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Last chance

Her hair shown brightly in the darkness of the night. It glimmered dark like the deep, cold, treacherous waters of an unforgiving nightmare. But yet it shone. Yes it shone like dazzling stars, all shimmering in unison. Beautiful. Elegant. Celestial. But it was not her heavenly mane that transfixed us all; might we be young or old. Poor or rich, thick or thin we were all bewitched body and soul to gaze upon her eyes. Strange and unnatural they studied the world with a cool uncalculating sharpness with the total and complete control of noticing everything, absolutely everything. And as she looked upon a being it is said that her eyes pierce and burrow themselves into your soul, until when they look away she know everything, absolutely everything about you. Might it be your deepest fear, your happiest moment, your most painful memory, your secret flame, or just your most secret thoughts, when she looks away she knows everything. Some say that she is from the farthest reaches of this realm born in a barbaric country were children kill there parents as a right of passage. Others say she is from Qua the magical universe parallel from ours that only Mages can visit in there spirit forms. In Qua her natal world they say that she was the birthed my a demon of death and desperation and an spirit of peace, harmony and purity. There are thousands of different stories about how she was created. I believe absolutely none of them. I believe she is a girl who understands.

It is now in the cold and tranquil silence of the forest that I first get a glance of this girl that has changed the minds of a whole kingdom. It is now that I first set my eyes upon the small, fragile fifteen year old child cold, hungry, and alone that is supposed to save us all. For the first time my hope wavers until she turns around and I see her eyes.

Her eyes just as stories tell are of two strangely different colors, opposites in all, one is the color of night while the other of day. One white, a pale phantom forever haunting the world of the living. Though I know she is not blind, the pale eye seems unseeing as it scans the forest’s foliage slowly. It is luminescent and pure like the moon.

I can now see where the fable of the demon and spirit comes in.

The pale eye seems to glow in its own light, creating its own pale twisted beauty. Her other eye is a whole different story. It is dark and evil, jet black like the plumage of a rapturous bird. It looks at the world with abomination and cruelty. It is darker than any death wavering raven. It is darker than the darkest of nights. It is darker than death itself. It is a storm of power, constantly sending electrical gazes to all that come near. As I look upon those eyes I a stuck with such a yearning to help the poor creature in front of me yet a fear of her power even greater. I let my magical barrier vanish; I am now visible to all around me. Yet she does not look this way. No, she is preoccupied in her own universe as everyone preoccupies themselves only to their present needs. Deep down I feel a childish jealousy of not being important enough to demand her attention. But quickly I push the thought away, sheepishly reprimanding myself for every thinking such a silly thought. I wonder now if she is not of a different world than ours. For might she look human she is completely and truly a mystery to man kind. For as I reached out to her with my mind I found barriers so strong that not even all the Mages in the realm could destroy them. Any other human being would have been an open book to me, their mind not even noticing the wistful touch of my mind searching through their soul. I follow her soundlessly through the forest with the help of a bit of my magical talent. Yet she lopes through the trees her foot falls creating no noise, her passage creating no movement in the carpet of emerald moss and auburn leaves of the forest. Her movements are graceful, powerful, but mostly they are in perfect unison. They are in time with everything around her; they are in time with herself. Her movements beat a the tempo of life, of everything living, everything dead. In time with every pebble, stone or rock. In time with every bird, reptile, or mammal. In time with every tree, vine or bush. Even in time with Qua.
Of the two eyes the pale one frightens me the most. For it is the mark. The mark of the daed. It is the mark of the possessed. I feel only pity for her dark human eye, for as it may seem cruel it is the most human of her features. The abomination and cruelty in her gaze is not that of a murderous creature. It is that of a human being in such pain that it is hardly fair that they most stay alive. Her dark eye is the mark of a tortured soul constantly being eaten away by pain. Even in her pain she is to us all, for she is the only one who has been able to fight off the daed from completely taking possession of her. She is the countries last hope, last chance.



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