The Metanoia

[Morgana Faye]

Heaven and Hell
Just This Once
A Lovely Treasure
Essence of Insanity
Survivor's Guilt
Last Encounter

Heaven and Hell

Isabella lifted her head from the washing, wiping the sweat from her brow onto her sleeve. "Auvrea?" she said uncertainly. "Could you give me a hand?"

Auvrea turned from the fireplace where the flames were licking the air, inches away from her. "I wonder, Bella," she said thoughtfully, "if the old myths of burning away mortality are true?"

Tinkling out a beautiful laugh, like the ringing of bells - pardon the pun, Isabella dropped the garments she was supposed to have hung to dry and inquired, "Why do you say something like that?"

Auvrea shrugged, stretching like a cat and yawned. "It would just be nice to know."

Isabella gave her sister a suspicious look, but chose not to say anything. She raked a hand through her mousy brown hair, and continued the job of fanning out the few clothes the family owned to dry without assistance, for Auvrea had already turned her gaze back to the burning fire. She's going to blind herself, she thought reproachfully.

It was in times like this that Isabella wondered if they truly shared a common gene pool. If Isabella was fire, Auvrea was ice. If Isabella was white, then Auvrea was black. If Isabella was heaven, then by god Auvrea would reign hell. The two were as far apart as it was possible for two people to be, let alone siblings. Where Isabella was dignified, pensive, and contemplative, Auvrea was furtive, sharper than a broadsword, and always quick to be defensive. Where Isabella's eyes were kind and compassionate, Auvrea's were scrutinizing and headstrong. There were times when Isabella was sure she was held higher in esteem than her sister, for she was the good daughter, the perfection of what all women and young girls were expected of. But her father had always said Auvrea had more ambition, that she would make something of herself. That she would take life into her own hands instead of letting it fly by.

And as if his words were prophecizing, so a tale of two sisters began to unravel.

Just This Once

They got along fine, of course. Yes, they squabbled as all young girls do, particularly when they reached their teens. They were no less competitive than any other, yet it was a good while before the sibling rivalry turned to spite. Isabella was jealous, for her sister repetitively won their father's praise. She was his favorite, and he never made an effort to hide it. Her mother was neutral, but would never rebuke him at the dinner table.

But ironically, Auvrea was covetous as well, for the town always spoke of how lovely, how quiet but with grace her sister was, how wise, how thoughtful, how they wished they had such a daughter. When they spoke of her, it was of a bad seed, of someone who thought too highly of herself, who rocked the boat too much, who didn't know her place. So though they were cordial with each other, they had never been too close, nor will they ever be.

By the time they were of the age to marry, they had severed all ties with each other. If either of their parents noticed this distancing, the burning of what was meant to be a life-long bridge, they never mentioned it. It got to the point where they had a tacit routine, structured so that they had very little excuse to contact each other.

Each would wake and alternate days of arriving at the table first, but since the second was almost always scolded for tardiness, Auvrea occasionally stepped out of the sequence. They would work alongside their mother, either at the loom, or embroidery, both of which Isabella had much talent in, but they would be silent, conversing in quiet murmuring voices with their mother, Aurelia, in what would appear to be two separate conversations. Auvrea tired of loomwork, of weaving, of sewing and embroidery, and some days, she would neglect to show up, instead sneaking off into the village, leaving Isabella with twice as much to do. It was how the family obtained the necessities of life. Every week, the women of the house would take whatever they had made out into the market-place to sell or barter. The father grew herbs, which he sold at a shop near the house.

Now what Auvrea did when she went out was unbeknownst to Isabella, for she told no one, and it seemed no one bothered to interrogate her. But the days went by and she grew curious, something she could never forgive herself for. "Mother?" she said softly, as she heard the back door close, signaling Auvrea's disappearance again. "Could I go out into the village for the day? Just this once?"

Aurelia lifted her head from the loom, her gold locks cascading down her face, and she raised a crafty brow. "And why is this?"

The talk of the village wasn't just talk. Isabella really was the perfect daughter. And she couldn't lie. "I..." She wrung her hands uselessly. Any excuses Auvrea could have spouted at a whim died at her throat. "I promised to meet..."

