to live at Mrs. Whool's orphanage. I don't remember it, really. Guess I was too little. Too young.

Life at Mrs. Whool's wasn't all that bad. I had some playmates, I got good food, but still it always seemed as if we were in a rush. Sure, Mrs. Whool hugged us often enough, but it always seemed like she was cutting it short to get to everybody. And even in the weekends we were up at six thirty, taking our morning shower, doing our hair. No-one really had time for anything. I wouldn't call it decidedly a bad childhood, but an empty one. One with all the superficial needs filled, but not one with any deep relationships. No one was really ever close there.

The Simpsons are the best thing that ever happened to me. They took a small girl by the hand and led her into a life of bright colours and affection.

The old couple quickly became the grandparents I never knew. For seven blissful years, I was happy. As happy as can be. They taught me all I needed for life, love,

philosophy, how to brush a horse

and – perhaps most importantly – about people. They were my rocks, the foundation on which I had build my world. Sometimes it was clear that they were old, I learned that when they wouldn't play monopoly with me on the living room floor. They seemed more slow than others, more fragile. I was old enough to know that when you reach a certain age, the end is not far away, but I managed to push it into the back of my mind, not dealing with it unless necessary. They were my guardian angels, my world, and even though I knew with  my mind that they would pass away someday, my heart refused to accept that sometime, my cliff would be no more.

When you build a house on a cliff, on a peek, the moment the cliff cracks and gives in, tumbling down so fast it's almost unbelievable, you go right down along with it. I learned that the hard way. Elisabeth had told me that her husband Arthur was suffering from a lung disease that made breathing harder. I had seen it myself when I had cajoled him into playing tag with me in the garden, only to find him panting, flushed and tired.

But I had never made the connection that maybe it was deadly. I should have, I suppose. Maybe that would have made it easier, coming home one day after school to find him cold and pale in his rocking chair, Elisabeth by his side, looking at me with empty eyes when I entered.

Elisabeth and I, we coped, I guess, supporting each other now that on third of our family was gone. I took over his garden, she took up painting again.

I let my friendships slip away. It wasn't a conscious decision, but I avoided answering the phone, I never partook in their conversations in the cafeteria. My world was hanging in a thin thread, only held up by dear old Beth. The closest thing I had to a mother.

So life went on. I started my senior year, I did my homework,

I tended the garden.

All in a miserable haze, not really feeling.

One evening, when Elisabeth and I were watching the fire dance in the fireplace, she called my name.

“Rhea,” she whispered.

I turned to her, taking in her wrinkled face, the wise blue eyes and snowy hair. “Elisabeth?” I whisper back.

She looks into the flames in thought. “It's nearly time.”

“I don't understand,” I said, even if I did understand perfectly well. All too well.

She looked at me from under her large straw hat with a small smile playing on her lips. “You do understand, Rhea. You've known it for a long time.” I was about to open my mouth, but she beat me to it, shaking her head with a small laugh. “Oh, I know you too well, my dear.”

I shook my head in disbelief. This could not be happening. “You can't,” I choked out. I could feel tears gathering behind my eyes.

She took my hand with a sigh. “I have to, Rhea. You know I have no choice.” She cupped my tear streaked cheek with the hand not holding mine. “Such a beautiful young woman you've become. Your parents would have been so proud of you.” She looked down for a moment, appearing to gather her thoughts. “I'm sorry you never had your parents with you,” she said, meeting my eyes. “Edward and I tried, but we could never replace the parents you had. The parents you deserve.” Her grip loosened, her voice cracking as she struggled to breathe. “I'm sor-... sorry w-... we couldn't b- be the pa-... parents, you n- needed.”

Tears ran freely down my face now, pooling on the floor. I gripped her hand tighter, while her eyes slowly drifted close. “You were. You were everything I needed. Everything and more. Rest in peace – Mama.”

She smiled a weak smile, and then her grip slackened and her hand went limp in mine. Her struggle for breathing had ended, her pants of exhaustion had silenced, and now there was only the fire's crackling to break the deafening silence of the large empty house.

I don't know for how long I was just sitting there with my Mama's hand in mine. Might have been hours, weeks, years. All I know is that the fire had long since burned out, in the fireplace and me both. I had been crying, that I knew. And a lot. I knew I had cried, screamed, and wept of despair. My eyes were dry now, all tears had been shed. No fire burned in my eyes. Not any more. Now nothing was left. I felt numb. I barely registered calling the priest to inform him of my Mama's passing. Mama. I wish I had called her that when she was alive. It just always seemed awkward every time I was about to say it. To me she had always been 'Elisabeth'. I had no idea it meant so much to her.

I felt empty. Like my whole world had ended when El- Mama exhaled for the last time.

The funeral passed in a haze.

As her casket was lowered into the ground, I couldn't help thinking, You apologised for not being the mother I needed. For not being enough.  For being insufficient. But it was not true. You were enough. You were the best mother I could ever ask for. And you're not the one who has to apologise. I am. I am sorry I couldn't be the daughter I wanted to be. I'm sorry I couldn't help you at home. I'm sorry I wasn't enough.

