Disclaimer: I do not own the magic mentioned in this fic, nor do I own the people referred to by the main character. The main character, however, is mine.
Author's Note: The poem in the story is titled 'Pain', which ties into the title of the story, and it is 100% authentic to me. I hope you enjoy the poem, and the story that comes with it... Don't forget to review :)
Feelings so dark,
Scars that can't hide,
Cuts and bruises
On the outside...
Misha Trenton looked out the window. She was alone in the pitch dark room, but that is the way that she liked it. When she was alone, they wouldn't hurt her. They couldn't belittle her and make her cry. They thought of it as a punishment to lock her in the room for days on end, sometimes with just enough food and water to be sure that she didn't die and bring an investigation into the house. Anything to avoid what would surely be their undoing. They said they did it because it was the only choice they had, that they had to cleanse the soul she was born into, an evil soul. They said they did it because they loved her, and did not want her to turn out to be evil and vile as some had become.
Misha knew better. They did it because they were the vile and evil ones. They were the ones with the poisoned souls. She knew that people were not born with vile and evil souls, but turned that way as time passed by their upbringing, or some other factor in their lives. She knew, as well, that they were trying to turn her as they had themselves been turned. She vowed to never let that happen to her. She would not follow in their footsteps. She would rather die.
Misha couldn't believe the life she had been thrust into. Surely it had not been in the original plan for her. How could anything be planned that was so hurtful and violent? Surely there must have been something in her life to look forward to. She had not been blessed with the life of riches when she had been born, and now, thrust into the riches of another blood, a blood of pureness, as they said theirs were, she wished she could have been with those of half-bloods. At least there she would have been an equal, and treated as such...
Just a victim
Of someones fun,
Left here to die,
Too tired to run...
They were coming. Misha heard the footsteps that always announced their arrival. There were two coming this time. The woman was coming. The light footsteps and the sharp click of the expensive shoes she loved to flaunt. She could almost hear her pristine nails tapping on the wall as she walked down the stone floor. The older man was coming, too. The heavy boots he wore made a clunking sound that could just barely overpower the clicking of the womans heels. They had to be married. They were perfectly matched. Their vile natures suited each other hopefully.
Misha straightened up on the wooden chair. The only piece of furniture in the room was the hard wooden chair, heavy enough without the spells that kept it chained to the floor, unable to be budged by a grown man. She loved the chair. It was bliss compared to the torture that was inflicted on her almost daily. She would be defiant just to be sent into this room. They said that it only did to corrupt her soul more than it already was. They said to be defiant to the people who cared so much for her was to be defiant to the Good Lord himself.
Misha didn't believe them in the slightest. They thought of only one person as their Lord, and he was of evil and vile nature. He was the worst there could e, and feared no one, now that his nemesis had been murdered by his right hand man. She hated hearing the name, not for the same fear that everyone else had of him. She had no fear of their Lord. She hated the name because to speak it left a vile taste in her mouth and warranted her a sharp and prolonged punishment.
They entered their room, letting in light for the first time in three days. They thought she hated the dark. Misha longed for no more in life than that. They wore identical grins, full of malice. Misha felt a slight stirring, but it wasn't of fear. It was the knowledge of what was to come. She wondered if it would be them this time, or if it would be their own spawn. She prayed it would be them. The two of them together wasn't as bad as that one alone, the young man that wasn't much older than her, and already so full of hate and anger. She wondered if he had been turned that way in the same way the were trying to turn her.
The two advanced upon her, and Misha felt a wave of relief cascade over her. It would be them. The pain would still be excruciating to bear, but she wouldn't beg them to stop, or cry. She had stopped begging after the first time they had laid their hands and their wands upon her. The crying had stopped shortly after, when their laughter had overridden the sobs. She hated it when they laughed more than anything else. She hated hearing them getting pleasure out of her pain...
Wand cast aside,
She'll close her eyes,
And deep inside,
Meet her demise...
Misha was once again left alone in the dark room. She sat stiffly in the chair, tears swimming in her eyes but not flowing. She wished that she had one small part of her previous life. That would have at least been some comfort. She held her hands in her lap, aware that her ragged and ripped clothes were covered in fresh blood, not just the dried and crusty blood from past teachings, as they called them. Teaching were not teachings unless there was a lesson learned, so in this case, she had to agree with them. They taught her that vile and evil people had nothing in their lives except for violence. Their treacherous actions proved this point.
