"People like to say that conflict is between good and evil. The real conflict is between truth and lies." - Miguel Angel Ruiz Timestamp: Summer 73, 515 AV The landscape was vast; stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. It was uniform; always the same series of gently rolling hills comprised of parched light brown soil. Atop which sprouted slender blades of grass. Their bodies torn, several strewn asunder, as but their bases remained a healthy green, while the rest was lent to beige coupling with shades of grey. Their points were shredded; jagged. They looked as though they could cut through the tumultuous sky, if only they came up further than one's ankle. They were dry, dying. But there was a false hope for them it seemed, as a storm was brewing, just as it always was. The sky dark as night; but softer in that it was slate in color, overlaid with a tightly woven working of sooty looking clouds; fluffy as a lamb's wool. The sun was no where to be seen, nor were the moon and its many accompanying stars, which made it impossible to know for sure what the hour was, although it seemed to had drawn itself late. A steady breeze blew in from the east. Strumming the grass, and lifting the dead from the masses, tossing them into the air as it ripped the petals off the few ages dandelions that had nestled within densely vegetated thickets. The flurries circled the air, betraying its otherwise intricate, and hidden patterns, so that they began to seem like the first snow. Their bodies falling after the wind died, leaving them scattered; a soft blanket of frost, which rose again with the rebirth of the breeze, only to perish with them as soon as it stilled, over and over again in an endless cycle. The combatants never seemed to notice. Or if they had, they didn't care as they approached. A woman dressed in white robes approaching from the east. The milky cotton fluttering in the wind, while her flaxen hair whipped wildly around her. The strands curling around her ears, flying into her eyes, over the length of her hair, splaying across her face before sticking, oftentimes, to her lightly parted lips. Her pale blue eyes settling on her opponent, who approached to the west. Contrastingly, this woman was dressed all in black. It was a pure black, like obsidian, or a raven's feathers. A black which was impenetrable, and seemed to have a depth to it that could not be explained, as nothing could be viewed within. Her robes flowed easily in the wind, billowing around her, as though they were a natural extension of herself. A black ribbon had been tied to the front of her head, and tucked underneath her hair. Its long fronds cascading down the length of her neck, and keeping the strands away from her face. Her black eyes, flecked with beads of red, settled upon her opponent, just as a smirk crossed her thin, pink-tinted-brown lips. Each of their eyes glimmered as they approached the center of the battlefield, where a river of blood ran freely. Meandering through the valley. Flowing over rocks, and forcing whatever grass it met to bend as it made its way through. Unhindered, as the woman in black stopped on the western bank, and the woman in white to the east. They smiled at one another. They sized each other up there, each waiting for the other to make a move they themselves didn't want to make. As they were each the final piece, the final player, as their armies had each been spent earlier in the war, leaving them now, to stand alone. The woman in black cracked her knuckles. The woman in white rolled her neck around; loosening the muscles, before returning her gaze to the lady in black. It was the dangerous game they played. A game, they felt, that was about to begin again. Thus, they both smirked and darted forward. Running through the river of blood; the lady of light becoming drenched; the purity of her attire marred, while that of the darker lady merely met with a few stains upon her exposed skin- her hands and her face. In the center they met again, and with feet and fists they met in combat... Talya sighed. It had always felt like that to her- a war. A battle between light and dark, good and evil, right and wrong. Truth and lies. But what was truth now? And what was but a lie? Was there even such a thing, when all but depended on one's perception? She shook her head, she wasn't even sure. She didn't know what to believe, and this, as it always had, bothered her. But it was getting worse, far worse, for now she was older, and she felt she should know better. Now she was older, and she felt as though she should know what to think, and how to act in every situation she was met with. But she didn't. Talya didn't have a clue. Nor was she any closer to her answers. |