An apology. I owed her so much more than an apology. But it was all I could give her. All I had to give.

And then I realised; The apology was not all I could do. I could support my apology with my actions. And right there and then, I decided I would make my Mama proud. I wanted her to look down at me, smiling that crooked smile of hers with a light in her eyes that tells me all I need to know. I want her to be proud of me.

But how? What could I do? I could become educational minister. I could become a world famous gardener. But no. I had to do more than that. I had to do something truly extraordinary. Something to excuse my casual and oblivious strengthening of her insecurities and regrets. My alienation of my family. I wished to be more than I ever dreamed of. I wished to become a great person. I wished I could make her proud.

Somewhere in the back of my head, or maybe it was behind or in between the sudden gusts of wind, I thought I heard a voice, neither male nor female, neither old nor young, say:
“And so you shall. Your wish will be granted.”
"There is always someone who doesn't agree. That's what keeps the machinery going." Fryndse from "Min hund Grog" (My dog Grog) by Storm P.

The Slytherin Immortal Dynasty

Offline RaiaDraconis

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Re: The Glaucus immortal dynasty - Prologue - Bright eyes
« Reply #1 on: June 01, 2013, 05:31:28 PM »
Elisabeth's passing had me in tears. You have an amazing way of conveying emotion!

This is your first attempt at writing a story in English? I am absolutely blown away. What a fantastic beginning to what I'm sure will be a riveting tale. I cannot wait to read more!

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Offline Pyro0001

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Re: The Glaucus immortal dynasty - Prologue - Bright eyes
« Reply #2 on: June 02, 2013, 03:55:36 AM »
Poor Rhea! I feel so sorry for her. I will definitely be following your story.
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Offline Tilia

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Re: The Glaucus immortal dynasty - Prologue - Bright eyes
« Reply #3 on: June 02, 2013, 01:55:55 PM »
Yay!  I'm so glad you decided to take the plunge.  I look forward to seeing where this goes :)

Offline Emily Redbird

  • Mistress of splitting hairs
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Thank you for all your kind comments! I assure you, I read them about ten hours after you sent them, but I wanted to get a new chapter done before I answered :)
Elisabeth's passing had me in tears. You have an amazing way of conveying emotion!

This is your first attempt at writing a story in English? I am absolutely blown away. What a fantastic beginning to what I'm sure will be a riveting tale. I cannot wait to read more!
Wow, really? Thank you so much! I was really worried I wouldn't be able to convey enough emotion in English :)

Poor Rhea! I feel so sorry for her. I will definitely be following your story.
That's great! A follower! Yeah, I really feel with her. The scene by the fire was something I had planned for so long.

Yay!  I'm so glad you decided to take the plunge.  I look forward to seeing where this goes :)
Jep, after a failed try and loads of planning :) Thank you for checking it out.
All right, now I'm convinced this story hates me. It did it again. This time I decided I need just a few lines to describe how she came to Sunset Valley - and lo and behold, suddenly I have two pages. Hmm. Well, this time it's for sure - this time I know I can't possibly write more prologue - I hope. Well, enjoy :)
Prologue II - When you heed a certain call.
That was when I began dreaming. Dreaming of colours, light. I could hear laughter reverberating in my ears, I could see flashes of smiles, love, and care. But it was only the briefest glimpses, always hovering just out of reach. Until one night.

It started out as the dreams always did, with a blend of laughter and caring eyes. I tried desperately to see more, to see every detail, every gesture. It was so frustrating. It felt as if I were peeking through a keyhole, never able to really see what was going on. I could only see the barest hints of the people inside. I saw flashes of brown, flashes of white. I saw a man's thigh, a woman's shoulder, but nothing else could be gleaned from lurking at the keyhole. Oh, how I wish I could open the door and join the joy in there.

And suddenly, the door disappeared, as well as the walls around it. No, I take that back. Everything but the room disappeared, the room enveloping me with a pleasant warmth. I saw clearly now. We were in a sitting room, three couches forming a horse shoe shape. The carpets were a soft cream colour, and the walls were warm yellow with red flowers painted on them. Along the walls hung pictures of various size and colour, with only one thing in common; They were painted with almost frightening skill. Every stroke, every blot of paint were placed so perfectly, so lovingly. I could see three men and five women sitting around the room. I saw a woman playing the guitar, her fingers dancing across the strings. Another woman was cheering at her, watching with an adoring smile. A man was likewise listening, watching her with the proud smile of a father. A young man was dancing to the music, showing the agility and strength of a man used to moving around.

In two of the couches sat the rest of the company, three women and a man. They seemed to be discussing something about their memories together, for the older of the women was patting the younger on the knee while the younger blushed, the man hiding a laugh behind his hand, and the blonde smiling serenely.

Just then the blond haired woman looked up, and our gazes met. She smiled at me with a mysterious air about her.

“Rhea,” she said to me. “You have arrived.” I watched entranced as the woman rose from her seat and started towards me.

“How- How do you know my name?” I ask, overwhelmed.

“Let's say we've been acquainted.” I was about to open my mouth to ask how, but she stopped me with a hand gesture.

“No time for that, now. We don't have much time. Now listen, and listen closely:

Times will flow and times will fly,
a daunting task you wish to try.

