FicWad

It was dark and lonely. The first few years were, anyway. Then it wasn't so lonely when he came. He became my lord and master, my friend, and my love. He was named Osirius, after a Patron God, and his name stuck a chord in my soul. It felt as if I knew him for eternity. As if it was fate we meet that memorable night. I wasn't really sane to start with, abandonment and abuse does that to someone, but he didn't care, didn't mind.

For that kindness, I loved him even more. To him, rank didn't matter, nor do age or gender. The Gods must have guided me to him, or him to me. It didn't matter. Like a hungry starving soul, when we met, I fell in love, so deeply, with all the devotion of the pale human imitations of love and none of their weakness.

No, I do not love Osirius the love of lovers, but as a human, the love of the soul and mind. Humans need to feel the physical love to believe in it, they seek love of the body and flesh. Not me. I loved Osirius because he was him, with all his imprefections and weakness. Yes, Osirius was timid and nervous, weak-willed and weak physically. But his mind, the strength of his soul, was strong. So strong that the Gods would admire this bravery.

I was a cursed child. A numbered child. Borned to be a sacrifice and only as a sacrifice I was worth anytime. So I dictate that a sacrifice it shall made. But not of me, them. I will make them their own sacrifices. I would be reborn a Priest of Seth-Ra. The Patron God of the Cursed. On that full moon I was to be sacrificed, I brought a dagger with me. That night, that cursed night with the moon as my witness, I swore my Soul to Seth-Ra, for which the death of my Captor I would be granted a new Life.

And he answered. All rank and power are rendered nought, for all are equal in the face of Death. It was also in the midst of Carnage I first meet him, Osirius. I was called monster a few times and demon at times. I was not insulted or sad. I did not shed my tear for those humans who called me names. I merely pity their ignorance. Can they not see their own faults? Were they created blind to their own mistakes?

Beneath each human I meet, is a soul whose ugliest transpire any and all beasts I encountered. Can't they see that? I wondered at their blindness. Osirius accepted me for what I was, even after witnessing the spectacle of bloodshed and slaughter and sacrifice. The night I was to be a sacrifice, I made it a game of deadly slaughter. I sacrificed my Kin for the power of a Cursed God. I invoked his Cursed Holy Name. Osirius witnessed it all and accepted me despite it.

At that moment, I swore I would love him forever. Osirius was the only one to acknowledge me as family, after all. Unwanted, a number child. That single second, I became wanted, I became a person, no longer just a doll or monster or numbered child or sacrifice. True, Osirius has his weaknesses, and I became his strength when he faltered. He was easily swayed by words, even more if it was of kin. He could deny his sister Isis, a Priestess of Amun-Ra, nothing. But with patience I forged strength in him, and trained him in the Art of Rulership. It gave him courage and gave me delight.

It was Spring when Osirius took up Arms. Against the enemy of his Father and Mother. I was proud. Under the pale pink of sakura, he was armoured. He looked like an tamed Berserker, a warrior nontheless, really to sprout wings and fly away to do battle. Fierce and unpredictable. His courage was unquestionable.

I declined following him to War. His beloved Sister Isis would be there for him. To bless the men with victory and predict the Flow of War. There was no need of two Servants of God. There was no need for a Priest of Seth-Ra and a Priestess of Amun-Ra in the same battle. I stayed in the city, and waited.

My Patron God was Seth-Ra. Isis's Patron God was Amun-Ra. Both Patron Gods were rivals. Brothers, too. It must have been Fate. If Isis was not the Sister of Osirius, she would have been dead. Slain and sacrificed for a Bitter Rivalry ages long ago. I resisted the Cold Cruel Rage. Isis was weak, after all. Her words of Scorn and Malice was easily bearable. A child's Rage. Osirius did not desire a Rift, and so I endured it for him. I would have endured worst. All in the Name of Love.

They came back victorious. I already knew long before the first soldier rushed back. I am a Master of Scry. I could see anywhere and everywhere. There was no barrier against Scry. No barrier could hold back the Dark Power of Seth-Ra. I knew of the battles, and the enemies moves.

