Chapter Three
In sleep, she dreamt of her life before she became trapped in her own emptiness. Before she'd fallen in love.
She had been the daughter of the goddess of love and the god of hate. The most beautiful child born to the gods. She had been pampered and spoiled, loved. She'd had red curls, porcelain skin and greener than green eyes. She was taught music and became the muse of poetry and fate. Her brothers, Charis and Eteray, were gods of war, muses of history and epic orations. She had adored them both, spending long days playing with them.
On that fateful day, her brothers had been hunting with their father. She was desperately alone and, to keep herself amused, she decided to play her music. She'd been reclining on a cloud, draped in the golden light of the sun, playing her flute. The tune had been as mournful as the night, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She'd only glanced down upon the world below for a moment when she saw him.
Dante was a shepherd, handsome and kind. He was playing a harp, the tune merry and light. Troian had loved him from first sight. She longed to touch his brown curls, caress his satin cheek. Longed to kiss his ribbon of a smile. She could not bear to be away from him. She could not be content with watching him every day. It was then that she had gone to her mother and pleaded with her for mortality.
And she had given it. Love had given her mortality. She gave up everything; her brothers, her mother and father. Everything she had ever loved, she gave for him. Though she tried to make him love her, Dante did not love her back. He was in love with a beautiful shepherdess named Cassandra. Cassandra had hair the color of gold, long and falling in waves. Her eyes were the lightest blue anyone had ever seen, both enticing and generous. No one could deny that Cassandra was beautiful, not even Troian. So she had been a shadow, watching Dante with Cassandra.
She had wept, trying to change his mind, but man proved fickle and strong willed. Then tragedy had struck, killing Cassandra in its wake. While at the market a lion attacked. The beautiful girl was the first of many who were mauled to death in the square. In the aftermath, Dante had been filled with despair, ignoring Troian and her desperate plea that he love her. Shortly after Dante killed himself in sorrow, breaking her heart.
That's when she had thrown herself into the ocean, letting the satin-soft waves engulf her. To save her, the gods changed her into a mermaid, only there was a time limit. She had to be punished, she had been given a gift and she had rejected it. Thrown that gift into the ocean with her. The gods made it so that when she died, or faded, it would be into everlasting hell. This as payment for her love, as punishment for her sin. And, in the emptiness of hell, she would remain.
The change had been painful at first. Ripping her into pieces and burning her back together. She had cried out, screamed curses to the heavens so that the earth rocked under her pain. She called out to her mother, pleading with her to save her, but her mother turned her back and walked away. The last thing she saw was her brothers walking away from her, turning deaf ears to her screams.
Then all had been black.
When she had awoke, she was entangled in seaweed and her dress on an empty island. Then she knew she was completely alone. She had been banished, sentenced to a short time on a completely empty piece of world. Not even animals lived on her island. In the ocean she was not alone, but once she touched land she was isolated.
And for two years she had been exactly that. That was until the accident. That was when Jael had appeared. The ocean had been dark and stormy that night.
The water was screaming, seething under the tumultuous strain. Lances of lightning struck the sand, sparkling and bubbling. She had awoke as thunder rolled, booming all around her. She had looked up to see a ship blow up, illuminating the sky. It had taken all her strength to swim out to the wreck.
Desperately, she had searched, looking for any survivors. But she had not found any. 45 men, dismembered and black from the explosion. Only one woman was among them, her body somehow managing to survive the explosion. Her dress was bloody and her chest a gaping hole. Her face was distorted, silently trapped in her final screams of anguish. For a moment, she had stared into the dead girl's face, wrestling with her thoughts. She had thought to bury the girl on the beach, but instead she had fled.
She retreated back to the beach, trying, in vain, to cleanse her mind of the sight. On the beach she had found the girl's heart, washed upon the shore by the storm. She had buried it under a tree, whispering silent prayers to the blue above her.
Jael and the nightmares began the next year. When the specter had first appeared, Troian had been too afraid to speak to her. So that she had not spoken to Jael until that day on the beach. When they had first spoken, she had believed that the spirit had wanted its heart, but Jael had never asked for it. She had wondered why the ghost had come, why the nightmares had plagued her, if not for the heart. In her dream, she determined to ask Jael the many questions probing her dreams and visions.
Then she awoke to the gentle, icy, touch of ghostly fingers.
"I think," said Jael. "it is time you heard my story.