But thankfully, Aurelia smiled slightly. "Oh, Isabelle. There isn't a boy, is there?"

Isabella stood, rooted to the spot, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Her voice seemed to have deserted her anyhow. But she nodded slowly, still fighting the urge to laugh. Oh, poor besotted mother. Why throw away an opportunity such as this?

Her mother waved a hand in the direction of the door. "Go ahead. Just this once."

Giving Aurelia a grateful smile, and her heart pounding, she raced out to the back, where, due to the flat landscape, she could see a figure in the distance, with windswept auburn hair and wrapped tightly in a black shawl.

A Lovely Treasure

Isabella ran after her, her skirts tripping her on almost every step as heads turned. It wasn't every day the people saw a young girl running like someone was at her tail. Finally, after quite a long time of trekking, she found Auvrea's destination was the woods just outside the village.

Curiosity rippled through her veins as she followed her sister into the forest thickets, determined not to lose her. She'd come this far. She probably wasn't going to be this lucky again.

~~~

Her heart pounded with excitement as she batted the tree branches out of her way. At long last, after years of wishing, she'd found it. Magic, the key to immortality. The key to power. It was going to be today.

It had begun with a stroke of luck, really. She'd heard tale one day in the market-place of the persecution of a witch. In those days, it was quite normal. People would believe anything. Isabella had laughed at their foolishness, but Auvrea had believed. She had spoken to the witch, Hecate was her name, and found her to be quite omniscient. Unnervingly so.

But much as she hated the horrible hag, from her sullen face obscuring her sunk in eyes to her tangled matted nest of greying hair, Auvrea was willing to put up with her for a little while in order to get what she wanted. She always wore the same dark robes, the color of an especially bad bruise, and her cave was the forerunner of Morgana's Lair in Midnight.

Auvrea had visited often, curious as to the magics in her crystal cave. She would cunningly weed out information from Hecate, the poor hapless woman, but she could never seem to obtain the key to immortality. Until a few days ago.

~~~

Isabella watched in faint horror as the sister she once knew delved deeper into the forest and a cave drew near. "Oh no," she whispered, clutching her skirts tightly. The cave entrance loomed ahead. Isabella thought she saw something glittering beyond. Auvrea stepped into it confidently, and immediately vanished. Not wishing to be left behind, Isabella approached cautiously, to be greeted by a palette of crystals on either side of the cave walls. She stifled a gasp, but found she couldn't continue onward.

"Come now," she chastised herself. "Why are you afraid?" But she was afraid. Her hand had been trembling uncontrollably. She shook her head, and gazed at her reflection in a large smooth crystal, tilting her chin boldly. "If Auvrea can do it so many times, what stops you from doing so just once?" Almost immediately, her resolve returned, and she made her way to the tunnels within, following the faint footsteps of her sister.

She heard a faint voice far off, one that was definitely not Auvrea's, chanting something repetitively, like a mantra.

To deceive or to be deceived
To choose but one which you received
The one with knowledge lies within
Unlocks the veil between hell and heav'n
Leave it be to cause its havoc
Shifting tides, unbalancing others
Heed my word, desert this world
To lavish life's secrets unfurled
To deceive or to be deceived...

She took a step back in alarm. Whatever the disembodied voice was chanting, it frightened her.

"You already told me that, old woman," snapped a familiar voice. Auvrea. "But what does it mean?"

"I only prophecize," the 'old woman' replied haughtily. "I do not interpret. In her mind's eye, Isabella could see her sister's pursed lips, her folded arms, and made her way toward the voices.

Sighing heavily, Auvrea said, "Well to me, it sounds as though the world is going to separate into the good and the evil, and that someone must deceive someone else. But that doesn't really tell me anything."

Isabella inched closer, until she saw a flicker of light. A spherical orb balanced on an oaken table emitted a pale ethereal glow. Beside it sat a middle-aged woman with a sallow face, bony cheeks, and white wisps of hair sprouting out of her head. Auvrea, her gold honey-colored eyes swirled with a strange wild happiness, was standing over the woman's shoulder. A woman, it soon dawned on Isabella, especially upon seeing the mark on her wrist, who was branded as a witch several months ago.

