Welcome, folks, to the first Lithium Chloride Fic of 2011!
Here's your picture, and as the time is now 1200 hours CST, you have until 2359 CST to get your writing in. Take this image, and make it something new and different. Good luck!
Some notes about LiCl-Fic:
Original fiction only.
Quote the prompt above your work, since it will not be posted in General Rants.
Here's your picture, and as the time is now 1200 hours CST, you have until 2359 CST to get your writing in. Take this image, and make it something new and different. Good luck!
Some notes about LiCl-Fic:
Original fiction only.
Quote the prompt above your work, since it will not be posted in General Rants.
She had no sacrifices, no prayers, no followers. Her temples, her words, had been ransacked, destroyed, warped. In the end, her domains were lost, her title dethroned.
By all accounts, she should have faded. Disappeared into fairly tale, living on only in bedtime stories.
But she was the first. She had created falsehoods and illusion, and every imaginative trick, every malicious rumor û all cons, all little white lies, were rituals done in her name.
It was not much faith to live on. Barely a trickle, since mortals no longer knew who she was. But quantity was a quality all its own, and each small morsel allowed her to linger, for just a moment longer.
She was powerless, every piece of faith tied to keeping her alive. But she was alive, and that was enough, for now.
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She spent her days sleeping.
As with most things, she would only use up more energy when awake. Trapped as she was, living in an abandoned temple, invaded by both root and wildlife, there was little point to waking.
A corner of her mind, only active when her sleep ended, when she was planning, rationing, hungry for faith, would whisper, cold, logicalà
æItÆs easier to pretend when youÆre asleep.Æ A bit seductive.
---------
She woke from her sleep, cursing already as memories of heavenly, glorious, long gone days faded from her mind.
Reminiscing during a dream was wonderful. The same could not be said when she was awake.
Well, it could. But lying only seemed to generate faith when one party was being deceived.
And it was hard to lie to herself. To lie convincingly, at least.
---------
She waited for sleep to claim her.
There was not much else she could. She already set aside her faith, what little excess she could skim off to hurry the process.
She looked around, sitting on the stone alter. The forest was easily winning the war against her temple, the stone walls already breaking and covered with vines, the ceiling caved in, letting in light, roots cracking through the stone floor.
There was a small den in the corner, it seemed. Home to some creatures she could no longer name. Muddy tracks led from the corner, out through the decayed double doors, into the forest.
And there were other tracks, leading back in. She traced their path, absentmindedly, staving off boredom as best she could, following them from the entrance into an empty storage room.
There was something sleeping inside, shivering and covered in mud.
It took her a while to realize it was human.
---------
Dreams were a kind of falsehood, and so she held it under sway.
It was a bit of a stretch, to be sure, but after all her dreaming, she was as familiar with it as lies and illusion.
So she entered him, playing with his dreams to see his memory.
How long had she been sleeping? New kingdoms, new peoples dotted the land. The gods that overthrew her had been overthrown in turn. Forests were wiped out, replaced with town and city, favored villages were now sunk in the sea, mountains seemed to have sprout up overnight.
She no longer existed in this world. Not even fairy tales spoke of her.
It wasàdisconcerting.
But the night was still young, and so she reviewed his memory once more.
---------
It seemed he wasàan honest sort of person. æJustÆ was the word, wasnÆt it?
His life was uneventful. He had born to a small village, worked in the fields, fell in love with his childhood friend û all things she had seen before, before she was forgotten.
He was taught to be honest, and followed through on the lessons. But he was an exception, it seemed, as everyone around him lied all the time.
She smiled at that. Despite the change of landscape, life played out in the same ways. Lies were still used to both calm and frighten, illusion could still dazzle with wonder û or distract enough to harm. For that, she was glad.
It kept her alive, after all.
---------
Morning came, but her guest had not woken up. He was ill, it seemed, and too exhausted to continue on.
So she left her to his rest, and continued, watching his dreams.
She left his childhood memories behind, moving forward to see his later years. It took a few moments, but she found something of interest. His lover had become ill û and he was looking for a cure.
The doctors around claimed it was incurable.
And in his heart of hearts, he knew it to be true.
And yet he consoled his love, whispering sweet rumor into her ears, of magical cure-alls and healing waters, before leaving her behind.
He wasnÆt abandoning her, not on purpose. He was justàskilled, at lying to himself.
---------
Another day passed. She traveled through his dreams.
That discoveryàendeared her, to him. He dreamed of better times, and hated to wake.
She could sympathize, if she wanted to. She empathized, that much was true.
He would wake, eventually. That moment was always the worst.
Butàshe could let him dream, for a while longer.
---
There was a god of life and medicine. An old one, the oldest one, hopefully still lingering on, like her.
It was a hopeless hope. If he was still alive, if he was living in the nearby temples, if the faith he could collect from a prayer was enough, if the ill woman was alive by the time they arrived -
-But it was still hope. Something he - and she - was sorely lacking in.
She gave him her trust, her faith. She was no healer, but faith, in all cases, was relative û what she considered a desperate, pitiful amount would be more then enough for him.
His wounds closed up, infections dispelled, aches faded. His body was refreshed again, and his sleep would come to an end.
She whispered, into his ear. Instructions on where to go, what to do, how to pray.
Then she settled into sleep, most of her power now tied to him. As he stirred awake, she drifted off.
-------
It was night when he woke. His lantern already lit, his body as clean and fit as when he started his search.
Though he had fallen asleep lost, tired, weary of life, he had woken with both knowledge and goal.
He did not question his fortune. He was simply grateful.
So before he left, he knelt in front of the altar, giving utmost thanks to whoever aided him.
And then he left, deeper into the forest, already aware of the quickest path to take.
-------
He leaned on some tall, dead tree, pressing close against it, lantern dim, lost and worried.
There was something out there. A group of bandits, some wild animal û could be anything. And he was never good with a blade.
And suddenly, he heard a whisper behind him. He turned around and blanched.
A frightening, impossibly white figure, blocking the moonlight, shining on her own. The winds, the clouds, wisped around it, fading into her clothes, her hair, her insect mount.
She looked weak, yet imposing all the same. Her clothing was long, flowing, obscuring most of her body, but her hands were bony, her face gaunt and grim.
He could do nothing but stare at her.
Slowly, she smiled; ghastly, yet good natured. Weakly, her hand came up, pointing beyond him, into the distance.
He followed her finger, and noticed a path, obscured by the night fog.
When he turned again to offer thanks, she had disappeared.
It did not deter him. He kneeled, like in the temple, and offered his thanks.
And then he got up, brightened his lamp, and followed the way.
