The storm roared like a rabid beast that night, and rain poured down from the dark clouds in torrents. Their house barely survived the turbulent downpour; the wooden entrance was ripped off by the furious wind, and the windows rattled as furniture was dragged along the wet floorboards.
Inside, Lyra, an eleven-year-old girl, felt burdened by the struggles of her existence, her endurance, her curse. Sometimes, she wished she had never been born, but her parents had made a different choice.
She shivered in a black cotton shirt that she seemed to have worn for days, paired with a short, tattered pleated skirt. An old scarlet scarf was wrapped around her thin neck, her only protection from the violent cold.
Lyra's family had always lived in poverty. She was born in this cramped house in the middle of a forest. Fortunately, there were no wild predators in the area, making their home somewhat habitable. Her father traveled to town to sell timber and returned home with whatever money he could gather. Her mother tended a small farm behind their house, which was how they managed to eat.
Lyra longed to help her parents, but they always refused, insisting it was too dangerous for her to go to town. Her education was conducted entirely at home; her parents provided her with books, musical instruments, and everything else she needed, but they never allowed her to step outside the forest.
That was until her father fell terminally ill, showing only signs of frailty. It was strange because Daniel, her father, had always been a spirited young man. In the end, however, he passed away.
Lyra couldn't help but blame her mother for not giving up on him. After all, he was only thirty-five. During this time, she learned the horrifying truth about The Curse.
The Curse had deep roots, and there were three kinds of people in the world:
1. **The Blessed**: As the name suggests, they were favored by the gods, particularly Zeus and his kin. They possessed extraordinary energy called Vibe, allowing them to harness the power of music for protection against the lurking demons in the shadows.
2. **The Norms**: These individuals did not possess Vibe and were unable to perform extraordinary feats with music. Instead, they focused on various professions such as trades, education, healthcare, engineering, and the food industry. The majority of the population fell into this category.
3. **The Cursed**: Created by Pan, the demon goat, they were flawed beings who could not live long lives. Although they had power, it came at a devastating cost: their souls were drained by the very power that brought them into existence. Most of them died before the age of thirty-five, and none escaped this fate. This was the essence of being The Cursed.
Naturally, The Blessed despised The Cursed, despite being beyond their control. The Cursed bore the blame for their plight, but the world was indifferent to their suffering.
Lyra and her family were among those branded as The Cursed. Their situation was even more dire because her parents had been exiled from their own country—the land of The Cursed, which had been a home for many over the centuries.
Her parents had chosen to deny the truth of their origins. They were determined to uncover the mystery behind their creation. Their quest for answers ultimately led them too far, resulting in their banishment and the eventual relocation to the forest where they now lived.
At the time, Lyra was unaware of her family's past or the existence of the cursed land. All she understood was the curse that hindered her life and the parents who inadvertently brought it upon her.
"Selfish bastards. Why? Tell me why!" she muttered, tears welling in her hollow grey eyes as she watched her mother, Delores, lying feeble and lifeless on the bed, fading away. A dark future loomed in her mind.
Delores, in torment, turned to look at her as she cuddled in a chair nearby. The storm raged outside, shaking the house's foundations.
"Yes, I was… we were," she whispered slowly, grunting in pain.
She couldn't move; her body felt heavy like the earth, and her heart felt even heavier. Her deep brown eyes brimmed with tears. Her hands were pale, almost petrified from her immobility. Her beautiful hair had fallen off, scattered across the ragged bed.
"Yes, you were, Mom. Both of you! You didn't care!" Lyra said, her voice tinged with shallow rage. She wasn't truly angry; she just wanted to scream. To scream at the cruel world, to scream for help when she knew there was none around. To scream at herself for feeling so helpless.
She stood up from the chair where she had been cuddling and stepped forcefully on the damp floorboards. She walked furiously across the room to stand in front of Delores.
"You always—"
Suddenly, the wind slammed violently against the window opposite her. It blew the wooden barricade off its hinges, sending it flying across the room before it struck the wall behind Lyra with a loud bang. The noise startled both Lyra and her mother.
Delores wore a bright smile, a smile filled with love despite her struggles to speak due to the pain in her mouth. But that smile helped her.
She managed to mumble her final words, her voice shaky, her words scattered. They were barely audible amidst the thunderous chaos, but somehow, Lyra heard them loud and clear. It felt as if Delores was whispering directly into her ears.
"But look at what you've become," she said, her face illuminated by that same bright smile.
"It's beautiful. Life… is beautiful, you know? Sure, there are bad things; bad things happen. It feels like pain and sorrow are the only things that exist in this world," she continued, her expression still radiant.
"But that's true. Pain exists; there's so much of it. You look out the window, and all you see is suffering and futility. People endure hardships they don't deserve.
"But that's not all… Feel it. Feel life. There's love in the air; embrace it. Feel the cold wind blow on your face. Experience the shiver down your spine as the chill strikes you. Feel love."
"That's a pretty stupid thing to say while you're on your deathbed! Love hurts! It's temporary! You're dying, Mom. You're dying!" Lyra shouted, her frustration boiling over as she watched Delores speak.
