The Struggle Within

Solskin

The inn became eerily silent, as if everyone could feet the oppressive mood exuding the counter. The clinking of beer mugs and plates became subdued, and nearly inaudible as I listened into Solskin's conversation with the barkeep.

"Erik was a good man. I'm sorry; I can't tell you any stories about him, he got transferred before I could fight with him at my side. I remember that he always said, 'Life is too short. Live it without fear or regret,'" the barkeeper said softly, conscious of the mood and fatherly gentleness blanketing his tone.

"Já… Já. He said that a lot." I remained quiet, my mind elsewhere.

Persephone was also staring at me with a sisterly concern. She reached out to pat my shoulder, but stopped just short. A brief look of frustration flashed across her face as she let her arm fall limp at her side. She leaned in, whispering in my ear, "He must be proud of you."

She got up, turning in for the night. I never realized how late it was, remaining there with the barkeeper until the sun rose the next day.

Mordred

I was sitting in my jail cell again. Through the mirror in the corner, I could see my new demonic body.

"This is not artistic at all," I pouted sarcastically, trying to keep up a good mood. "Red scales really don't go with fleshy pink."

"It's all shades of red, why does it matter?" The voice said. I snickered. The voice came from the other side of the cell. I didn't know who he was, but he was the only person who would hold a conversation with me. "Here, I managed to grab what you wanted."

From under the door slid a few pencils and a notebook.

"Thank you,"

"No problem, this place really is hell. Any comfort is needed."

"You don't seem like a guard. Who are you?"

The voice hardened. It was almost like he was in pain, spitting out his words with regret and self-loathing. "A sinner. A murder. What else do you need to know? I kill people."

"And?" I questioned plainly.

"What?"

"Well, I can't picture you as a cold-blooded murderer. You are too nice." I snorted. "If you hate killing so much, then why do you do it?"

"Because I have to! I can't just- stop," he spat before taking in a long shuddering breath, "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I have my reasons."

"That is alright," I sighed. "Just be happy knowing that you are the only friend I have here."

The voice softened. "Thanks. That means a lot."

A long silence followed. I began sketching in the notebook, trying to recreate my battle with the bandits from memory on the paper.

The voice came drifting over again. "I was ordered to kill your friends."

My hand slipped, decapitating my unfinished head. I looked up at the wall where the voice stood behind. "What?" Silence. An uncomfortably long silence.

"Why did you tell me that?"

"Because I want you to know who to hate." There was deep sense of melancholy in the voice.

Persephone

The bird was dead, feathers stewn all about the road. Ophelia had found it and dragged me over to it.

"Bring it back to life," her voice was childishly demanding, like an kid who had already determined that you would do something.

"I can't," I responded sadly. "And death should be final. That's what Father always says."

"That is no good. What do the death clerics do if they don't bring things to life?"

"Bring death to those whose time has come."

"I don't want you to kill people! You can't be a cleric!" Ophelia said petulantly. She stomped her feet on the ground. I had already decided to follow my father and become a cleric of death. At first, Ophelia was proud of me. But now?

"You can't be a murderer!"

I was confused. "But, but, but… Death clerics aren't killers."

Ophelia marched off without hearing my voice. She stopped and turned around. On her face was a mischievous smile. "You can be a death cleric who stops time!"

I nodded wordlessly, chasing after her. Laughing, we ran throughout the town, pretending to stop other people's deaths. We felt like heroes saving the town. The time flew by despite our efforts and the sun set, forcing us to chat away the night in my room.