Abatha Tristy Lar

“…And no one, yet, has been given the sufficient amount of time needed to lead you astray. ”
- High Priest of Peace and Madness

The young Abatha Tristy Lar sat up in her majestic bed. She had tried for over an hour to fall back asleep, but shadows and nightmarish thoughts continued to poke and prod her from this luxury. A cold sweat had dampened her sheets, as well as lukewarm tears that had wetted her pillow. She pulled back her ebony hair from matting against her fair, white cheeks. She reached across her bed to retrieve a simple hair band to control her hair. She stared blankly across the dark room into a mirror, which reflected her image, for a little over a minute to shake off the remaining morning grog. She frowned at her reflection. She hated the creature that stared back at her with big blue eyes. This creature wore a silky white sleeveless beddress that covered a lean, ghostly figure. Tristy knew that underneath the lovely dress was a body scarred with many wounds that had been inflicted out of self-contempt. She knew that this creature hated herself and the only thing preventing her from forever detaching herself from her dark world was an even deeper fear of death.

Tristy snapped her head away from the mirror. She leaned over her bed and grabbed a morning shawl, which she wrapped around her cold shoulders. She pushed her sheets over her legs and slipped down the side of her three-foot high bed. She landed gracefully on her toes and crept to one of three beautiful doors that led out of her room. After reaching the door she turned and looked towards a smaller bed which was positioned at the foot of her bed.

Tristy’s handmaid lay in a sweet sleep, untouched by her master’s demons. Tristy was two years older than her lovely maid, making her maid sixteen years of age. The young lady was blessed with wavy blond hair and full red lips. She bore deep, dark circles under her eyes; an attribute attained from staying up long hours with her restless mistress. The girl was one of Tristy’s only comforters. The young lady would often stay up entire nights to read or exchange “make believes” with Tristy until she would finally fall into unconsciousness. Tristy had also grown a dependency on her maid. She would share her experiences with the maid, which would often include her warped point of view. Tristy would then depend on her fair friend to offer words of sweet comfort. Tristy knew that without the young lady, she would have most likely broken the thin barrier of life long ago.

Tristy made a light knock on the door as she stubbed her toe turning to leave the room. The girl awoke and sat up. She called out half asleep, “Lady Lar, please forgive my silly laziness. Are you well this morning? Would you like me to prepare your bathing chamber?”

Tristy stood a little embarrassed at her clumsiness and for awaking her young friend. “Please, Clare, go back to sleep. You look so very tired. I can handle my own bath.”

Clare started moving the blankets from off of herself. “No Mistress, I am very well. Please allow me to prepare some breakfast for you. I will have it ready when you are finished bathing.” She stumbled out of her bed, swaying as she rose.

Tristy was struck with extreme feelings of guilt for her pretty young maid’s physical demeanor. “Please don’t trouble yourself. I can manage my own meal this morning.” Tristy walked to her handmaid’s side and sat her softly back down on her bed. “Go to sleep Clare. Please, go to sleep.” Tristy’s voice grew more desperate. “ I order you to sleep… I want you to sleep, Clare.” Tristy’s deep blue eyes focused on Clare’s hazels, which appeared to have a thin film of red glass over them.

Clare’s handmaid broke the gaze and laid back on her bed. Clare’s voice fluctuated as she rested her head on her pillow. “Thank you miss. If you require anything, please don’t hesitate to call me…” Clare fell asleep almost instantly.

Tristy envied the girl for her ability to fall back asleep. She watched her stomach rise at every breath as well as her hair blowing with the force of her exhalation. She leaned over the young girl and rested a kiss on her head. Tristy thought of the beautiful contrast that the two of them exhibited, and how it was not meant to be that Clare should turn into that creature that she, Tristy, saw in the mirror. Tristy rose and walked through the open door, shutting it behind her.

Tristy entered her bathing chamber which was a magnificent room about a fourth the size of her bedroom. It had a large bath with a small artificial waterfall trickling down into the tub. Around the sides of the bath were small trays where one could place embers to produce steam. A column of light ascended from a skylight centered above the pool. A long full bodied mirror stood against the wall on the far side of room. Tristy walked across the room to a lever, which she pulled down. She glanced briefly at the mirror, but quickly looked away. Water began streaming down the waterfall into the empty tub. While the bath was filling, Tristy removed her shawl and bed-dress and laid them on a pillar. She fought with an unseen force that was trying to have her look at the mirror. She darted her eyes desperately about to find a towel to cover herself while she finished her final preparations. She found a cotton towel sitting next to a container filled with mineral salt. She wrapped the towel around her body and poured several cups full of mineral salt into the tub. She walked to the bath steps. She crouched and put her hand into the water. Tristy quickly retracted her hand. “That’s too cold.” She stood up and debated whether to go without a bath. She couldn’t entertain the thought long, due to the stickiness of her skin. She stepped one foot into the tub, then the other. She sat down on the edge and waited for her feet to go numb. Tristy stretched the towel tightly about her figure. The nerves in her feet pinched from the cold, but soon began to deaden.