But I did not send a message by Haste to Osirius. No, I let him taste unpredicability. I let him taste near defeat. Osirius was no Master of Strategist. His plans poorly done and Isis is without the ability to Scry. A patheticly weak Priestess and even weaker Female. Amun-Ra must be weeping in his Holy Palace. Together, they would have tasted Defeat. Would. But a little Poison by Haste goes a long way. A long long way.

Osirius left with Innocence, Trust and all the Bravery of a Valkyrie, and returned a Seasoned Warrior. His eyes, his lovely gold-hazel eyes were jaded now, filled with the Horror of War, of countless lives taken by his Blade. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Of the legions of soldiers he took with him, only a quarter returned alive.

I knew War hurts, but War was Necessity. If Osirius was to become Ruler, he would need all the experience of War to back his Words, to be Part of his Power. The other Part, he must either take the Dark Magnificent of Seth-Ra or the Holy Power of Amun-Ra.

In name, Isis was the Beloved Daughter of the Sun. She would be a magnificent Queen. So the People believed. Isis was lovely, like a flower blooming in a well-tended Garden. At a young age, she was given to Amun-Ra, to be his Priestess. Born with good looks and influence, with the Power of the Royal Family as her backing, she was the most suitable candidate to be the next Queen.

To be Queen or Prince Consort, one must be a Priestess or Priest of a Patron God. And Isis was made Priestess of Amun-Ra, groomed to be the next Queen. Sadly, for all the groomings did not teach her grace, and her nature was jealous and petty. Like a mermaid, she would shed a few tears if it would have gotten her what she wanted. War muted this, for jealousy and pettiness were buried deep, but the return brought it all back. I long for the Peace when she was gone.

The King and Queen were delighted. Even after losing such a huge part of the Army, they marched back victorious. Isis' eyes were full of gloating and pride, but Osirius seemed much broken and sorrowed. He begged for a night of rest, and was granted thus. I met him in his room. He looked weary. War weary. I let him sleep.

The scents I left behind would only bring good dreams, and keep the nightmares out. A perk of being Priest. Herblore is one knowledge we inherit from our Patron God. I wonder why Isis seems ignorant of Herblore, perhaps Amun-Ra did not pass her the Knowledge? Gods are fickle, and they would only do what they will and share what they desire. No more, no less.

It was Autumn when the Royal Wedding was announced. Osirius and Isis would be wed in a fortnight. I was more stunned than hurt. Knowing is one thing, but, to have the face the truth, was another. I confronted Osirius. Despite her blood and background, she was not a worthy Queen. Not worthy of Osirius.

He brushed my words, my advices away. He sneered and asked wherelse he would find a worthy Queen? He would not take a Lord Consort, despite anything. Isis was with child, a child conceived during War. For all my brilliance, I had not thought that seeds sown would take roots so easily. I wasn't wrong, but I wasn't right either. Isis was with child, but not Osirius' child.

I did all I could to stop the Wedding, for the child Isis bore was not Osirius'. She laid with Osirius, but she also laid with other men. I tried, definately tried, to stop Osirius, to show him the Truth. He turned me out, and ignored all my attempts to speak to him. I had thought he would trust me more, but his trust was flimsy at best. He believed that Trust earned and garnered in Battle was the Ultimate Trust, and it was Isis by his side in Battle.

He believed her words and betrayed me. He was my pillar and it crumbled. I shouldn't have choosen a pillar. No, pillars are merely....decorative in element, inconsequential. It is the keystone I should have choosen. A keystone to hold everthing together, for without it, all the pillars shall fall. But who, or where, was the keystone? It does not matter.

Osirius was merely a pillar, and a pillar he shall be. Stones....would be good. Stones are never hurt, can't be hurt. If I could I would turn my heart to stone, and let all Men who look upon me be stone. Or if I could seal my Heart away. I was careless to give it to Osirius and he shattered it so very easily.

I remember a legend Seth-ra whispered to me. Of a Lady named Medusa. She was cursed that each men who sees her turn into stone. Her eyes were the eyes of a Basilisk. At the moment Osirius told me Jealousy does not become of me, a Priest of Seth-Ra, I wished I was a Basilisk. That way, all men who laid their eyes upon me would be stone.

