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The Harlot Queen

902 B.C.
The Kingdom of Israel

“You shall perish."

The princess did not cower from her blanched gaze, as few people did, and instead stiffened indiscernibly. Her remarkably green eyes flashed with the pride of a knot in the string of royalty, but the witch noticed that the fist holding the fresh cistaceae trembled slightly with what seemed to be fear. “Everything fades. It’s the way of nature, and, princess or not, I am no exception. Of course, being a gifted creature, you are.”

The witch’s pale hand rose, allowing a butterfly to perch on her finger. “The Israelites will kill you.”

“That’s because they’re stupid,” Jezebel replied defiantly, lifting her chin ever so deftly. “They believe in a benevolent god who seeks my death, just because I was raised to worship a completely different one. Is it my fault, then, that I was made into the woman that stands before you? Is it the mistake of the metal that it was chosen to be a blade that cuts flesh—or is it the blacksmith’s?”

“A lifetime of indoctrination can hardly be relinquished by the whines of foolish men.” The witch simply nodded in understanding, presenting a face of sincere sympathy. “A male-dominated world is hardly a place for a stubborn princess like you.”

The witch saw a warm smile touch the princess’s face for the first time. “Pigheaded, I would prefer."

"Do you not think it dangerous for your reputation to talk with me, a notorious witch persecuted by your very people?" She asked, her face and eyes now devoid of any emotion.

"It is not my responsibility to live up to their expectations." The princess answered calmly. "It's my life, not theirs. I choose who will be my friend."

"Yet you would have called the guards even though I carry no corrosive acids under my sleeves if I just take one step forward."

"You didn't bring any?" Jezebel blinked in surprise. "My, that's rather dangerous. The men of Israel are too...demanding of women's submission."

13-Aug-2011 14:33:50 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:22:56 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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Continuation:

"Then, it is my duty to submit to their needs.”

“If that is so, why do you carry poisons? Why did you kill those hunting Israelites when you should serve them?” Jezebel asked, arching a dark brow questioningly. There was no response. “I believe you do it because in here”—the young woman gently tapped her temple twice—“you want to have control of your life. In your mind, you wish a…future.”

“Perhaps,” the witch responded, unblinking lest she miss a movement. The woman's words struck something inside her. “But mankind is a wretched lot. We are but sinners and must bow—“

“To declare your life meaningless is just nonsense,”

“But it is." She shook her head. "The only way to give it value is to help others, not yourse—“

“Your life is precious; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Self-sacrifice for someone you don’t love, for someone who has no value in your heart, is a slow, agonizing death. Mandatory self-sacrifice requires you to shackle yourself with the needs of mankind—who is always somebody else. Mankind is a group of individuals, is it not? Why should a greedy someone you don’t know be worthy of your blood and sweat? Generosity, if it is willingly from your heart, is fine, but the self-imposed idea that you must give your life without question is insane.”

Wise words from a princess, they were. They weren’t wise to the ears of the men who threw Princess Jezebel out of her window. The witch remembered the proud princess sobbing, unable to make her broken legs work, as dogs tore her flesh apart and fanatic men burst in raucous laughter at her pain and humiliation. The chance to hear Father’s words was lost once more, bringing with it an ache she relished.

End of The Harlot Queen

=-=-=

Extra Notes: The witch is Hebe.

13-Aug-2011 14:33:50 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:23:41 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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One

In the end, humanity harnessed the power of the gods, utilizing it to create their most fatal mistake: the toadstool weapons. Of course, the intellectual and farsighted people of those times, scientists, as One had called them, predicted the outcome of the Third World War—whatever that was—and so they meticulously chose two hundred people of all ages in a long mission to preserve humanity. These chosen ones, each named after a number, were sent into a land of forests and abundance surrounded by mountains of science that repelled the so-called ‘radiation,’ the deadly, residual energy of the toadstool weapons roaming the world.

Generations passed swiftly like the rapids of a treacherous river, leaving behind the original two hundred inhabitants, except for One, and many others dying toothless in bed. Children were born, never the same in many ways, much less in their numbers. The Elders, suckling babes compared to One, ruled the settlement with a benevolent hand, struggling to maintain the society’s wholeness.

The village, Numeros, once a worn-out collection of petty nipa huts and hardworking residents, finally prospered. The six hundred citizens of that era declared that it was no longer a thriving village. Numeros was now a city, with sturdy brick houses and cemented ground, enclosed by soaring white-marble walls that shone brightly in the day and shimmered breathtakingly in the evening. As a sign of respect and thanksgiving to their efficient and trustworthy leaders, a hundred men volunteered as the city’s guards. The people also constructed an opulent, domed and circular building, a basilica as One described, where the Elders would live and organize the prosperity of Numeros.

13-Aug-2011 14:36:41 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:31:59 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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Continuation:

One was a stranger among them, a symbol of previous ages that were almost forgotten. The maiden and only healer of the community, with long, lustrous honey brown hair, was avoided by all, even by men, despite all her beauty that bordered on physical perfection. They did their best not to get sick, fearing her penetrating and peculiar pale, pale blue eyes with violet flecks to gaze directly at theirs.

Her neighbors surreptitiously observed from their windows when she stood on her house’s porch, her eyes without focus as they stared at the moon as if she were reliving her past. Then, after a few minutes, they would flinch when she turned her gaze to them. So, she knew from the very start that they were peeking. There was something about her, which made them evade her and at the same time clandestinely study her from afar. Maybe it was her eyes, the way she looked on others without betraying any hint of emotion, except for the frightful current of intelligence and scrutiny riveted in those blue, violet-flecked eyes.

