Cloud Tempest

Cloud

“What’s up guys?” I asked smoothly. There was a dark aura around the room that continued to grow the longer I was in the tent, but I played it off as my imagination.

That is, until Menas signaled to one of the men. The man in question moved swiftly, knocking me off of my feet. On a normal day, that would have been an easy move, but in my current state it was even easier. I howled in pain, and the other two subordinates held me down by my arms. I struggled under their grasp, moving my legs to kick my attackers, but something was holding me by my ankles. Looking down, I saw that streams of water were wrapped around my legs and chaining them to the floor.

“It’s useless to fight us, Siren. After thinking it over, I decided that you would receive the same treatment that all Sirens deserve.”

“But I–“ my protest was cut off by the sound of screaming. My screaming.

A fifth man had come from the shadows, hands ablaze with blue fire that were now grasping my trapped limbs one by one. Starting with my left leg, the fire that emanated from his fingertips scorched my skin, sending a deep, hot burning sensation creeping up my body. He held the fire in the same place for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a few seconds. I thrashed even harder when he moved to my right leg, but that only prolonged the time that he held the flames to me. By the time he had left smoldering handprints upon all of my extremities, I had learned my lesson. When he moved to cover my heart, I held my tongue.

“Let this be a lesson to all of your kind. The Moon People are not the kind of people you want to mess with.” The hold on my ankles was released–the water flowing down and soaking the ground around them–and the men’s’ hold was no longer on around my wrists. I thought for a moment that it was finally over, but I was wrong. They had one more trick.

“This is to show everyone what you are. You will never be able to deny you are a Siren again,” Menas moved to sit upon me, hands positioned around the handle of what looked to be a brand.

The brand was in the shape of a vine of flowers–the same flowers that adorned the bodies of everyone I had encountered so far in this place–and was vividly glowing with white heat. The edge of the brand was pointed–like a knife–He took his time positioning the marker so that the beginning of the vine would fall directly next to my eye. All of my energy drained, I decided to let him do as he pleased to me and concentrated on staying conscious and alive. Thrusting the hot instrument into my skin, Menas not only burned the flowers onto my skin, but also cut them into the muscles–melting them as he did so–and imprinted them forever onto my face.

The pain was so incredibly mind-numbing that I could feel myself slipping away. Is this how I was meant to die? Alone, in a strange land, being punished for being something that I wasn’t? How will my parents find out? Or my brother, or sister? Was I never meant to fall in love, get married, have children, and live happily ever after? What happily ever after? Things don’t work out that way in real life. Perhaps this is for the best. No one will know of my failure. Everyone I love will go on thinking that I have found some great new life in a different world. They will imagine me finding my purpose in life and laughing with my new family, watching the sunset with my lover. And that’s okay. It’s okay that they can think that way, because then they can go on with their lives, being as happy as they always were. There is no need for anyone to grieve over me. Who would grieve anyway, given the chance?

I was now alone, lying on the cold, hard ground, slowly burning my life away. I hear no voices conversing outside of the forgotten tent. No footsteps coming or going. No wisps of breath. I was utterly and completely alone in that moment, and I felt the weight of it crashing down to crush me. Just when it seemed like I was finally going to be able to give in, someone was gently trying to pull me up. The person threw my arm over their shoulder, encouraging me and shrouding me with their positive energy and inviting warmth. The person helped me walk–step-by-step¬–to the edge of the tent and through the threshold. Apparently I had been in the tent for much longer than I imagined, for when I stepped outside, it was nighttime. The stars shone like small beacons of hope, and the Moon rose high in the sky–a guiding symbol that I was never truly alone. The sight was enough to cajole me into lifting a bit of my dead weight off of my savior.

The two of us shared no words as the person assisted me through the forest. We stopped after walking for some time, and I dropped to the ground as carefully as I could. The person dropped something before me. After much cloudy thought, I identified the items to be my ripped clothing and my bag. Instantly, I found myself searching for the light of the moon. It was clearly visible through a break in the treetops, and I decided this would be a great place for me to stay.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I whispered to my savior, staring directly into the brightness. Without hearing a response from my savior, I allowed my conscious to be consumed by the light.