Was there anything to live for? Misha asked herself this question every night, and the answer was always the same. Yes. Misha had something to live for. She had a promise, made by a man she had come to love, even though she hadn't seen him in an inconceivable time. She wasn't even sure if he remembered his promise, but the look in his brilliant green eyes when he made it kept her strong.
Misha now felt that strength slipping away from her, a little more by the day. She didn't want to live in such a hurtful life. She didn't want to continue to be treated the way that she was. She didn't want to have the woman, with her perfect and expensive self, flaunting all that she had in front of her. She didn't want to have the man, with his blond hair, taunting her, while she looked up into the pale face of evil. She didn't want the spawn, the spitting image of his father, belittling her, and telling her she was nothing, and then taking advantage of her in the way that he did.
A few mean words,
Enough to send
This little girl
To her own end...
At that moment, Misha made a conscious decision, one she wasn't even aware of until she saw that she had her wand in her hand. She couldn't live a life such as the one she dwelt at the moment. Surely her soul would be forgiven for such an act. They told her that to take a life, even if that life was your own, was that of a devious spirit. They told her that she would be condemned for such an act, and that her soul would be damned for ever in the afterlife.
But surely Misha would be forgive. She couldn't be forced to live in hell when that was the reason she was committing such an act, to escape the hell she was living in. Surely they couldn't condemn her for that. She just wanted to escape, as she was sure would be expected of her, and forgiven of her, as well.
Thinking no more of the consequences of her actions, Misha pointed the wand at her own chest and closed her eyes. She would do it painlessly, because that was what she was trying to escape in the world of life. She was doing this to escape the hell she was currently living in. Surely that would be understood. She would do it painlessly, and quickly, as well, so she didn't have to think about what she was doing. It would not due to dwell on the act she was about to commit, for it would take from her courage and change her minds decision.
She wasn't aware that she had uttered the two words until the light engulfed the room, highlighting the chair for a brief moment. Surely it would be seen through the window by someone, and bring about the investigation the people who told her they loved her was trying to avoid. Her last thought was that the green of the spell was the same as the green eyes she had once looked into when an impossible promise had been made. And then there were no more...
Released of sin,
In heavens light,
She dreams again
Of her life’s flight...
So death really was painless. Misha looked around her and felt the tingling of threatening tears once again. Could you cry when you were dead? Such a thing must have been possible, because here was Misha, death holding her tightly, and she still felt the stinging of hot tears in her eyes. She refused to let them fall. She hadn't done it if life, and she wasn't going to do it in death. So they had been right. Her soul had been damned for committing such an act. There was no way that his dark, cold place could be a passage into heaven. It had to be a passageway to hell.
Looking over her shoulder, Misha thought briefly of turning around and trying to make her way in the opposite directly, where heaven must surely lie. Her mind was changed, however, when she thought of her actions causing her to be here. She had committed an act, knowing full well what could come of that act, and so she would take the consequences. She walked down the dark tunnel.
It seemed to go on for a very long time. Misha dreaded what she would find when she would finally reach the end, then decided not to dwell on it. She was going to where she was going because of a conscious decision she had made. She would deal with it. And then the darkness ended. The light blinded her for a moment. Surely this had to be the brightness of the fires of hell...
With peace at hand
And heart so light,
She can now stand,
No need to fight...
The brightness dulled as her eyes adjusted. Misha looked around her, not quite believing what she was seeing. Surely this couldn't be heaven. It mut be some illusion at hells hand, used to lull their souls into false comfort before finally springing against them.
Even as she thought this, Misha knew better. She had somehow been granted entry into heaven. There was a shadow in front of her, coming steadily closer. Identifiable only as a person in the beginning, it soon became recognizably male. As the shadow neared, the smiling face was revealed, and Misha felt the tears once again. This time, she let them fall. It was the first time in a long time that she had cried, and it was not from pain. The green eyes looking back at her held tears as well, and the smile on his handsome face made her want to break down and weep.
There was no other explanation fo it, Misha knew. This had to be heaven, and she knew she was there for one reason, and one reason alone. In a way, he had kept his promise of saving her. He had saved her, maybe not in her body, but her soul. She was in heaven now, and she owed it all to the man she had come to love. She owed it all to the Boy Who Live....
Her heart did wept,
Once in her dreams,
His promise kept,
Or so it seems...