For a moment in time, there was nothing. After the seemingly endless night and shadow there was something; she was there. As she struggled against the shadows of her mind, looking for an escape and light, she became aware of something that was sharing the darkness with her. She didnât know what it was, or who it was, but she could definitely feel the presence of the thing there. If one could imagine standing in the darkness of oneâs own mind and looking into the shadows, knowing that something is there, waiting for it to speak to her from the recesses; but no voice came. The stand off continued for an unidentifiable amount of time and finally she gathered her wits about herself and dared to do something that frightened her; she spoke. Hello? She asked the question and only half expected an answer, thusly, she was not terribly disappointed when no answer came to her from the darkness. She wondered what that thing in the shadows wanted with her, or rather, what she wanted from it; it was after al in her mind wasnât it? It was at that moment that she became aware of something that she hadnât considered yet; her own individuality. This question now plagued her more and more with each passing moment; who am I? She asked this question to herself more than to the other presence that was with her, but it was that presence that answered her before she was able to discover the answer on her own. Youâre Poppy. It told her this and the answer, strangely enough, made sense, though she knew not why. Who are you? She asked but no answer came. Had the question of self-identity bothered the other voice? Where did that voice come from?
Now she was aware of something else; the pain. It shot through her mind like fiery spears that left searing embers scattered through her brain. There was no comfort from pain like this, and given that it was her first time experiencing pain; she didnât like it very much. She tried to think of a way to cause the pain to cease and what had brought it on in the first place; she was unsure about the origins of the agony though and she imagined that, if she had a body, she was clutching her fingers against her skull and gripping her hair in a terrible series of convulsions and writhing. That being said, she wasnât even sure that she had a body; was she incorporeal? She berated herself for this idea; of course she had a body, everyone had a body didnât they? Besides, she didnât feel like she was incorporeal, there was something about her mind that told her that she did indeed have a body; just not one that she could control. Finally, thankfully, the pain subsided and she returned to busying herself with the question of identity. She tried again; Are you mad at me, voice? She wasnât sure if that would bring anything beyond the nothing that she had already discovered earlier, though she hoped that the voice would come back and tell her something else about herself. She waited and after a while the voice returned; Of course not.
The effect of the voice was amazing, it was tantalizing and seductive and it coiled up against the back of her mind like a serpent; it slithered through the pleasure centres of her brain and left her feeling happy and self-sufficient. Each time that the presence in her mind moved she felt only pleasure. She thought to herself for a moment about if the other voice could hear everything that she was thinking and when the answer came it bothered her; Yes I can. Well, if that was true did that mean that she was eternally doomed to have no privacy? While she disliked the idea the mental pleasure that she felt from the voice was enough to convince her that she didnât actually need privacy, she needed the voice instead. However, the question returned to her and with it came the waves of scalding pain; where did this voice come from? She cursed herself for not figuring it out earlier, but the very question about the origin of the voice seemed to trigger the unnatural pain. After the pain subsided, though it seemed like it was an eternity later, she vowed to try to avoid the question as much as possible. The pain that the question brought with it was so terrible that she would rather not answer the question (as curious as she was about it) than to feel the pain again. Well if you know what Iâm thinking then do you think you could help me out with a few questions? She asked this question in the silent hopes that the voice was as nice as its very presence felt. Certainly, came the reply. Who am I? There was a silence again as, perhaps, the voice considered its next words. I told you, you are Poppy. She frowned, or at least she felt like she did, upon hearing this answer. I was hoping for something a little more detailed beyond the name. The voice remained silent and Poppy began to get frustrated with the roundabout way of the voiceâs handling of her questions. When the voice returned her mind trembled at its touch, roused to ecstasy at the very sound of the voice. I suppose that what youâre looking for, rather than âwho am Iâ, is actually âwhyâ? The voice suggested a new question and Poppy latched on to the question like it was the only thing that could keep her alive. Alright then, why? She asked. Why what? The voice asked her. This question frustrated her.
Why am I alive? She asked this question hoping that it was specific enough for the voice to not be able to give her another silly answer. Theyâre not silly answers, Poppy; theyâre the questions that you should be asking. The voice told her. She cursed herself for being so clumsy and forgetting that the voice could listen to her very thoughts. Answering your question is a simple one; you are alive because you have a mission. A mission? She wondered what it was. What is that quest? The voice came back with the feeling that it did not actually know what the answer to the question was. She sighed, albeit mentally, and resigned herself to the fact that it was not going to know what it was easily. You can figure it out, you know? The voice was peaceful and it made her feel better about the lack of information that she found. It softly snaked through her mind and teased her to feel better about herself. How do I do that? This question was an earnest one, she wanted to get out of the shell of darkness that she found herself in and discover something else about herself. Open your eyes!
