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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Fantasy · #1597908
The Chosen One gives a brief 'promo' - a demonstration of power.
Nimmi heard the Voice whisper the magic into her consciousness, she had no need of ears, the Voice was not to be heard. She knew, she was the Chosen One.

Ninth child of a ninth child, the first in nine centuries, she was destined to be the one who would lead the family to a triumphant and glorious return, to renewal of fortunes and power. This was not yet evident to any, she was too young for to be considered equal to that daunting task.

At present she was aware her father was despairing of how he was to make ends meet, after fifteen years, he still had no one to carry on the line. All eight of her siblings had not lived beyond a few hours; harsh mutterings about the evil eye had begun to circulate.

Maleficus the Twelfth was likely to be the last of a long line of Crystal makers, those who hovered on the fringe of the magic world, living off it, but not really invited in. He was a bitter man, desperate to gain more power but hating those who wielded it, willing to scrabble at their hems to sell his goods, but cursing their ilk when safely away.

“Maleficus roared into the room and Nimmi cowered in the corner where she was curled, afraid to show her presence to this inimical being.

“Well, is sustenance prepared or not?"

Electra shuffled into her husband’s line of vision, repeated childbirth had made a mockery of a once admired figure; she looked like a sack of potatoes loosely tied at the neck.

“It simmers on the hob, Mallus dear. Let me take your cloak.”

Her attempt to relieve him of his cape was hasty, the loud sound of ripping preceded her frightened gasp. She stumbled backwards avoiding the back-handed blow that was aimed at her.

Nimmi’s body convulsed with pain, she felt the her father's contempt. In his mind - she was to sire his sons, something she had failed at, miserably failed. She writhed in shame and helplessness.

Oh, how I wish I had a fraction of my power right now, what use will I be to others, if I cannot protect my own?

Maleficus had moved closer to his wife, she tried to retreat in step but found an unyielding wall at her back. Her eyes darted sideways in vain search for aid, this only amused the brute.

“Yes, look for your no-good brothers. They took sixty crystal globes in exchange for your hand. With eight brothers, I thought you would be able to bear me at least a couple of sturdy boys. But mewling girls, that was all your womb could produce!”

Electra’s eyes welled with tears of regret, “they were all such delicate flowers of joy. Maybe the Lord thought they were too good for this world?”

A scornful laugh erupted from Maleficus, reverberating in his open maw.

“Or maybe it was the the tonic the medicine woman gave?”

Electra put one hand to her bosom and stammered, “Y-you … s-she s-s-said it was to …”

“No matter what I, or she, said, it was you who poisoned your own babes. I made sure no more useless beauties would live in my house.”

Electra felt a pain wrench her gut, or was it her heart; she was being turned inside out. Nimmi found a chill spreading through her, a horror that energized her and gave her a sudden power. She closed her eyes and channeled that power to focus on the one object that needed a lesson – NOW!

Maleficus found a golden net enmesh him, binding him; all his struggles could not prevail against that seemingly fragile encasement.

Electra found herself able to stand, she seemed more radiant and even her shape was more elegant. It was still like a potato sack, but one designed by a courtier. Her feet were not swollen; her hands were supple and slim. Her belly seemed so smooth and more like an urn than the ugly protuberance it had been for the past few weeks. She rubbed a cautious hand over it and thrilled at the quiver beneath. Her eyes shone an electric blue, the very colour that had given her the name.

This, Maleficus will be my ninth child, it matters little that she is yours too. Ninth of ninth, her powers shall be immense and she will be the Chosen One. She will be wise and kind and strong and brave. She will have ability and power and mercy and love. She will neither allow denigration nor veneration of mere beauty, she will allow neither fear nor craving for sheer power.

Until she is born, you will be bound thus, that you may not harm either of us. Fear not of hunger or thirst, you will want nothing whist in her Net. We go to a safer place to let her powers develop in peace. You will know of her birth, your shackles will be released then. You shall thereafter be transported to a place where you may eke out your existence.


There was a flash of light, blinding in its magnificent implosion; and then Maleficus was alone.

Forevermore.

~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~>~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~<~~<~


As you now know, I am Nimmi, I went to where sisters abound and womanhood is celebrated. Only those men that embrace femininity, in the purest sense, can be found here. Where power can flow through any who cares to learn the craft, where ability and not lineage is the benchmark. Where those who can, teach, and those who can't, try once more. I celebrate my ninth birthday this week, so does the place where I sought sanctuary. So when you let off those fireworks, think of all the chosen Ones who make the chosen Many of WDC!


961 Words
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