On the day Osirius was to wed Isis, I left. I could not bear watching. I knew Osirius would not wish to see me for a long time, a mere Priest of a Patron God who accused his Queen of adultery. I did not wait for Osirius to banish me. I took nothing with me, only the Presence of Seth-Ra, who, despite all, stayed. I had believed the Cursed God to choose another Priest upon my fall, but he lingered. I was grateful. The company of a silent mocking God is better than no company at all and my journey was long. Very very long.

Winter came to me. Winter heralded loneliness. It was cold and destitute. As cold and destitute as my Self. Sorrow and despair was my only Companion. I trudged on the cold Winter under the watchful Eyes of Seth-Ra. Why did he bother keeping me alive? When the wise men once said Truth hurts, they were right. How strange only ONE event, a small little decision can change everything.

What was once eternal spring was now Winter. Frozen tears, frozen heart, frozen Self. I became as cold as the Ice I see, colder, even, when humans are around. But even eternity will come to an end, and my winter, eventually, melted into Summer.

It was not Osirius who melted my winter, no, it was a child. How? I don't know. A child of fourteen summers, just shy of maturing. He was starving and dying of cold. I brought him to my shelter. Why? I can't recall. I can't even recall his name or his looks. He reminded me of Osirius with his naive gold-hazel eyes, so I saved him.

He cooks and cleans and obeys me. I wonder if he was a doll? But he was not, and I remember fire. His eyes were lit with fire, and he spoke with fervour. He spoke of war, spoke of heroism and deeds well known, spoke of warriors and admirations, spoke of life. He was surely a naive fool. I watched him walk to war, to bathe in the crimson liquid of life. I followed.

War was not glorious. Never was, never is, and never will be. Humans have a tendency to cling to life. It was amusing to watch. I was untouched by battle. A bystander. A watcher. And watch I did. The pale white snow, drowned in crimson liquid. It was heartbreakingly beautiful and I was moved. Men, who brought war, men, who fought it, and men, who died for it. I wondered if men knew of their follies? I guess not.

What was of Earth must return to Earth. Barely four moons past the child I picked up returned to Earth. I laid a wreath of Blue Lilies for him, for that pure soul I meet. The winter was gone. Melted by the warm crimson lifegiving liquid that ran as thick and deep as rivers run. The liquid called blood.

And Summer I saw Osirius again. His eyes were full of Despair. He found Queen Isis locked in the embrace of a trusted Captain. It broke him to see her betray his trust. He left. Perhaps Seth-Ra guided him to me, for the Cursed God laughed so very softly when he took view upon the broken form of the broken Ruler.

I took him in. It was Summer the day I decided to clip his wings lest he flew back to Heaven. Summer was the day I took a knife and slashed his throat. His face, full of disbelief, was very beautiful as he choked on his own blood. His wings broken, his life slain. But I did not grief nor was I sad.

Then she came, his Sister-Queen to reconcile with him. The one who betrayed him. She screams and wailed when she saw his body. I merely looked at her, the pale slender woman by the name Isis. Fitting, really. Brother and sister was named after the Patrons Gods, and they share the fate of the Patron Gods, never to be together.

Osirius, Warrior God, was murdered by his brother, Seth-Ra, God of All Unholy. I suppose I was a part of Seth-Ra, as I was the Priest of Seth-Ra. Perhaps I was Seth-Ra's Incarnate. I didn't know. Seth-Ra was finally quiet and gone. The mocking silent Presence was gone now. I felt peaceful and all powerful. As if I knew everything and nothing.

Isis had a tomb craved for Osirius. I watched each brick laid. It was truely a piece of Art. I knew my Fate. Isis was planning to leave me in the Tomb, so I may wail and suffer and die slowly of hunger and thirst. When the final brick was placed and I was sealed in, I merely moved to lay by the side of Osirius.

He would sleep, in the Garden of Roses, slumbering forever in the Shade of Death. I would guard his Tomb, since I have nowhere to go and the Cycle of Time no longer have a hold on me. For now, I would sleep beside Osirius. One day I would awake, but until then, I would sleep beside the only one who holds my heart.

-oneshot end-