Poppy opened her eyes and found that she immediately needed to close them again. Whatever it was that she had seen when she opened her eyes had caused her pain and she was afraid to open them again. Instead of darkness, all she saw now was a filtered red light as it pushed through her eyelids and against her retina. She tried to open her eyes again and found that hey hurt less this time. She saw flashes of blue and white, greens and browns, and what shocked her the most about the information was that she knew what these colours were, though she did not recall ever seeing them before or learning their names. What is going on, why do I know this stuff? She asked the voice as she tentatively tried to move her body. She felt her fingers twitch and move as she tested them, then her toes moved at her command and she gathered her wits about her to continue this new feeling of moving her body. She held her hand in front of her face and looked as the light from the skies above filtered through her open fingers and against her eyes. Her fingers were delicate, the flesh was soft and smooth, and she turned her hand over and looked at her fingernails. They were long and they looked like they had been cared for carefully. They were long and feminine and she examined the veins that she could see, subtly hiding beneath her pallid white skin. As her examination continued she found something that confused her; at the point where her elbow met her forearm there was a very thin, almost invisible, white line. Was it a scar? She examined her arm and noticed that the thin white scar moved in a perfect circle around her arm. Had she somehow lost her arm and someone had put it back on?
Because you have seen it all before. The voice answered her question, though it was a slow response. She tested her body and tried to sit up. While she was successful she found that it was a difficult task, it was as if her body had never actually been used before. A new curiosity took her; she wanted to know about her environment. She looked around and found that she was in a small woodland clearing, next to a river; Thatâs not a river, Poppy, itâs a stream. She rolled over and crawled over to the stream with strength she didnât know she possessed and looked down into the travelling water; she saw her reflection, poorly cast, in the streaming waters. She saw herself for the first time with the eyes of a newborn and she marvelled at herself. She saw her face, angular and pallid in the waterâs reflection and wanted to touch the slowly trickling surface but instead she touched her own face, running her fingers over the soft skin and sharp features; she found herself to be quite beautiful. In a fitful moment of self-indulgence she ran her fingers over her own body, starting at her neck, working down her shoulders, over her breasts, and then finally down along her thighs. She wondered why she was grown up but she had no memories of childhood. Actually, she had no memories at all about anything, only an understanding about the nature of the world and an accompanying voice that seemed to lull her into a sense of security. How old am I? This question was directed, of course, at the voice in the darkness of her mind. To be honest, Iâm not sure. This puzzled her, it must have been part of her own psyche that told her to do things, if that was the case that would explain why the voice didnât know anything either. Then the voice said something that puzzled her almost as much as it outright shocked her; You were like this when I found you. Found me, that means that the voice isnât actually me, right? The beginnings of stabbing pain found her and she quickly decided that there were other topics that were less painful to think about. Look around you. The voice calmed her and slithered through the lizard portion of her brain and took root in one of countless pleasure centres.
Still, she did as the voice suggested and she found three things. A sword and two letters. She ignored the sword, still unsure about its ownership, but she picked up the letters. One was a thin little package in a yellowing envelope and the other was a thicker letter. There were names on each envelope, on one she found in an elegant script, Poppy. She smiled a little, maybe this letter would explain a little about her situation. The thicker letter had a name that she did not recognize; Atra Lamia. She puzzled over this name; was she supposed to deliver this letter? Iâm not sure, the voice said whimsically as it drove probing fingers into her brain, sweeping her away with rapture. I guess I should open this letter then, shouldnât I? She flipped the paper over and saw that there was a small wax seal with the imprint of a flower that she didnât recognize. She snapped the seal and withdrew the letter, looking it over slowly.
Poppy,
I imagine that right now you are quite confused about a number of matters that I shall do what I can to help you with. Right now, you have no memories, which is because of your birth. You were born twice; the first was fifty six years ago, in the Valley of the Pine. It was a place of peace and security until darkness swept through the land and cast a shadow over the place eternally. You were spared, in a way, the same fate that was given to all the others of that place. This memory perhaps is best left in the past and to dwell on it would not only be fruitless but also painful. Instead, what would be better for you would be to think, instead, of the future that is open for you. You are a masterpiece, like a painting of sorts that was made though countless years of perfecting techniques and a rather masterful, if I may say, stroke of luck. While you may not understand the true purpose of your destiny at this point in time, I have foreseen your end and your reason for being, know that through your very existence you shall influence the world and you will shake it to the very foundations.
I know that in light of your recent awakening, this may not be of much comfort to you, as is understandable, but there is purpose in all things, and your life is as important as the spinning of the world. There is another letter here, and while Iâm sure that you are curious about its contents, Iâm afraid that it is not for your eyes. When you deliver the letter to its recipient, you shall begin to truly understand the reasons of things in this world. The recipient of this letter is wise beyond the comprehension of most⦠Learn from her if she will teach you, you would do well from her words.
