The sun Sophtah is slowly rising from beneath the horizon, flaring a beautiful pallet of warm colors onto the vast deserts of Eriqta and gradually heating up the air that is still cool from the chilly night. The takyr lands are dry and cracked, together with our sun they form delectable patterns in all kinds of shades of red, orange and purple.
We're surrounded by wastelands, which are only seen from the roof of my new home and a few towers nearby. The karktens - bald, hard, medium height trees, filled with watery juice - grow only in the city, covering the view of dead lands outside. The gigantic oasis feeding the plants is nested right in the center of Lortia, which is why this city exists in the first place. This is the perfect market place. A geographical advantage formed by nature itself. This is the heart of our planet. A breathtakingly beautiful heart, I must add.
I look at the tan man standing in front of me. He doesn’t smile, nor frown. His face is stripped of emotions, which leaves me wondering again why he arranged this damn marriage.
I pull at the soft fabric of my blue wedding gown. They said it compliments my eyes, but I feel like I should be in red. I feel like dying... No. I feel my freedom dying. Our people always wear the color of our blood on funerals. A tradition delicately made to show every person in Eriqta that we all are equal, we all have the same blood. What a load of crap. It only shows that we all can die and everyone is replaceable.
We all. Since I was a child I felt like I shouldn’t speak, not even think like that. I was never like the others. My appearance might not be different, yet my blood is.
I was born in a small town, my family being one of the richest of this half of Eriqta. Money can’t predict the future, yet it can save one’s fate. And they saved me.
I was dying when Mother gave birth to me, and the reason I’m standing here right now, is because they paid a shaman healer to do an ancient ritual, which was actually banned a millennium ago. Sacrifice of the seven Blue Stars. A thousand years ago it was called "Тahiat alnuum acabe zura", yet that language died with the ritual. I still have no idea who that shaman was and how he knew what to say and do. I only know his face, it is painfully etched into my memory, leaving a mark I will carry forever.
The seven Blue Stars of Nishan surround our system in a protective circle. It is said that they are pure magic. I know first hand that this is true.
The ritual... No. The sacrifice healed me, giving me blue eyes and changing my blood. The fun part is that the shaman forgot to mention the side effect of this bloody magic trick. In order to save me, my Mother had to die. Soon afterwards my Father followed. What the healer didn't know himself, is that the Stars also gave me power. A kind of power that should have stayed banned.
I have perfect memory. I even remember the sacrifice myself. How it felt to die. And how it felt to take my Mother's life and pour it into mine. I wish I could say that her spirit lives on within me, yet that is not the case.
The Blue Stars' magic flows in my blood. In a way I am connected to them. It wasn't hard to eventually find and kill the shaman, taking his dangerous knowledge from this world. Yet that day I swore to never take a life again.
I don't use my so called magic. No one even knows of it. It's hard to conceal my special blood, seeing that instead of blushing pink or getting red when angry, my skin turns blue, yet I try to always apply a thick layer of makeup. In my twenty seven years I somehow managed to stay undetected.
The cost of not using my power got me into this mess. A wedding that should not happen.
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