Fatum V.1

‘Shirr, shirr. Schlock, shirr, schlock.’ A longsword is what Life has chosen for tonight. Specifically, the Fatum V. 1, in its broad format. Estella’s birthday: February 12th, 1994, destiny number 1. As it drags along the empty pathway, the silver steel glints in the light. The blade is tilted just right, and it trails along behind me, balanced by the burdens it has killed off before. ‘Shirr, shirr. Schlock, shirr, schlock.’ My eyebrows raise, and the corners of my lips hold a downturned quality. The Fatum V.1 is not my favourite blade. It holds a history that surpasses the longevity of what most can even imagine, and frankly, this longsword is ugly in its creation, created by necessity and a hint of twisted, gorey sense of joy. Sighing heavily, I muse to myself. I suppose, that the qualities of a longsword fits Estella’s journey to downfall. Desperate in nature, and rushed in execution. There is no hint of smoothness in the steel, and no matter how I slide it out of its mulled scabbard, it produces a steely, scraping noise. The corrupted marks in the leather slide into the seams of a wide, shallow stitch, and it is clear that it was created from a dismal array of materials. Although I have done this for time immemorial, these are the cases I hate the most. The cases where the yarn is spun into its ruined state from the very beginning, macabre and ugly. Disgusted, I grit my teeth. In any case, destiny is destiny, so I continue to walk steadily until I reach her. 

Estella is standing still. I school my face into one of indifference. Her head tilts, and I do the same. As our eyes meet, I notice that her pupils are dilated. Ghoulishly empty, they match the glass-like features that she now holds. There’s a wash of dreariness that encompasses her being, and-

“The flowers finally bloomed on Friday. I ran out of space though, so I dug a hole at the corner of my house and threw them in, remember? But it grew back in the twilight and crept across the pane of my window in response, but the petals were wilted, and a sharp silver in shade. So, you know.” She whispers, her voice scratchy from disuse. 

“I do. Hemlock, that’s what they became. Fatal to any and all, easily spread. Toxic, is what it is. It spread to you too, didn’t it? Grew from an unpatched crack in your spirit. It let all the light out. It was too soon…too soon to let the light out. Are you surprised to see me? Nobody likes to see the end, regardless of circumstance,” I murmur. 

Her laugh rings hollow. “No. Please, it’s what I deserve. My agony was predetermined… I shouldn’t have let my anguished state shadow my senses.” Estella clenches her ands, fingers fiddling back and forth, back and forth. 

I shift my gaze downwards. “You’re trembling. Your wandering has been quite unfitting, especially for what was such a pliant soul. You should have known: A flame can be coaxed from a flicker as it should be, but it will always end up drowned if it grows too large, no matter the situation. Greek fire may be impossible to extinguish with water, but it remains possible to extinguish, you...are aware?”

Her fingers curl into fists, and her eyes narrow. “I’m aware, but what was I to do with the fitful, inconstant existence bestowed upon me?” Her breath turns heavy, and an irate flush spreads across her cheeks. “Fate was cruel and awful. I was nothing but a plaything, an experiment! I was nothing to them…nothing. I was given a sliver of a chance. I would be but a fool if I didn’t take it.” 

My gaze turns into a subtle glare, mildly offended. “Look, I don’t disagree. Fate gave you a tempting offer, a tempting chance at power, a tempting, tempting lick of confined, concentrated domination. But your volatile disposition made it rot, from the inside out. What was once fruitful, moulded slowly, diminishing into a state of no return. But it was slow, was it not? You had every chance to change your course.” 

Suddenly, her expression changes. Snivelling, her fingers make their way to her hair, and she begins to grip it tightly. “H-how was I supposed to change? It was going so well…so well. So well, so well." She rocks back and forth, back and forth, in a state of delirium. "The moon no longer haunted the walls of my home, and the sun lit my place with a glow that was ever warming to the soul. My flowers bloomed from sheer will, and I didn’t have to suffer to make it so.”

I chuckle darkly. “Swings and roundabouts, my dear. To reach for the sun is to sit with the rippling moon; for a flower to blossom, it must first grow from seed, borne from the death of its previous journey. It is impossible to reach the mountain without moving blindly through its silently smouldering smoke, and a peak is not made to stand on. Life is an interesting creature. It is fickle in nature, but the rules will always remain the same. To gain is to lose, and to lose is to gain. They do not ask nicely, and should it be required, judgement will be given to only one fading shadow at a time. Cheating? Bah, why did you decide on this? It seems as though your misery tinted your lens…in the end, you tripped over the ripples, did they confuse you? Estella: You cannot cheat fate. To live is to go round, and round, round and round. Up and down, up and down. Life has asked only this of you. Why must you anger them? Well. In any case, punishment is raw and ugly. Tonight is thick and heavy, swirling around with no permanence, but a definite weight. Why don’t you run along with the night, hm?” 

I don't hear her response amidst all the shirring noise. In any case, it doesn’t really matter. We reach the peak. I twirl, my blade falls heavily, and within the particular, fixed time of a second, it is over. The tension leaves my shoulders, and my neck swivels an exact 180, cracking at every 20 degree interval. The dust settles, and my job for tonight is over. Scoffing, I open my fist, the Fatum V.1 disappears from my hold with a silent woosh. I am back to the beginning. So, I turn, looking at the unceasing amount of summits ahead of me.