The Descent of Yvette

The night was heavy with the oppressive silence of fear, broken only by the faint, hollow cries from the lower ring of Lotringen. Yvette stood at the edge of the grand gate that divided the middle rings from the lower city, her heart aching with a sorrow she could no longer contain. The horrors that plagued the outer city were not foreign to her ears—stories of families locked in their homes to rot, of children abandoned in alleys, and of the cursed left to decay alone. Yet, no words had ever truly captured the despair she now felt as she stared into the shadows beyond the towering walls.

Her father, the King, had decreed the sealing of the lower city with the full support of the Church. They had done so under the guise of protecting the upper rings, a desperate act to contain the plague and Plaga’s curse. But Yvette knew the truth. This was not salvation. It was abandonment, a sacrifice of the poor and helpless to ensure the safety of those fortunate enough to reside closer to the inner sanctum. She could not accept it.

Draped in a simple cloak to disguise her royal status, Yvette slipped past the guards stationed at the gate. They stood rigid in their posts, their faces cold and unreadable beneath their helmets. They would never expect the King’s youngest daughter, known for her quiet demeanor and kind heart, to defy the crown. Yet, defy it she did.

Her destination lay through a forgotten passage, a narrow tunnel once used by merchants to transport goods into the lower ring. It had been abandoned for years, its entrance overgrown with weeds and hidden behind a crumbling wall. Yvette found it easily, having studied maps of the city in secret, and pushed her way inside. The air grew colder as she descended, the light from the middle rings fading behind her.

When she emerged into the lower city, the sight before her stole her breath.

The streets, once bustling with life, were now a desolate wasteland. Cobblestones were cracked and slick with grime, and the air reeked of decay. Buildings leaned against one another as if too weary to stand alone, their facades streaked with dirt and ash. Fires burned in barrels, casting flickering light on gaunt faces that stared at her from the shadows.

The afflicted wandered aimlessly, their hollow eyes and pale skin marked by the plague. Blackened veins crawled up their necks and arms, a visible testament to the curse that consumed them. Yvette’s heart broke at the sight of children huddled in doorways, their skeletal frames wrapped in tattered rags, their wide eyes filled with a desperation she could not ignore.

She reached into the satchel she carried, pulling out bread and vials of clean water she had taken from the royal kitchens. "Here," she whispered, kneeling before a group of children. "Take this. It’s not much, but it will help."

The children hesitated, their eyes darting between her and the food, as if fearing a cruel trick. But hunger won out, and they snatched the bread from her hands, devouring it with trembling fingers. A woman nearby approached, clutching a bundle of cloth to her chest. Yvette could see the blackened veins on her neck, the unmistakable mark of the plague.

"Bless you," the woman said, her voice cracking. She unwrapped the bundle to reveal a small child, his face pale and marked with the same black veins. "You are an angel."

Yvette shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I am no angel. Just someone who wishes to help."

But as she moved deeper into the lower city, distributing what little she had, the air grew colder. The faint whispers she had ignored at first began to grow louder, more insistent, until they formed words that echoed in her mind.

"You dare tread in my domain."

Yvette froze, her breath hitching as the shadows around her seemed to shift and writhe. From the darkness, a figure emerged, her form both regal and terrifying. Plaga.

She towered over Yvette, her gaunt figure cloaked in tattered black that flowed like liquid smoke. Her hollow eyes glowed faintly, and her cracked lips curled into a cruel smile.

"You come here with your pity," Plaga hissed, her voice sharp and cold. "Your crumbs of bread and drops of water. Do you think you can undo what has been done? Do you think you can save them from me?"

Yvette straightened, her fear replaced by a determination she hadn’t known she possessed. "They deserve more than abandonment," she said, her voice steady. "They deserve compassion. I may not be able to save them, but I will not stand by and let them suffer alone."

Plaga’s laughter was sharp and mocking. "Compassion? From the daughter of the man who sealed them away like vermin? You speak of compassion, yet your bloodline is steeped in betrayal and cruelty."

"I am not my father," Yvette replied, stepping forward despite the suffocating presence of Plaga. "I cannot change what he has done, but I can try to make it right. These people need hope, and I will not let them die without it."

Plaga’s expression darkened, her glowing eyes narrowing. "Hope is a lie," she said, her voice rising with anger. "You come here, playing the savior, but you cannot see the truth. These people are mine now. Their suffering, their transformation—it all belongs to me. You have no place here."

The ground beneath Yvette’s feet began to shift, blackened vines creeping out from the cobblestones and coiling around her ankles. She gasped as they tightened, pulling her down, but she refused to look away from Plaga.

"You think your kindness can defy me?" Plaga snarled, her voice a mixture of fury and mockery. "You think you can fight the inevitable with bread and water?"

Yvette reached into her satchel and pulled out a small pendant—a golden sunburst, the symbol of the Church. She held it up, and for a moment, the vines recoiled, their grip loosening.

"I do not fight with kindness alone," Yvette said, her voice firm. "I fight with hope. Hope for a better world, hope for these people, hope that the light will prevail against the darkness."

Plaga’s form flickered, her presence wavering like a dying flame. For the first time, Yvette thought she saw uncertainty in the plague mother’s eyes. But it was fleeting, replaced by cold fury.

"You are brave, child," Plaga said, her voice quieter but no less menacing. "But bravery will not save you. The time will come when you must choose—between the light you cling to and the truth I offer. Pray that you choose wisely."

With those words, Plaga dissolved into the shadows, her presence leaving a chill in the air. The vines vanished, and Yvette collapsed to the ground, trembling but unharmed.

As she looked around, she saw the afflicted watching her from the shadows. Their hollow eyes held something she hadn’t seen before—something faint, but unmistakable. Hope.

Yvette stood, clutching the pendant tightly. She had faced Plaga and survived. But more than that, she had made a promise—to the people of the lower city and to herself.

No matter what darkness lay ahead, she would not abandon them. Not to Plaga, not to her father, and not to despair. She would fight, and she would not stop until the light returned to Lotringen.