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Two weeks felt like two years. The six year old child sat huddled in a corner. She had never stopped crying. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who these people were. Issa one day found her parents dead, and this woman came and took her away. She talked on and on about how she was kidnapped, how she hit her head swimming in the Nile with her brother. But that wasn’t true. Issa didn’t have a brother. And she wasn’t named Kesi, which she tried telling this woman over and over again.
But she didn’t listen, nor did the boy. Amenemhat they called him. Neither listened when she pleaded that she was Issa. She wanted her mommy. She wanted her daddy. Her mommy would read her stories every night, and her daddy would take her to the market to work with him on Sunday. He would always reward her with a peach. That was their favorite fruit. He would hold her hand and they would sit by the docks in Alexandria and watch the boats go by. They wouldn’t leave until Issa ate her whole fruit. Peaches were sweet, just like his baby girl. And then she would climb on her daddy’s back and he would carry her all the way home.
Every night she slept she would dream of these moments. She’d hear her mother’s stories, feel her father’s warmth, and taste the peach upon her lips. But then she would awake and see an unfamiliar room. It was filled with child things that were unrecognizable. They were of higher quality than Issa was used to, but that didn’t matter to her. She wanted her toy from back home. She wanted the blanket her mother made and the doll that her father traded for. She wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare back home where it was safe.
The tears never ended. As time continued to pass the child just sobbed in the corner of her room. She did not play with the toys available to her. She did not run about and imagine like a child would normally do. Issa was beginning to lose her fight though. In the beginning Issa would try to run, try to break down the door, try to do anything to escape. When the woman came to feed or bathe her, she would try to burst her way through. She almost succeeded once or twice before the child became predictable. It was the boy who stopped her. Always the boy.
She hated that boy. He was not her brother. He was another monster. How could another child see this and allow it to happen? She hated Amenemhat with every fiber in her being. It was an odd thing to feel so much hate. She was six, a child should not know the word. But that cold, hard feeling inside her could be described as nothing else. She did not wish him dead, Issa was no violent being, but she did wish him gone. The woman too. They were evil. They were the bad guys in the stories her mother told. Issa wished they would just disappear.
When the second week hit and the attempts all resulted in failures, the fight drained from the child. The woman would come in and give her food. She would then bring a pot filled with water and a small rag, washing the girl. Issa no longer tried to run at this. Her grip was so tight. She just cried and looked forward, allowing the lady to do what she wished. She would ignore her talking, it didn’t matter. She was spewing lies. She was trying to confuse Issa.
She. Was. Not. Kesi.
The day started as it always did. The woman, the girl who kept insisting she was her mother, came in. She gave her the food and bathed her, then she would leave. Occasionally Issa would see glimpses of the boy through the crack of the door. When Issa quieted her tears enough she would look through it. Sometimes he walked past. She would try to listen to the conversations the pair had, though it was muffled. Issa could have swore that she heard the woman fret about the crying, wondering if she was still in pain from the river. But that could have been Issa imagining things. Everything was so confusing.
This day was different than the rest. While she was sniffling, her crying still able to be heard, the door opened from further in the house. Issa could hear a man’s voice. Hope, for the first time in weeks, sprung into her heart. She pounded against the door sobbing for help. Her little fists beat against it as hard as she could.
There was a conversation being had, but Issa couldn’t hear it. She was shouting and crying, pleading to be let go. Suddenly there was silence. Issa sniffled and moved back from the door. It suddenly opened and a big man stood before her. A shout of pain escaped the child’s lips as the man pulled her onto her feet. He looked at her with such a cold gaze filled with disgust and anger. He said two words, “Quiet, Kesi.” before his hand slammed against her face, sending her back to the ground.
Her cheek stung. She looked back up the man with wide, terrified eyes. “I’m not Kes-”
Her words were cut off when a swift kick to the stomach hit her. She felt the breath knock out of her, and the child gasped for breath. “I said quiet, daughter.” He snarled at her, once again picking the child up by the hair.
She was screaming, sobbing thrashing. She tried to bite the man’s grasp but he only dragged her out of the room for the first time in weeks. He brought her to another room where the boy sat. He shoved Issa to the ground, her knee scraping on the floor. Issa was already a mess, with some blood running down her knee, and her cheek and likely stomach bruised.
“Impress me, boy.” Was all the man snapped before leaving the two alone in the room.
Issa sobbed. She felt her body curl up into itself. “I’m not Kesi.” She whispered to the boy, the tears cascading down her cheeks one after another. “I’m not Kesi. I j-ju-just want my m-mommy and d-daddy. I want to go h-home. P-please let me go home. Please…”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Two weeks felt like two years. The six year old child sat huddled in a corner. She had never stopped crying. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who these people were. Issa one day found her parents dead, and this woman came and took her away. She talked on and on about how she was kidnapped, how she hit her head swimming in the Nile with her brother. But that wasn’t true. Issa didn’t have a brother. And she wasn’t named Kesi, which she tried telling this woman over and over again.
