The fate of Seramine

[Arila]

OOC: I found this written out in the bottom of my dresser drawer. It never got posted for some reason...

Seramine woke once again in the ornate, luxurious bedroom. This was not the usual place where she would wake after dying. Onarya was not here, smirking at her. No, she had woken here once before, and knew that it was the palace of her Goddess in Murcaste. She moved swiftly to the large wardrobe. The summons to the throne room could come at any time. Inside of the wardrobe there were no beautiful dresses as there had been the last time. There was only a black robe. By sight, it appeared to be made from fine silk, but upon touching it, it seemed to be made from Shadow. When she slipped it on, the front closed seemlessly of it's own accord. The material clung and flowed at the same time, the hem swirling around her bare feet. She stood expectantly in the middle of the room staring at the door.

Minutes passed.

Hours.

Seramine focused her thoughts and meditated to maintain her patience. How long could Kaelan be without her? She began to pace. All of the threats against her daughter...!...no, she mustn't think of that now. Calmness. Cool poise. This is what was expected of the Shadow Mistress of Sophism. She sat on the plush wing-back chair next to the window when her feet and legs began to tire from standing.

Hours passed.

She felt no fatigue other than her muscles, and did not grow hungry, but it felt as though days passed as she sat in the chair. Kaelan...no, no, she could not think of her now. The fastest way to return to her daughter was to appease her Mistress and then she would be returned to Tharel and her daughter.  But why was she here? She had not been unfaithful in deed. Not technically...but in her thoughts, in her soul...

There was a knock at the door, and Seramine stood, gathering calmness about her. An extremely handsome young male human opened the door at her word. Seramine felt the insult immediately. In this place, surely a young man would be the lowest of the low servants. Not one which would be sent for the foremost leader of the Mistress' temple.

He lead her down several corridors, and eventually stopped in front of ornately carved, large ebony doors. He grasped the handle and swung one open, carefully sidestepping so that he could not be seen in the hall beyond. Seramine stepped through the door and stopped. The throne at the opposite end was shrouded in Shadow. The door closed with a soft, solid sound behind her.

The shadows swirled, and revealed the goddess Jirah lounging in her throne. Seramine immediately prostrated herself, saying,

"As you have summoned me, Mistress, so have I come."

Jirah gave a low, throaty chuckle, which was somehow threatening. They both knew that she had had no option in this summons.

A rose appeared in front of Seramine's face, and a whip in the goddess' hand.

"Bring it to me, Seramine."

She reached out to pluck it from the polished stone floor with her fingers, but the whip lashed out, striking her fingertips just as they reached the stem.

"Ah, ah!! Not with your hands, Seramine. You'll bring them to me in your beautiful little mouth"

Seramine gingerly closed her teeth around the stem, but the thorns were sharp and thick, catching on her lips no matter how careful she was. As she rose to approach the throne, the whip lashed out again.

"I did not say you could rise!"

She crawled towards the throne. As she was nearly half way there, the whip cracked again, and she cowered lower. She didn't dare stop, but dropped to her elbows and toes. She dared not cran her neck to look up, and only stopped when she could see the perfectly manicured toes of her goddess in front of her. She dropped the rose before the throne, the blood on the thorns as red as the blossom.

"And the next."

Seramine lost count of the roses she brought to the throne like a dog bringing her owner a stick. Her lips raw and bleeding from the thorns, and several marks from the whip. Hours seemed to pass. Days? She dropped another rose before the throne.

"Seramine."

"Yes, Mistress?"

"You may look upon me."

"Thank you, Mistress."

The goddess cupped her chin, and Seramine couldn't help but feel worshipful euphoria at her touch.

"You have never gone against me in actual fact of deed, Seramine. Therefore I shall be lenient with you. But I feel you could use some more...direct supervision."

"I will do as you say, Mistress" The goddess' low throaty and threatening chuckle emanated from her chest once more, and she withdrew her hand, the shadows slipping around her once more.

[Arila]

Seramine was called every day to see the Goddess. Every day, hour after hour she performed meaningless tasks for her Mistress. Each one more useless and humiliating than the one the day before.

Time was hard to gauge in the palace of Jirah, and soon the days ran together for the former Shadow Mistress and Ezt'fiel. She had been informed early on that she was to be stripped of her clan rank. She was not sure that she would be allowed to remain a priestess as well.

One day, when she was brought to see the goddess, and an ornate table stood next to the throne, and a tall stand mirror was positioned before the goddess and to one side.

"I have determined to reward you, Seramine."

"Thank you, Mistress" she whispered into the floor before the doors where she lay prostrate.

"You may approach"

She did not stand, but rather crawled down the room towards the throne. She had learned this much so far. It wasn't even something she needed to think about any longer.