In sleep, she dreamt of her life before she became trapped in her own emptiness. Before she'd fallen in love.
She had been the daughter of the goddess of love and the god of hate. The most beautiful child born to the gods. She had been pampered and spoiled, loved. She'd had red curls, porcelain skin and greener than green eyes. She was taught music and became the muse of poetry and fate. Her brothers, Charis and Eteray, were gods of war, muses of history and epic orations. She had adored them both, spending long days playing with them.
On that fateful day, her brothers had been hunting with their father. She was desperately alone and, to keep herself amused, she decided to play her music. She'd been reclining on a cloud, draped in the golden light of the sun, playing her flute. The tune had been as mournful as the night, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She'd only glanced down upon the world below for a moment when she saw him.
Dante was a shepherd, handsome and kind. He was playing a harp, the tune merry and light. Troian had loved him from first sight. She longed to touch his brown curls, caress his satin cheek. Longed to kiss his ribbon of a smile. She could not bear to be away from him. She could not be content with watching him every day. It was then that she had gone to her mother and pleaded with her for mortality.
And she had given it. Love had given her mortality. She gave up everything; her brothers, her mother and father. Everything she had ever loved, she gave for him. Though she tried to make him love her, Dante did not love her back. He was in love with a beautiful shepherdess named Cassandra. Cassandra had hair the color of gold, long and falling in waves. Her eyes were the lightest blue anyone had ever seen, both enticing and generous. No one could deny that Cassandra was beautiful, not even Troian. So she had been a shadow, watching Dante with Cassandra.
She had wept, trying to change his mind, but man proved fickle and strong willed. Then tragedy had struck, killing Cassandra in its wake. While at the market a lion attacked. The beautiful girl was the first of many who were mauled to death in the square. In the aftermath, Dante had been filled with despair, ignoring Troian and her desperate plea that he love her. Shortly after Dante killed himself in sorrow, breaking her heart.
That's when she had thrown herself into the ocean, letting the satin-soft waves engulf her. To save her, the gods changed her into a mermaid, only there was a time limit. She had to be punished, she had been given a gift and she had rejected it. Thrown that gift into the ocean with her. The gods made it so that when she died, or faded, it would be into everlasting hell. This as payment for her love, as punishment for her sin. And, in the emptiness of hell, she would remain.
The change had been painful at first. Ripping her into pieces and burning her back together. She had cried out, screamed curses to the heavens so that the earth rocked under her pain. She called out to her mother, pleading with her to save her, but her mother turned her back and walked away. The last thing she saw was her brothers walking away from her, turning deaf ears to her screams.
Then all had been black.
When she had awoke, she was entangled in seaweed and her dress on an empty island. Then she knew she was completely alone. She had been banished, sentenced to a short time on a completely empty piece of world. Not even animals lived on her island. In the ocean she was not alone, but once she touched land she was isolated.
And for two years she had been exactly that. That was until the accident. That was when Jael had appeared. The ocean had been dark and stormy that night.
The water was screaming, seething under the tumultuous strain. Lances of lightning struck the sand, sparkling and bubbling. She had awoke as thunder rolled, booming all around her. She had looked up to see a ship blow up, illuminating the sky. It had taken all her strength to swim out to the wreck.
Desperately, she had searched, looking for any survivors. But she had not found any. 45 men, dismembered and black from the explosion. Only one woman was among them, her body somehow managing to survive the explosion. Her dress was bloody and her chest a gaping hole. Her face was distorted, silently trapped in her final screams of anguish. For a moment, she had stared into the dead girl's face, wrestling with her thoughts. She had thought to bury the girl on the beach, but instead she had fled.
She retreated back to the beach, trying, in vain, to cleanse her mind of the sight. On the beach she had found the girl's heart, washed upon the shore by the storm. She had buried it under a tree, whispering silent prayers to the blue above her.
Jael and the nightmares began the next year. When the specter had first appeared, Troian had been too afraid to speak to her. So that she had not spoken to Jael until that day on the beach. When they had first spoken, she had believed that the spirit had wanted its heart, but Jael had never asked for it. She had wondered why the ghost had come, why the nightmares had plagued her, if not for the heart. In her dream, she determined to ask Jael the many questions probing her dreams and visions.
Then she awoke to the gentle, icy, touch of ghostly fingers.
"I think," said Jael. "it is time you heard my story.
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