Ep.2 The Blight Queen

A Tale Of Doon

The final moments of daylight bled from the land. Only the still burning structures cast light upon the tiny hamlet. The smoke continued to billow but the fading wind had turned the air to a persistent haze. Vanweath came to her senses, realising she was awake and, more importantly, alive. She must have passed out she realised, the final moments as her end neared seeming now disconnected in time and space. She could smell the smoke yes, but blended with earth, and grass, and blood as her nose breathed in air directly from the ground. She rolled from her face, turned over onto her back, and looked through the haze to the sky as it shifted from a fading sunset in the west to the darkness of night in the east. It all seemed a dream, all too much to comprehend, making no sense how all could be alive and well one day yet burned and sundered the next. She felt numb to the truth, unable to feel the weight of what had transpired, confused at why she was still present and able to think about it at all. She ought to be dead. Perhaps she was. She couldn't tell. She felt dizzy, out of sorts, tired, thirsty, and weak.

Something felt wrong. Vanweath lifted a weak hand to her chest, felt something sticky and warm. She lifted her head, saw her dress torn and black with tar. No, not tar, her hand was red, blood. She blinked her surprise, realised suddenly there was a dull ache in her back and a sharp pain beneath her breast. She was bleeding, and dying, and growing weak as the earth lapped up her spill. Her arm fell back to her side, her head to the grass, and with the sky open before her she was forced to face her imminent demise for the second time that day.

Perhaps it was gallows humor or maybe a growing delirium, but she had to laugh at that. ‘Most people only die once.’ She thought to herself. “Lucky me.” Her vision grew hazy. The fatigue of her body told her it was time to rest. She knew if she did she’d never wake but couldn't find the energy to fight it. Dreams seemed to set in through her waking vision, her body shutting down, her mind setting in to ease her slumber. Above her the sight of a woman appeared, descending through clouds of smoke, illuminated by the warmth of fire. Vanweath smiled at such a happy thought. “An angel.” She muttered and choked a laugh of joy. The death and destruction about her was all forgotten. Only rest, and peace, and the thought of a transcendent comfort filled her now.

Pain gripped Vanweath like a hot poker through her chest. She screamed.

“Wake up!”


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