"I know… It hurts sometimes," Delores replied, coughing up blood.
"But… It's worth it. The memories, memories of your father. The smile on his face when he looked at you. Remember his awkward expression when he saw a mouse on the farm. Remember how you laughed when you saw his face. Remember the happiness you felt when he got you that guitar."
"But that's all gone now… both of you are gone." Lyra calmed down, letting out a sigh as she fell back onto the couch behind her, surrendering to her defeat.
"Yes, we are… my little one. But those memories aren't gone. Love is never lost."
"You don't always have to rely on just those two windows, Lyra. You have more than that. You have so many more. You have an impeccable mind, a heart that loves deeply. Please use it more. Go out… and reach for what's beyond. It's always there. We keep it in our hearts, where time is forever frozen."
"Life is good, regardless of the circumstances, and I'd choose it all over again, even if I only had 35 years. It's worth it. And I wouldn't dare keep you away from the beauty of it. For I know you will overcome the darkness and see the light. Not for a second do I regret that decision. I love you, Lyra, always… and forever."
As her last gesture, she struggled to lift her wrist, summoning the last of her strength. "Here," she said weakly.
Lyra rushed to her, fear gripping her heart. Tears streamed down her face as she stomped her foot across the floor. But just before she could reach, her mother had passed. Finally.
Lyra took the piece of paper that lay folded in Delores's palm, the very one she had lifted just before she died. It was cold and stiff. Her soul still lingered nearby, emanating a lovely, slow, and heartwarming melody. It was a farewell gift to Lyra. Even in death, her mother smiled.
But instead of crying, screaming, or running away, Lyra collapsed. Emotions surged inside her, her sadness, pain, loss, and confusion, all pushing forth from the reality of the song. She didn't know what to do. She simply lay there, staring at the beaten ceiling above her, the melody still booming even amidst the beastly storm.
***
Eventually, both the storm and her mother's soul quieted. That marked the final stage of the Curse, An-yparxía (Without existence). Lyra stood up from the damp floor, her face devoid of any particular emotion. No sadness, no anger, no pain, just an expressionless look. It was as if she had transformed. But that wasn't true, she was only holding them back.
She stepped up, soaking wet. Her long dreadlocks felt heavier. Water dripped down her back, and her shirt clung weakly to her skin. She looked around the room: at the battered window, the torn curtain, the door ripped off its hinges, and finally, at her mother's lifeless body. She looked at the paper in her hands and looked away.
She found comfort in the silence, believing it was the only thing keeping her together. Any slight sound could shatter her composure. As she moved carefully across the floorboards, she tried her best not to make a noise, but the unstable wood disagreed.
Her first step caused the board to creak, startling her and sending her tumbling onto her bottom in surprise. Still wearing that blank expression, she looked around.
She remained seated there, lost in thought, unable to process anything. Her mind was frozen, she couldn't feel anything; her heart didn't even seem to pump. All that filled her ears was a high-pitched ringing. She sat there, staring.
***
"CREAK!" The kitchen cupboard echoed hollowly. Tilting her head, Lyra looked back at it with an empty gaze. She stood near the kitchen cabinet, where only a single red apple rested quietly in the corner on the wooden slab.
She picked it up and slid it into her patched knapsack, which contained just two outfits, a blanket, the paper unopened and the apple.
Returning to her mother's room, she gazed at Delores lying on the bed. The sight was frightening, but she felt she could handle it.
A sudden push to its side caused the body to roll off the bed, landing hard on the floor with a loud thud as the wooden floor cracked.
Lyra lifted the body's arm, determined to drag it with all her strength, grunting as she bit hard on her teeth. Veins stood out on her pale face. As she struggled, she accidentally hit her head against a cabinet. She fell back, dropping the arm, and landed on her back. The pain struck her like lightning, sudden and sharp. It hurt excruciatingly as she screamed as loud as she could, her face now evident of discomfort. Reflexively, she turned her head to the side.
As she turned, the body's scary face stared straight into her eyes. Now grey and lifeless, its eyes once bright and lovely, were a dull black. Fear and disgust hit her simultaneously. She stood up immediately, her mind racing with the thought of escape. All she wanted at that moment was to run.
But before she could flee, the disgust overwhelmed her. Her stomach churned loudly, forcing vomit to surge from her insides, and it poured all over her body.
Lyra didn't stop despite this. It wasn't that she didn't care, she was simply too startled to react. She grabbed her knapsack and ran straight out of the house.
As she dashed through the muddy ground, her feet splashed water all over her, but she didn't stop. Each step only sullied her clothes further, and her body became drenched in mud. She was lost in her thoughts, oblivious to what was happening around her.
The moon shone brightly, its light illuminating the dark path leading into the thick forest before her. Her long dreadlocks bounced against her shoulders as she ran, her hollow eyes filled with tears that rolled down her cheeks. She sprinted as fast as her frail body would allow, refusing to look back.
And thus began the journey of those with no choice. It all started That Wretched Night.