"You will not be able to complete this task from there, Seramine."

"I'm sorry Mistress."

"Stand behind me."

"Yes Mistress." She moved quickly - her speed and agility was nearly the only skill of hers which had been continually used as she avoided her goddess' liberal use of the whip.

"Your reward today is that you may brush my hair." The goddess gestured to the gilded brush on the table beside her.

"Thank you, Mistress." She kept her eyes averted from the mirror, lest their eyes meet. She began to stroke the brush through the goddess' long, beautiful, luxurious tresses.

Suddenly, movement caught her eye. There was more than just the reflection of the throne room in the mirror. In fact, there was no reflection at all - it seemed almost a window - and there - Kaelan! Somehow Seramine's hands continued their work while her eyes drank in the sight of her daughter. Kaelan was in obvious distress, and it was reflected in her mother's eyes.

She needed to return to Tharel. She needed to get back to her Daughter! How long would this imprisonment last? Suddenly the images were gone, and she was looking into the eyes of Jirah. The goddess' lips curled up in a cruel smile.

"You may leave me now."

Seramine only hesitated a moment, but she was moving again before the whip appeared in the goddess' hand.

She was healthy. She was alive. She was whole. If she could just hang on. Keep safe until the goddess released her...

Days passed and she was not summoned to the goddess' throne room. Seramine paced in her room, her bare feet beating down a path in the plush rug. Did she dare to make a request of the goddess? Perhaps if she begged...? But she was not brought before Jirah for almost as long as she had already been in this place. This was another test. But how to pass? Wait? Or request an audience? She meant to do whatever was necessary. Beg, plead, bind her soul to the goddess' service if that's what was required.

And she was summoned. Relief washed over Seramine. Mentally she prepared the words for her petition as she walked behind the servant sent to summon her.

From her position kneeling at the foot of the throne room, Seramine began,

"Mistress, I most humbly beg you to...."

"Be silent!" a hand slapped the arm of the throne, and Seramine lowered her forehead to press it against the floor in acknowledgement. "I had thought that perhaps you had learned something in your time here, Seramine. Obviously not."

A rose materialized in front of Seramine's eyes. She knew better than to sigh, that would only anger her further.

[Arila]

Seramine's experiences in the palace of the Shadow Mistress did not vary significantly. Some days she could glimpse her daughter while Jirah watched her followers in Tharel. Other days were continued psychological torture, designed to break her spirit.

She quickly realized that the glimpses of her daughter were not meant to be the rewards which she had first thought they might be. They were in fact another form of torture. Each time, her daughter appeared distressed or in danger. This was not the worst, to see her daughter distraught and unable to help, but each time, her daughter grew older. Through her teenage years, when a girl most needed her mother, Seramine only watched. When her daughter, alone, would wish for her mother's return, she was watching. Unable to respond. Unable to escape from this prison.

One by one, all those she knew and loved disappeared from Jirah's window to Tharel. Seramine did not age, but her skills became atrophied. She could no longer remember the spells her mother used so long ago, or the use of her mace.

Decades passed in this manner. Seramine was a shell, a dull reflection of her prior self. She only knew service to the goddess and continual degradation on all fronts.

Then one day, in the goddess' throne room...

"Seramine, you begin to bore me. Where is your spirit?" The goddess laughed cruelly.

Seramine stared dully at the floor just inches from her nose.

"I have decided to offer you a reward for your service, Seramine." The goddess continued to smirk. "You have seemed to finally learn your place! And I know where you would like to be. I have decided to send you back to Tharel. You have lounged in my luxurious palace for long enough. It is time for you to continue my work in the land of mortals once more."

The goddess snapped her fingers, and a beautiful handmaiden glided forward from a shadowed alcove, drawing a long knife from her belt.

"Bind your soul to me, Seramine, and I will ensure that she is quick in her work to send you away."

For the first time in almost as long as she could remember, Seramine raised her eyes to look straight at the goddess. Perhaps a flicker of surprise passed the goddess' face, but then she continued to stare at Seramine expectantly. A spark of defiance lit her eyes.

"No."

Jirah gestured sharply, and the handmaiden closed the distance swiftly, and Seramine began to scream. Pain, worse than she had ever felt. The goddess stood over Seramine and the handmaiden as she did her work.

"Swear yourself to me, Seramine, and it can still end. Else you will be a long time in returning to the mortal world."

She writhed, and the goddess watched the spark of defiance wink out once more.

"Yes." it was almost a sigh, but in her heart, there was another voice. "NOOOO!!!" The handmaiden raised the knife high, and as it plunged down, Seramine's eyes widened once more, another thought, "Freedom, at last." The knife plunged into her heart, and all was black.