Everything Was Blue

The biting cold of stone against your bare skin was the first sensation, followed by a hollow ache in your exposed body. A rough, light material offered meager comfort against the chill, yet tendrils, like a living shroud, snaked around you, holding your eyes shut. Where was this? Who were you? A frantic whisper in the air: "The tree was split, my Lord! It warped around her like she was a part of it. Vines and roots encompassed her."

Panic surged, but you remained still, straining to catch every word. Another voice, deep and authoritative, cut through the murmurs: "No one thought to check for the mark of her clan?" A huff of frustration, "They conceal her eyes, none of us were able to remove them for long enough to catch a glimpse of the color of her iris. They just keep growing back."

Relief, fleeting and fragile, washed over you. The tendrils, no longer constricting, became a shield against the palpable anger in the air. You needed all the protection you could get. Then, the authoritative voice, now softer, contemplating: "Could she be an aliturae?" A rush of murmurs, excitement building. You knew of aliturae – selfless, nurturing beings. If that was you, you might be safe.

But a new voice, smooth and commanding, shattered the illusion: "She is no Messi." The chamber fell silent, hanging on his words. He knew you were awake. He knew you were calculating. And in that moment, you knew you weren't an aliturae. With a surge of defiance, you cracked open your eyes.