She unwrapped her towel and was about to go to her waste when a flicker caught her eye. She looked up to behold a small hand mirror hanging from a hook on the wall; its reflection mirrored the larger mirror behind Tristy. The mirror held her eyes fast to the reflection. It took a second for her eyes to adjust, but very soon the image of her back came into focus. Fair white skin, covered by hundreds of scars filled the mirror. Memories of each scar entered her mind along with the thoughts involved with the creation of those scars. She cringed at each experience she was reliving. She began to recall those images she saw as she drifted each night between memory and sleep.

Tristy was broken out of her trance by a loud fumble from her bed chamber. She she kept her blue eyes locked on the door of her bedchamber, as she slowly rose out of the tub. She then heard several, unfamiliar, muffled voices through the closed door. She could distinguish Clare’s voice among the others, it being the highest in pitch. She sounded frantic. She spoke briefly then let out a piercing scream. Several clicks could be heard through the door, causing Clare’s screams to cease. Tristy fastened the towel around her body, and then made quick strides to a drawer near the door to her bed chamber. She threw open the bottom drawer. Inside was a sheathed letter opener. She heard the door to the exterior balcony being smashed open. Tristy made naked the blade to the small dagger and threw the sheath to the ground. She held the knife, shaking. She heard the muffled voices grow closer and louder until, suddenly, there was no sound at all. Tristy’s hands began to shake violently from both the adrenaline and the weight of the knife.

After two minutes of uneventful suspense, she lowered the knife and approached the door handle cautiously. She pressed her ear to the door then pushed the door slowly open. As she peered through the crack of the opened door, she could see no motion in the room. She pushed the door further until the whole room could be seen. The main entrance way, along with the door to the exterior balcony had been broken down. Several pieces of furniture had been over turned as well as several curtains being torn causing the light in the room to be dramatically reduced. It took several seconds for Tristy’s eyes to adjust fully. Her eyes fell on Clare’s bed which was mostly blocked by Tristy’s royal one. Tristy moved into the room, quietly. She peered down past the broken hallway door and through the smashed balcony door, but saw no one. She rounded the corner of her bed to see if they had taken Clare. Tristy’s eyes fell on Clare’s bed, which had been stained red with blood. Tristy gagged when she made out sweet Clare, lying sideways, with several arrows through her chest and abdomen. Her beautiful wet hair blended with the wet sheets of her bed. Thin strands of blood ran out of her sweet lips. Her kind eyes which had appeared pink earlier now appeared a contrasting white. She observed the lifelessness of Clare’s lungs as they used to cause her hair to blow and her belly to rise and fall. Now all lay still. Clare was cold. She had broken life’s thin barrier and passed the gate that Tristy would dare not pass. Tristy kissed Clare’s forehead gently then stepped away from her body.

Tristy turned slowly, her eyes still focused on Clare’s hazel ones. As she began to walk she turned her face forward. Her eyes then came in close contact with another pair of eyes. Tristy jumped back nearly falling onto Clare’s bed. These eyes became many as Tristy could now make out seven personages, all of which were clad in old, torn, grey, wool cloaks. Under these cloaks Tristy could see worn, brownish robes with ancient symbols embroidered on the edges. All of these personages had thick wool bandages that were covering their heads and faces. Each of them carried a gnarled crossbow, with the same kind of gruesome arrows that had killed Clare positioned in the launch slot. The Personage that had been the first to startle her slowly moved forward, lowering its crossbow. It spoke in a very low raspy voice, with the other personages calling out certain names in unison. “Abatha…Tristy… LAR!! Daughter of Isabella… Maria… LAR!!! Daughter of Jacob… Mario… CAPEROUS!!! The Priests of Peace and Madness have found your maternal bloodline worthy of our secrets. We have found you Abatha… Tristy…LAR! Worthy of our secrets. For we have found out all of your secrets. And we have found them to be in keeping with the traditions of you maternal family as well as our ancient traditions. And so, we ask you Abatha… Tristy… LAR!! To join our ancient order, to help restore peace and security by reining chaos upon this perverted land.” The leading priest reached out his hand, which was covered in a sackcloth glove, to Tristy. Who, remembering her knife lunged at the Priest. However, the leading priest, reacting in incredible speed, grabbed Tristy’s wrist and snapped it. She then dropped the knife to the floor and screamed in pain. The priest released her limp wrist and picked up the knife from the floor. “Abatha…Tristy… LAR!! We are glad that you don’t understand, now, what your purpose is. Our doctrine is learned only by the greatest of philosophers or the lowest of fools. Luckily, you have the potential of being both. And no one ,yet, has been given the sufficient amount of time needed to lead you astray. ”