Her mouth formed an O but no sound came out. She was in the presence of a convict. Her mother would be scandalized.

"So," Auvrea pressed on, "this fire you spoke of?"

Essence of Insanity

"I spoke not of fire, dear one," Hecate said with a dramatic sigh. "But of water." She lifted a finger and directed it at an assortment of objects on a shelf, where one small bottle floated down to rest on her palm. The liquid within was of a strange cyan with a pearl-like sheen. Isabella watched, her stomach knotted in dread, as something sinister glinted in Auvrea's eyes.

"No matter," she said dismissively, impatiently holding out her hand, then suddenly withdrawing it as a new thought crossed her mind. "Have you taken this? Why leave it to me? Surely you're not that generous."

To which Hecate replied, "Suspicion does not become you. You will take the drought. I have foreseen it."

It was then that Isabella, in a burst of courage, leaped out from her hiding place. "No, Auvrea!" As she fully entered the lair, she saw panels of crystals, dusty books. It had an unnatural eerie glow, and it terrified her, but she held her ground.

The color Isabella could see drained from Auvrea's face. Her gaze suddenly became jet black as she turned her eyes on her sister, smoldering. It made her cringe, but she stared back defiantly. With tightly pursed lips, Auvrea snarled, "Bella." The two syllables were enough to chill anyone to the bone. She turned back to Hecate, who, it seemed, had a faint knowing smile on her pallid lips. "I really don't want to know."

"This is..." Isabella trailed off. "This is insanity! You can't honestly believe..."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't believe," Auvrea snapped testily. She snatched the glass bottle roughly from Hecate. "You may be the perfect daughter to everyone else, Bella, but we both know what you really are; a coward. I am actually working towards a goal, to fulfill a lifelong dream."

Isabella's eyes flickered to Hecate. "You madwoman!" she exclaimed. "What have you done to my sister? She's completely inhuman."

Auvrea rang out a shrill laugh like a flak attack, so unlike her. "I beg to differ, Miss Isabella," Hecate said evenly with a thin smile. There will come a day when you see. You will have as much power as your sister one day."

The laughter died in Auvrea's throat as her eyes grew malignant. "What? Her?" She pointed a finger at Isabella, as if anyone was in doubt as to who 'her' was. "You're mocking me."

"No," Hecate replied. "Hadn't you heard the prophecy?"

"But I..."

Isabella remembered. The one with knowledge lies within. Unlocks the veil between Hell and Heav'n. She looked up at Auvrea, fingering the sleeves of her dress nervously. "Please...Think what mother and father would say."

Casting her and the witch a withering look, she said stonily, "I couldn't care less what they think. They haven't given me anything I couldn't have gotten for myself." She then uncorked the bottle with a grunt, peered down at the sloshing substance inside, and with a sneer at her sister, downed it all in one gulp.

The transformation was phenomenal. Hecate seemed to be peering at Auvrea with an observant look as her eyes suddenly grew dark and stone cold. Her hair, became streaked with black like tar. Then small things began to occur, such as her bones becoming more prominent, her face more refined and less young. No longer innocent. She grew a couple inches taller as well, and the energy she exuded...was pure, uncontainable evil.

"How do you feel, child?"

When Auvrea spoke, her voice had no hints of being a child, nor did her tone. "Wonderful." She turned on Isabella, a strange dark cloud clinging to her form. It was then that Isabella knew to run.

Survivor's Guilt

It almost killed her to return home, to pretend to know nothing of Auvrea's disappearance. For she did never come back. Sometimes Isabella wondered if she could have convinced her to stay, to reverse things. In those few months, none of the family knew what she'd been doing. Now Isabella does, and now it was too late.

She forged a note, however, so her parents wouldn't be too alarmed, in Auvrea's name, saying she'd gone to find a better life, in a place less rural, with nothing to tie her down. It was what Isabella felt she would have said if she'd cared enough to say anything. She never did marry.