Life begins when life is ceased.
The pride and joy shall be released
into the world of sun and light
at time in which the time is right.

Oh Wife of Time, heed this call
comfort the children, do not stall,
help those in need, bring joy to all,
and educate them, catch those who fall.

Times will flow and times will fly,
and we shall see them mount and die.”

She looked me straight into the eye and says, “The Watcher has chosen you. But will you choose the Watcher? Choose well, Rhea Glaucus. Lives depend on it. If you don't, we would not die, we would simply – stop existing. Fade into nothingness. Be annihilated. Be no more.”

And all of a sudden, her serious demeanour disappeared like dew under the sun. She flicked her blonde hair and smiled at me. “Go for it, Rhea. We'll be rooting for you.” Around the room the others nodded in agreement.

“You go, lady!”

“You can do this!”

“Do it. For your sake and for ours.”

“Follow your heart, dear, it will never lead you astray.”

“Just make sure you don't hurt yourself.”

“We believe in you, young one. We know you will make Elisabeth proud of you.”

The blonde smiles at me again with a twinkle in her eyes. “Go on, Rhea Glaucus. Do the right thing. And always remember, you're not alone.

Times will flow and times will fly,
and we shall see them mount and die.”

That was when I woke up with the words of the poem echoing in my head. Times will flow and times will fly and we shall see them mount and die. What did it mean? Why would I see times mount and die?

Then her words came to my mind; “The Watcher has chosen you. But will you choose the Watcher?” Choose the Watcher? What would that mean? How could I – how could I choose this Watcher? So, feeling stupid, I closed my eyes and said, “I choose the Watcher” out into my dark bedroom.

Nothing happened.

I almost wrote it off as just a strange dream, when I had a thought; What if I needed to keep in mind why I chose the Watcher? What I wanted to do? A daunting task you wish to try...

So I closed my eyes again, this time keeping in mind what I wanted to achieve. I pictured my Mama, sitting on a cloud with white wings and a halo, smiling proudly down at me from under her ever present straw hat. I pictured myself, teaching and comforting the children of the town, seeing their beaming faces under graduation hats. I pictured the men and women from my dream, all happy and smiling. I don't know why I included them – it just felt right somehow. I imagined finding the perfect man – I imagined having three or four, maybe even five children, all raised with love and care. Then I tried saying it again with all these pictures in my head. “I choose the Watcher,” I said, now with more confidence.

At those words, I felt warmth and protection flooding through me, along with pictures snippets of a hundred, maybe more families, all working towards the same goal. I saw flashes of a woman with a blue flower in her hair, a red woman in a kimono, and a thousand others. I saw thousands of childbirths, graduations and marriages. I saw men and women, children and babies, dogs, cats and a few horses. Scenes flashed through my mind, proposals, luncheons, birthdays and deaths. And all this was accompanied by an ever present feeling of someone watching me – or maybe Watching me. Not in a bad way, the way you feel when you figure you have a stalker – more like the way you aren't afraid of climbing a tall tree, of mounting a horse, because you know someone will catch you when you fall, someone is there for you. Like the way you aren't afraid of the monsters under the bed, because you know your parents will help chase them away.

I was filled with a strength I never knew I had. I was filled with a sense of purpose. I knew I had to do this. I knew I had to raise a family from nothing and become truly extraordinary. I had to do it. For Elisabeth. For myself. For all those men and women in the dream. For the people. And finally, for the Watcher.

I felt a politely questioning probe against my box of memories in my mind, as if the Watcher (for I'm sure that was what it was) was asking my permission to have a look. It was truly strange, I'm telling you, but somehow not in an uncomfortable way. I shrugged and said, “But only a quick look, all right? Don't – don't dig too deep.” I felt an assuring pat on my mind, after which I felt the force flick through the memories.

The force warmed me through the cold memories, burned with anger at the worst ones, laughed with me at the funny ones and hugged me at the calm and happy ones. It was like having a friend to share your experiences with, a shoulder to cry on.

I was filled with a sudden feeling of urgency. Why waste my time? Why not get started right away? Why not start preparing, preparing for the task I have set out to take on? The force in my head sent me a questioning prod and a picture of a bed, but I shook my head. I had to get started now. So I turned on the bedside lamp, vaguely registering the red numbers on my clock radio; 4:17 am.

And so I began. I researched towns and locations until I found the perfect spot. In a little cranny of the world named Sunset Valley. It wasn't long until I found a lot I wanted to buy – a large one, a bit out of town. I spent nearly all of my savings on it, but it was worth it. It was a place for me to live. For me to put down my roots, and found a family. Only a week after the dream, I had packed my bags and was saying goodbye to the house. Mama's old rocking chair, the plump armchairs, the pictures on the mantelpiece.

It was sad to see it all go, to say goodbye to my childhood home. But at the same time I felt decided – I felt as if I could take on the world. I felt strong.

Sunset Valley, here I come.
"There is always someone who doesn't agree. That's what keeps the machinery going." Fryndse from "Min hund Grog" (My dog Grog) by Storm P.

The Slytherin Immortal Dynasty