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Raindrops and a half-eaten riceball | Who the hell is Mitchi?!
The incoherent ramblings of a Tzimisce trapped by a Tremere in a Toreador's body. Or maybe i'm just a Malkavian. My bad.
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/ggFTW writing challenge: From our sacred land

Posted 08-11-2010 at 12:21 AM by Mitchi
Prompt: Good intentions
Title: From our sacred land
Fandom: Original
Genre: not sure
Rating: PG-13
Summary: We were supposed to be happy...
Authorís Note: This is a continuation of "To our Distant Home," A previous story.

Also, some background music that inspired this:


Dust. Ash.

The air is made of these now, where it used to be pure, bright and clear. I can hardly breathe, and my lungs are no longer filled with air but with soot and pain.

I fall to my knees by the side of a river, hoping to wash the dirt from my eyes, and am greeting with only a flowing stream of crimson, as dark as the sky. I dip my hands into the viscous fluid and try to keep myself from crying.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I shut my eyes and placed my blood soaked hands over my ears, trying to block out the sounds. All I could hear were screams, tears, the sounds of death, despair and anguish. All of those now lived in me. I could walk no more than a hundred paces in any direction and find a desecrated corpse lying at my feet.


I hadn't seen the sun in it's been months by now. I no longer have a sense of time, every day has been one long night, one constant vivid dream painted red and black by the fallen. Any town I reach has been ravaged, and stand as a graveyard of smoldering cottages and darkened water wells.

I gaze at my hands. The once soft hands of an innocent maiden, now covered with the blood of a thousand villages.

The hands that brought forth this destruction.

My love. They had taken him from me. They had stolen my family, my home. My dear sister was gone, a cold corpse in my arms when I awoke in my own devasted village.

I didn't understand why. We had gone so far, we had travelled for seasons and lived with so little, and the danger and war still chased at us like a carriage hound.

Surely, in a world as violent as this, it was better to remove everything and start fresh? Everything dear had been take away from me. If I lost all there was to lose, would things return to how they were?

Death had chased me here, to the edges of the earth, and I swore on my family that I would chase it back the way it came.

There was nothing more for me in that village, the one bordered by trees. I left it behind.

Over time, the winds cried and holwed my name a warning to those in my wake, like a violent storm seeking a dry place to bathe in the rain of my terror and tears. I, once a shoemaker's daughter, was now feared, despised, and I left behind me a path of ash and embers. Plants withered and turned, the water that once nourised them now nothing but the blood spilled, the blood of the innocent and the guilty. It seeped into the earth like rain in a drought, tainting all that was still pure.

I opened my eyes, not wanting to hear the anguish of the cataclysm I brought about.

The world was supposed to return to how it was. It was supposed to be beautiful again, green and fresh and beautiful, not this. It was never supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be better.

It was supposed to live.

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