And in these things I must leave you, I am sorry that you cannot know more at this time. You will be accompanied by another on your journey, a small gift of sorts really⦠This sword, whose name is Darkbloom, will serve you well. While your next question, one that I know you are asking yourself, is important; it is not the most important thing to focus your energies on. Yes, you can use it, quite well. You will find it to be an eternal comfort in the times ahead.
Good luck, there is nothing else I can say for you nowâ¦
There was no signature, no mark of ownership, there was nothing on the letter to indicate who had written it beyond the flowing and beautiful script that looked like it had been penned by an author, so carefully was every stroke laid upon the page. Who is this? There was no immediate answer from the voice, just a feeling of perplexed-ness that wavered between her mind and the voice at the back of it. Finally the comforting voice spoke, sending chills down her spine. I suppose that given the content it was the person that created you. Either that or a friend that perhaps you had before your memories were erased. Erased? Was such a thing possible? Of course itâs possible, what other explanation do we have? Well, that was true. She had no other ideas about what it was that created her. She ran her fingers over the skin of her neck and found a thin line, so small, but there, that ran around her neck. Well, if her arm had been replaced, did that mean that her head had been replaced too? Goodness this is confusing.
Despite the warning to not read the letter she picked it up and tried to open it. Her fingers trembled, hovering over the seal and she could not force herself to open the letter. Was it defended beyond her abilities? It would seem so; she tried again and was met with failure. Seems like you have no choice. She shook her head; moving her neck about for the first time and feeling her bones crack and align. Iâm not delivering it. She concluded. She didnât want to be at the whim of a non-existent creator. Are you insane? You have to deliver it. The voice graced her mind with its intangible and loving fingers, soothing her mind slowly. I guess youâre right, if I deliver it I might learn something else about my purpose or my supposed purpose anyways. Thatâs the spirit. The voice returned proudly. If this person is half as wise as the letter makes her out to be then maybe she can help us. Us? The voice teasingly slithered down her back and back up her spine. Of course, like it or not, weâre stuck in this together. She nodded and stood up, walking over and picking up the sword carefully. It feels comfortable. She twisted it in her grip and took a few quick swipes with it and found that it moved effortlessly in her hands. The letter was right, Iâm happy to see that you can defend yourself without me. She strapped the sword around her waist and felt its weight; it was comfortable. Without you? What makes you think that you can help me? She asked the voice as if she expected an answer but all she got in return was a quiet and seductive chuckle. Weâll see, soon enough youâll get hungry and when you do youâre going to find out just how useful I am. The voice had a dark undertone that swept through her body but it didnât worry her, it just made her feel happy; ecstatically so.
Alright then, we better get going. She picked up the letter to Atra and slipped it into the folds of her robes; robes which she found to be rather unflattering, but that was the price of waking up with no memories and no ideas she guessed. She took her first step, hoping that she would find answers to her questions soon.
The voice in the back of her mind quieted as she walked and they walked off, out of the clearing and in no particular direction. And so, Poppy, walked off eager to find out more about herself. She wondered where the journey would lead her, if it would lead her to trials and tribulations or if it would lead her to the path of heroes; people destined to change the world and to bring it to salvation and peace. She hoped, though she hoped it was secretly and knew that it was not so secret, that her path was going to be followed by another; one whom she hoped would help.
Now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry. Her other voice purred, quite pleased. Good, Iâm going to show you what you need to satiate that hunger. She frowned, logically she thought that she needed to eat, but this hunger consumed her entire body, each and every part of her screamed for something and she knew not what it was. There is a deer nearby. She puzzled over how the other knew this. When she quietly, much more quietly than any human could move, approached the voice took over. She hurled the sword and it travelled end over end to strike the animal in the head with the hilt. The deer slumped over and twitched. Itâs still alive. She smiled. Somehow, as if it was destiny, or the voice inside of her took over, she slowly sawed off the animalâs hooves. She waited then, patiently, for it to awaken. When it did she took great pleasure in dismembering the animal, sections of the animals body came off, starting with the legs, then the ears, she pulled out some of its teeth but found that that particular action didnât please her. She touched the flowing blood, rubbing it between her fingers and then licking it off. She didnât even really like the taste, but it was beautiful and her hunger was going away. What am I?
Youâre a predator. The voice told her calmly. She wanted to rub the blood all over her body but she refrained from doing so. It was beautiful, sticky, hot, it was delightful. She killed the animal finally, though moments later it would have been dead anyways from the loss of blood. Predators kill. She felt the voice in the back of her mind shiver with pleasure and she felt it as it leaked out from her brain and wrap her lovingly in its ecstasy.
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