The Price of Selfishness

“Listen to me!”

The desperation in the girl’s voice was so raw, so powerful, that I stopped and turned to her, curiosity peaking my interest in her otherwise deranged story. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw me stop. She reached out and clutched my hand, 

“Please sir, will you listen?”

Her hand was freezing, and she was filthy. My heart twinged with pity, and I said, 

“I will, but only if you allow me to get you a hot meal.”

Her eyes softened, but only slightly before the sense of urgency returned and she said, 

“I must tell my tale first.”

I went to pull away from her, to leave her to tell whatever tale of woe that she was spinning to the next gullible person who wandered by, but she clutched my arm so tightly that a sliver of pain shot up it, straight to my elbow. I turned to look at her again, only to see her eyes glowing with a sort of unnatural light. I stumbled back. She realized and shook her head quickly, the light blinking out in her eyes.

“Please,” She whispered. I nodded, allowing her to lead me to the nearest bench. She settled in and began her tale.

“When I was but a child, my family was happy. We ruled our land justly as we had for many centuries. Our people loved us. My mother, she was kind. My father brave. Their nobility was renowned throughout the land.” 

As she spoke a sort of trance came over her, and a pale light started radiating off of her skin. I felt myself entranced by the deathly beauty of it all. 

“But me, who was I? I was their daughter. I was expected to have their qualities, but I didn’t. I was greedy and selfish. I wanted more.”

At those words, the light in her skin flared, and she gasped in pain, but gritted her teeth, determined to continue her story. 

“A blight descended upon our land, one that struck with such ferocity that the people and royals alike were convinced it was a punishment from the gods and goddesses. I was loath to leave our palace, to leave the walls that protected me, but my parents shared no such sentiments, alas, they wished to help their people. My father with his bravery and my mother with her kindness departed the castle before the sun rose and returned long after it set.”

She paused her, gritting her teeth, her breath catching on a sob trying to force its way up from her throat. I placed a comforting hand on her arm, wincing at the pain I felt. Her arm was burning with the light. I gave it a comforting squeeze before quickly placing my hand on the cool metal of the bench. She looked at me understandingly before returning to her story.

“One day, only my mother came home. My father was sick with the blight. No one survived the blight. I scorned her, told her that it was her fault. THey should have stayed inside where it was safe. My poor mother was exhausted. For months, she had spent all her waking moments tending to the sick. Her shoulders were slumped and her face pale and gaunt. At my harsh words, her heart failed her. I still remember the way she looked, clutching at her chest. I screamed and screamed but it was too late. I had killed her, and now I was in charge.”

She turned to look at me, regret pooling in her eyes,

“The worst part is that I was glad of it. Glad that I had the power. Only me.”

She turned back to her story, 

“I took over, forbade the castle healers and guards from leaving the palace gates. I cut the people, my people, my mother’s people, off from help from food, from water. I cursed them to die slowly and painfully. I was the queen, I could do what I wanted. I carried on this way, pretending that my people were only the ones within the castle, not the ones screaming and writhing with agony in the streets each day. I turned a blind eye to the people I had been charged to protect. 

One day, a heavy knock sounded at the castle gates. That was a sound I had not heard for many a month, and I beckoned for a guard to answer it. I would not myself, for fear that it was one of the infected. I watched from a distance, noting that the traveler was a beautiful young man, his skin not affected by the pinpricks of light that speckled the ill. His tale was that of a traveler, weary and seeking rest for the night. I thought myself very generous when I invited him to feast with me that night. 

At the table, his eyes grew harsh at the sight of the feast I had prepared in his honor. He said to me, ‘How dare you eat like this when your people are dying on the streets?’ 

I grew angry, and said in return, ‘I am among my people already.” 

With that, he flung off his cloak, and instead of the handsome traveler stood a tall, vengeful woman. I gasped as she strode up to me, malice apparent in her eyes. She touched my arm and I gasped as a pinprick of light appeared there, burning like the fire of a thousand suns through my veins. 

“I sent this plague as a warning to you and yet it was your mother and father who died trying to appease me. Not one prayer did you offer me, not one villager did you help. Now you are cursed to a fate far worse than theirs. For every hour that passes that you do not tell your tale, this curse will spread further across your skin, until you are overtaken by such agony that you can no longer bear the thought of living, but death shall not find you. Telling your tale of greed shall reset the curse for a moment, until again you are plagued by fire.”

The girl blinked, the light fading from her skin, and I looked at her in shock. I was inclined to disbelief, summing her tale up to the ravings of a starved child, but my hand still stung from the moment of contact I had made with her skin earlier. She nodded at me, 

“I thank you for listening to my tale, sir.”

Reading the horror and sympathy in my eyes, she added, 

“I do not pretend as though I do not deserve every moment of agony that I have endured and will yet endure, I only hope that eventually, I can make up for the pain I have caused.”

Speechless, the only thing I could think to say was, 

“Let me fetch you a meal.”

She smiled gratefully and inclined her head as if to accept my offer. I sprang to my feet, rushing to the nearest shop, hoping to procure a bowl of hot soup. I hastily purchased it and rushed back to the bench, only to find the girl gone, spinning around, I saw her grabbing yet another bystander, watching her get thrown to the ground as they shook her off. She turned slightly and saw me holding my offering. She smiled slightly before turning to the next person. I placed the bowl of soup on the bench where I had heard her tale, and turned to leave pondering her story in my mind.