Author’s Note: This was written for the prompt “Write a 1,500-word story that revolves around a single, universal theme.” That single, universal theme? Trauma. This story has a special place in my heart because of how much of myself I poured into Eve. Depicting her journey was intense, but also healing. I hope those of you who have dealt with similar things will connect with her.
Read while listening for maximum immersion:
With the sudden absence of solid ground beneath her feet, the depths of an abysmal pit stared back at Eve. She fell onto the forest floor behind her, only a hair’s breadth away from certain death. Failing to repress the onslaught of seizing tremors, she clutched onto her cloak of deep violet. Her body ached and her head rang as unwelcome tears burst forth.
For a long, lonely while her only companions in her endless sorrow were the whistling winds and the sardonic howls of predators from afar. How many times would she narrowly escape the end? Would she ever find what she was so desperately, so hopelessly searching for? Ruin was all there was.
Gasping for breath through her sobs, Eve rose from the broken branches. There was no way but forward. Whatever may lie ahead.
Drying her wet cheeks with shaking hands, she walked past what had nearly become her grave. Eve saw that the path ahead was jagged, hostile, foreboding— but there was no other choice. If there was even the smallest chance it could have survived…
“What’s the point? Turn back now, you fool. You stupid, stupid fool.” Her Shadow made itself known again. “You will find nothing but ruin and ash.”
Eve couldn’t bring herself to deny it.
She winced, treading between the sinister trees as its twisting roots reached out to snatch the little strength she had left. At times she wished they would. Eve strained to recall how the forest had once been vibrant and lush, teeming with life. Would she ever see it as it once was?
It no longer mattered. She had to find something, anything that could have been left behind. Eve shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as the cloak gave its little warmth. She dared not stop to build a fire, fearing that the inquisitors would eventually follow her trail. Forced to make do with conjuring small blazes, she chanted one of the few spells she knew and held its feeble fire near.
“Pathetic. Is this all that is left of your great line?”
Eve scowled, watching as her Shadow writhed in its mocking victory over her. She attempted to turn from it, to avert her gaze, but its presence loomed over her relentlessly. It clung to her, clawing its way deep into her fragile mind.
She tried to look away from her Shadow. If she stared for too long, the memories would begin their assault. Her small fire went out as its dark eyes peered back, beckoning her to remember.
She had been lying on her stomach, limbs strapped down and spread apart as holy inscriptions were pierced into her back.
“You are a sinner and a witch,” the inquisitor hissed, placing his hand on the small of her back with a twisted mixture of desire and repulsion. “Since your wretched family is no longer here to carry this weight, you alone shall bear all of it. Let these words on your back,” he trailed a coarse finger over the agonizing marks, “forever remind you of what you really are, of what a witch’s body deserves—”
Eve violently shoved the memory out of her mind. Turning from her Shadow, she got caught in a tangled root beneath her feet and fell hard onto her face.
“Heretic. Witch. Useless whore. Good for nothing. The Morrigans turn over in their graves.”
Eve clenched onto her head of jagged, short hair, screeching back with an animal rage, “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
“You will find nothing but ruin. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Her Shadow’s voice merged with the inquisitor, her mother, her father, as well as her own.
“Shut up! I won’t listen to you,” Eve cried out as she dug her hands into the dirt, clumping up dry leaves in between her fingers. “You are nothing but a curse set upon me!”
“A punishment only too fitting for the likes of you,” her Shadow spat back with utter vitriol.
Yet again, she couldn’t bring herself to deny it. Eve stayed silent for a lingering moment, fighting back her tears. Then, she rose again. It was painstaking and slow, but she rose. She wondered how her legs had not given way underneath, how she managed to keep standing. Would it not have been easier to simply lie on the ground and wait for death to take her?
No. She must keep going, no matter how painful. As the woods darkened into the oppressive night, Eve whispered forth her will to bring out a small, dancing light to lead her way. After walking for what felt like hours, the forest swayed before her. She sensed she was going in a large circle— winding and winding, turning without control, without thought, only to end up where she began. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled against its heaving weight, her Shadow’s cackling fading into the background, the surrounding forest spinning, vanishing…
Swiftly, she caught herself before succumbing to exhaustion, finally seeing her destination out of the corner of her eye. As Ravensong came within view, she gathered all her remaining strength to make the uphill climb towards her ruined ancestral home. A faint smile of relief crept onto her weary face, filling out the gaps of missing stones with the little memory she still carried.
Eve approached the castle entrance, laying a gentle hand over it and lowering her head to offer her doleful prayers much too late. But she mustn’t dwell. Reminded of her purpose, she followed the summoned light in search of the last vestige of knowledge.
As she passed through the devastation left in the Inquisition’s wake, Eve slowly descended the spiral staircase. Her grandfather’s footsteps seemed to echo before her own, just as they did those many years ago, his austere tone of instruction ringing in her mind.
“Magick is a tool of willpower, Eve. It has equal capability to heal as it can destroy.” The Lord of Ravensong stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face his granddaughter. His white eyes looked past her as he spoke, “I have been called the devil’s warlock because of my truesight, and now that you are showing signs of developing it, you must be prepared.”
Dragged back into the present moment, Eve realized she had found it, the castle library. She examined the room before her, lamenting the incinerated shelves that once held generations of wisdom. History, spells, rituals, and myth—now in absolute ruin. Her light hovered near, illuminating every detail as she searched thoroughly for a shred of hope. With a careful precision, Eve sifted through it all, unveiling every hidden corner and lifting the remnants to search underneath.
There was no sign of it to be found anywhere among the ashes. But she wasn’t ready to give up, not after all the time she passed away. No matter how fruitless, how pointless, she had to try. An answer to her pleas came when she found something beneath the wooden debris.
She held her breath and pushed the wood aside. A page corner. Eve lifted it delicately, turning it over in the light. Not one spell. Of course. Undoubtedly, the inquisitors had destroyed everything.
Crawling back into mind, her looming Shadow reemerged, its unsettling laugh raising her hairs on end, “Did I not say that you would find nothing but ruin and ash?”
Eve turned away from its taunting smirk.
“You coward. Can’t face the truth even as it stares you dead in the face? Eve Morrigan, you are a disgrace, even to your wretched bloodline.”
Her eyes glistened with forming tears as she choked them back. Why must she be so weak?
“Magick is a tool of willpower, Eve.” Although faint, she heard her grandfather’s voice echo with his guidance. She must not listen to her dreaded Shadow. Not now.
Eve closed her eyes, and for the first time since she was a young girl, she concentrated on her awakening truesight. It was dull at first, but a misty glow gradually formed at the library’s center.
Whirling like a lively wisp, her dancing light beckoned her forward, reflecting the spark reignited from within. At a glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a stone floor. Focusing again on that glow in the sea of darkness, Eve touched the ground and felt the handle of a trap door. The stone was only an illusion. Opening it with a desperate haste, she stared in astonishment.
Was this nothing but a cruel dream? Had she died in that lonely, desolate forest?
No, this was real. The raven crest of her house flew defiant against a violet sky on the leatherbound cover. She found hundreds of rituals, thousands of spells. This would be far more than enough, perhaps more than she deserved. Closing it shut, she tightly embraced the family grimoire. At least for the time being, her Shadow let her be.
Among the ruin and ash, Eve welcomed the burst of tears at last.
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If you enjoyed this dark fantasy story, check out my other ones:
That needs to be a full novel!!
And wow, this is my first time reading something this magical on this app, and I LOVED it!
You've created such a dark world for Eve to reside in. Fantastic read. The tension and pain inside Eve truly comes to life.