She did feel guilt, however. Maybe if she'd been the noble one and dismissed the competition rising between them, things would have been different. Yet even though she knew what she'd done wrong, she was wiling to make the same mistake. She did question, she did wonder, but she never sought the answers. No. They would come to her, in another few centuries.

Last Encounter

She stretched those celestial wings, feeling the lightness of the air envelope them, weave through the feathers, allowing her to stay airborne. Her face seemed to be glowing, her skin smooth, soft, eyes gentle, loving, wise, kind. Yet she was being sent on a drastically dark mission.

Apparently, the demon master had been overthrown. He'd been giving the angels a bit of trouble for a while, from the break-in a few decades ago that slaughtered dozens of familiars to the degrading fireworks display during their annual ceremony. But the angels were still apprehensive. These demons were not settling into anarchy, breaking into small groups, severing ties with each other, erupting into chaos and disorder.

The leader of the demons had been overthrown by someone else who wanted his position. Someone with more radical ideas, more refined forms of cruelty. More danger on the way.

As she neared the dirt road leading to the forest, she could feel the weight on her wings. There was also the sound of cackling, jeering, thick in the night air. Taking a deep breath, she dived into the thickets.

The forest was shrouded in darkness, yet lit with blazing torches of fire. If that came in contact with her skin, she hated to know what it would do. The talk and laughter quieted significantly, however, when the demons noted a stranger in their midst. She could see their faces now, a type of wild excitement that both fascinated and horrified her at once. It reminded her of someone...someone who by now, was probably one of them.

There was a mass of them, a large gathering, and as they whispered, she noticed they parted, so she could enter through them, on foot. There was a glint of anticipation in their eyes that she didn't take as good news.

Walking, slowly, she kept her eyes focused on the figure ahead, who stood nonchalantly, like a cat just waiting for the mouse to get a little bit closer before she pounced.

"Has no one told you?" she sneered when Isabella reached her. "This is private territory." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "State your name and purpose," she spat.

"I was sent," Isabella said calmly, steel in her blue eyes. "After all, I'd heard a new ruler rose to the festering throne."

"Well how very kind of you," the demon said in sultry tones while the others hissed at this insult. "But we don't need our feathered friends to babysit us, I assure you. We can very well take care of ourselves, Isabella."

The last word shook her, causing her to take a step back. She peered into the demon's eyes, looked at her for the first time. "No..." she breathed. "Auvrea."

Auvrea's eyes showed a hint of the old annoyance. "I shed that name millenniums ago," she said sharply. Isabella studied her carefully. It was irksome to say that her sister truly was beautiful. In that dark and terrifying way. Her hair was now jet black, no more of the honey gold Isabella once knew. Her bones were brittle, and looked frightfully strong. Her face was longer, flawless yet harsh and petrifying.

But Isabella wasn't afraid anymore. "Ashamed?" she asked. "Unwilling to keep the one thing your mother and father left you?" She smirked. You never mentioned a demon's family.

One such creature stepped out of line, uncertainly. "Morgana?"

Auvrea waved a hand, dismissing him. Ignoring Isabella's jibes, she said instead, "I'm not the least surprised you became an angel." She spat the word like acid. "Those celestials know exactly what they're doing." She took a step closer. "But sending you down here was a very grievous mistake."

Isabella was starting to think so too. "I'll take that as a compliment then, dear sister."

"Yes, you should," Auvrea agreed. "They don't come easy nowadays, do they, Bella?"

She recoiled. "Don't call me Bella," she snapped in a very un-angelic fashion. "You forget what Hecate once said." The memories were returning now, each more vivid than the next. "If you could rise to power in a group of amateurs like them, then I suppose my position up there is in the bag."

"Hecate's foolishness never ceased to amaze me," Auvrea replied coolly. "If you want to believe that, then it's your funeral."

But Isabella did.[/font]

^{Note that this is not known to a single soul other than the sisters themselves - anyone with even a hint of finding this darkest secret shall be engulfed in flames. Which is exactly why it's being displayed to the public. *cough*}[/font][/sup]