The Broken Soul and Strings of Fate

CRASH

I bolt upright in bed, my heart beating out of my chest at the sudden noise. With tired eyes, I look around to discover a broken window at the front of my tiny cabin. Shards of glass and a palm-sized stone lay on the floor. With a heavy sigh, I untangle myself from the sheets and carefully walk toward the now-destroyed pane of glass. I look out outside, at first only seeing the barren, snow-covered ground. Then I hear shouting.

"Begone, witch!" Another rock soars through the air and thumps against the outside of the cabin. 

Looking in the direction of the jeering, I see two children. They're tightly bundled against the cold, laughing and apparently throwing insults and rocks in my direction. 

With another heavy sigh, I walk away from the window to grab a broom and start cleaning up the broken glass. I'm used to this sort of thing. After all, there's little they can say or do that hasn't been done already. As I'm cleaning up, the children outside continue their assault of insults. For some reason, it stings more than usual. I'm starting to grow weary of hearing it. Finally deciding I've listened to enough of their venomous shouts, I take a deep breath and summon a magical orb.

It's an exciting spell I discovered while reading through the latest publications on magic and its practical uses. I know it sounds like enough to bore one to tears. It was, really. But I needed to pass the time, and it had some helpful information. Apparently, a mage from the capital city discovered that you could broadcast transmissions over a magical network. They were mainly used for military communication, but some have started using them for entertainment. 

I tune the orb to a music broadcast and use it to drown out the commotion from outside. As I finish cleaning up the mess, I keep the orb playing and decide it's time to start my day and get to work. Walking to the worn wardrobe in the back corner of my small one-room home, I pull out a pair of trousers and a woolen sweater. The days are growing cold, and only a fool walks around in a dress. For women who live in the village and any of the empire's cities, they wear dresses all day, every day. It was practically required by society. I don't see how they can do it; my legs would have frozen long ago if I had done that. Besides, I'm already an outcast. What more harm can wearing trousers really do?

After throwing on the darkly colored clothing, I look in my small vanity mirror next to the wardrobe and tie my hair into a low ponytail. My dark auburn hair shimmers in the light coming through the window, shining almost a blood red. Another sigh escapes me, and I quickly look away. As a child, I was always told that my hair was attractive. How quickly that changed when it was discovered that I was not blessed by fate. Now, everyone used its dark color as another reason to ridicule me, claiming it was further proof that I was cursed. 

I shake the thoughts from my mind and sit at my work table, tucked next to the hearth against the wall. Herbs and potion bottles litter its surface. A small smile creeps across my lips. The smell of freshly ground plants or drying herbs has always given me comfort. I began working as my small village's apothecary not long after I started living in this little rundown cabin at the edge of the woods. It was the only thing I was really good at and the only thing people could acknowledge me for. Besides, they can't kill the only healer for over fifty miles. I frown at the grim thought. Shaking it out of my mind, I quickly put my hands to work to distract myself.

It doesn't last for long, though. As I grind down and combine various plants, a somber melody still playing from the magical orb, my mind wanders further down its dark path—back to the start of my miserable fate.

In our world, everyone is blessed by the Fates on their 16th birthday. This blessing comes in the form of a small tattoo-like mark that forms on the inside of the right wrist. This mark is one-of-a-kind, unique to its owner and the destiny it's tied to. The clerics say destiny, at least. In reality, it's tied to the person's fated partner, their true love. 

When someone turns 16, they must go to a temple and meet with the High Cleric there, who then reads the magic of the Fates and tells them what their destiny is or where they can find it at least. This is generally considered when you become an adult and start your journey in this world. 

I remember my 16th birthday clearly, though ten years have already passed. The memory is burned in my mind. How could I ever forget the day I completely lost all meaning? My hands stop working as I look down at my wrist. The mark there was beautiful, really. When I first saw it, I thought it meant that I had a great destiny laid out before me. I run my fingers over the star contained in a crescent moon, as black as the night they belong to. 

That day, I eagerly sprinted to the temple. It had been the day I was looking forward to most. I rushed inside, ran up to the High Cleric, and proudly presented my arm to him. I can still remember his warm voice and deep chuckle as he welcomed me and congratulated me on making it to the age of 16 despite my rough upbringing. His eyes ran over the simple yet oddly ornate marking. Then his face fell. He had looked so confused, so torn at the time. 

His words from that day still haunt my dreams, intruding on every nightmare. He sighed deeply as he gently dropped my arm and said, "I'm sorry, Amelia. There is no fate for you in this world. The Fate of Humanity has abandoned you. Leave, now." With that, he turned away from me. 

At the time, I didn't understand his words. He didn't elaborate further either, despite how desperately I screamed and yelled, begging for an answer. 

A tear sliding down my cheek pulls me out of my thoughts of the past. I quickly wipe it away and look out the window. Cold air was blowing in, though the sun was now high in the sky. Maybe getting out of the cabin would help. I stand from my worktable and grab my worn cloak and gathering basket from their hooks by the front door. Sliding on the cloak and a pair of leather boots, I walk out into the brisk day. It was only early winter, yet the days were already bitingly cold. 

Not giving the past another thought, I begin my trek into the forest behind my home.