One, it seemed, stood on one leg in this realm and the other in another.

After four hundred years of living with them in wary peace, the lovely maiden became the center of attention. The incident occurred during the annual hunting event. As the great hunters chased a deer, carrying with them their heavy spears, they witnessed One, sitting straight atop a horse, crossing the only mountain pass that led to the deadly lands beyond. The Elders did not believe at first, until they checked her house. Her handsome white stallion was gone, and so were her clothes.

The citizens assumed that she was dead. After all, those who ventured outside the mountains of science for an hour and returned died after a few hours. To their surprise, the healer walked into Numeros five days later, her shoulders square and head held high, wearing a simple dress, black and sleeveless, as her dresses always were. The woman looked perfectly

13-Aug-2011 14:36:42 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:32:37 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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Continuation:

fine and healthy, as always, and, unlike those who had returned, no burns marred her flawless skin. A few people, having mustered enough courage, asked her where she’d go and lied how the entire city was worried.

One replied in that disturbing, impassive, silken voice of hers. “I simply checked the outside world and see if it is safe for you to live there. It is not. Do not go beyond those machines, or you will surely perish.*

The rumors of her unexpected arrival and unscathed condition stoked the fires of curiosity. They knew not her past, or her previous identities. For many months, people speculated over the healer’s apparent powers—the upright, curvaceous figure that had seen many a proud oak tree wither of ruinous old age, and the immunity against even the power of the gods. They wondered when One came into possession of such gift and how. Ultimately, the Elders were compelled to approach her in order to stop the alleged chitchat that had affected the community’s productivity. It was a matter of curiosity, really. They requested her to tell them stories related to the world’s past and hers, too. She agreed expressionlessly to do as they say on the first day of spring.

The eager residents built a small, wooden platform in the midst of their glorious city and placed a rather ornate chair in the center three days before the event. On that fateful day, all of the inhabitants of Numeros were early by an hour, and One was late by several minutes. As she shuffled on the chair, trying to make herself comfortable, silence fell on the whispering crowd. One watched the mob lean forward, expecting her to start.

“I am One,” the woman began, “and I have seen man’s greatness and triviality throughout the ages. I was born in the ancient times, an epoch long before the Third World War, centuries before the Crucifixion, when war and conquest afflicted my homeland, Greece. I was named as Hebe, and was sold to a royal family as a mere slave. I served them

13-Aug-2011 14:36:42 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:33:11 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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Continuation:

for countless years as a cupbearer, and even helped them against the Dorians, until we were finally subjugated by the Romans. Ever since that wretched day, I was forced to travel around the world, taking on many identities, one of which is Joan of Arc.”

And so, One told stories upon stories, narrating exotic lands of both pulchritude and devastation, humans separated by blood and race, and seasons of blooming flowers and of scorching heat. She apparently participated in countless ‘wars,’ which they had a vague idea by the way she expressed it. Many times as she spoke about battles, her eyes took on a dangerous gleam and her fists clenched to white-knuckled fists, causing them to cringe back in sheer terror. However, the interest soon waned, like candle wax in the heat of flame. Litters went to their beds, no longer frightened by the bloody deaths of many a people. Young men, and some of the old, too, boldly surveyed her curvaceous body and face of unrivaled perfection.

After two hundred years, the residents of Numeros were no longer so bewitched by her pale blue eyes. Suitors flocked her house every night, and each was quite unsurprisingly spurned without any second thought or remorse. Her actions caused men to complain at the Elders, about her cruelty, about her selfish actions. The rulers were forced to present her two choices: to marry one of their people or to be exiled. One coolly chose the latter, obviously preferring freedom over the compulsory whims of young men. And so, she moved outside the city, into the dark forests, into oblivion. Her decades of absence made her an esoteric figure of an esoteric legend.

One, alone in her serene paradise, began to count the passing flow of time in centuries and not years, watching as the end approached. The mountains of science that had stood for so long began to deteriorate, pouring some ‘radiation’ into the area. Of course, she was unaffected, while the others started to die quite painfully.

13-Aug-2011 14:36:46 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:33:47 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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Continuation:

The maiden remembered standing on the hill next to Numeros, watching as the residents below attempted to crawl their way to her, to beseech cures she did not have, to escape the cracked, rough, once-proud marble walls. She recollected a mother who had finally reached her feet, cradling a baby in her arms. She raised the sleeping child to One, begging her to save him. All she could do was stare at the tear-stained face as death overwhelmed the mother’s frail body. One recalled standing there, her back straight, examining the baby cry as the noxious air blackened his skin with heat, as his last breath rattled from his weakened lungs.

Without betraying any hint of emotion whatsoever, One, she who is interminably bound to this dying world, swiveled to the mountain pass and stepped over the decaying corpses as she made her way, knowing all too well that everything was over. Except for her.

End of One

***

Extra Notes: If it isn't obvious, the narration of this story is somewhat different from my day-to-day tellings. The reason for this is that I made this when I was young, around six (or was it eight?) years old as a project. I was kind of delusional back then. XD

13-Aug-2011 14:36:59 - Last edited on 14-Aug-2011 03:34:32 by [#3WR3NGEL8]

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