But she didn’t listen, nor did the boy. Amenemhat they called him. Neither listened when she pleaded that she was Issa. She wanted her mommy. She wanted her daddy. Her mommy would read her stories every night, and her daddy would take her to the market to work with him on Sunday. He would always reward her with a peach. That was their favorite fruit. He would hold her hand and they would sit by the docks in Alexandria and watch the boats go by. They wouldn’t leave until Issa ate her whole fruit. Peaches were sweet, just like his baby girl. And then she would climb on her daddy’s back and he would carry her all the way home.
Every night she slept she would dream of these moments. She’d hear her mother’s stories, feel her father’s warmth, and taste the peach upon her lips. But then she would awake and see an unfamiliar room. It was filled with child things that were unrecognizable. They were of higher quality than Issa was used to, but that didn’t matter to her. She wanted her toy from back home. She wanted the blanket her mother made and the doll that her father traded for. She wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare back home where it was safe.
The tears never ended. As time continued to pass the child just sobbed in the corner of her room. She did not play with the toys available to her. She did not run about and imagine like a child would normally do. Issa was beginning to lose her fight though. In the beginning Issa would try to run, try to break down the door, try to do anything to escape. When the woman came to feed or bathe her, she would try to burst her way through. She almost succeeded once or twice before the child became predictable. It was the boy who stopped her. Always the boy.
She hated that boy. He was not her brother. He was another monster. How could another child see this and allow it to happen? She hated Amenemhat with every fiber in her being. It was an odd thing to feel so much hate. She was six, a child should not know the word. But that cold, hard feeling inside her could be described as nothing else. She did not wish him dead, Issa was no violent being, but she did wish him gone. The woman too. They were evil. They were the bad guys in the stories her mother told. Issa wished they would just disappear.
When the second week hit and the attempts all resulted in failures, the fight drained from the child. The woman would come in and give her food. She would then bring a pot filled with water and a small rag, washing the girl. Issa no longer tried to run at this. Her grip was so tight. She just cried and looked forward, allowing the lady to do what she wished. She would ignore her talking, it didn’t matter. She was spewing lies. She was trying to confuse Issa.
She. Was. Not. Kesi.
The day started as it always did. The woman, the girl who kept insisting she was her mother, came in. She gave her the food and bathed her, then she would leave. Occasionally Issa would see glimpses of the boy through the crack of the door. When Issa quieted her tears enough she would look through it. Sometimes he walked past. She would try to listen to the conversations the pair had, though it was muffled. Issa could have swore that she heard the woman fret about the crying, wondering if she was still in pain from the river. But that could have been Issa imagining things. Everything was so confusing.
This day was different than the rest. While she was sniffling, her crying still able to be heard, the door opened from further in the house. Issa could hear a man’s voice. Hope, for the first time in weeks, sprung into her heart. She pounded against the door sobbing for help. Her little fists beat against it as hard as she could.
There was a conversation being had, but Issa couldn’t hear it. She was shouting and crying, pleading to be let go. Suddenly there was silence. Issa sniffled and moved back from the door. It suddenly opened and a big man stood before her. A shout of pain escaped the child’s lips as the man pulled her onto her feet. He looked at her with such a cold gaze filled with disgust and anger. He said two words, “Quiet, Kesi.” before his hand slammed against her face, sending her back to the ground.
Her cheek stung. She looked back up the man with wide, terrified eyes. “I’m not Kes-”
Her words were cut off when a swift kick to the stomach hit her. She felt the breath knock out of her, and the child gasped for breath. “I said quiet, daughter.” He snarled at her, once again picking the child up by the hair.
She was screaming, sobbing thrashing. She tried to bite the man’s grasp but he only dragged her out of the room for the first time in weeks. He brought her to another room where the boy sat. He shoved Issa to the ground, her knee scraping on the floor. Issa was already a mess, with some blood running down her knee, and her cheek and likely stomach bruised.
“Impress me, boy.” Was all the man snapped before leaving the two alone in the room.
Issa sobbed. She felt her body curl up into itself. “I’m not Kesi.” She whispered to the boy, the tears cascading down her cheeks one after another. “I’m not Kesi. I j-ju-just want my m-mommy and d-daddy. I want to go h-home. P-please let me go home. Please…”
Two weeks felt like two years. The six year old child sat huddled in a corner. She had never stopped crying. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who these people were. Issa one day found her parents dead, and this woman came and took her away. She talked on and on about how she was kidnapped, how she hit her head swimming in the Nile with her brother. But that wasn’t true. Issa didn’t have a brother. And she wasn’t named Kesi, which she tried telling this woman over and over again.
But she didn’t listen, nor did the boy. Amenemhat they called him. Neither listened when she pleaded that she was Issa. She wanted her mommy. She wanted her daddy. Her mommy would read her stories every night, and her daddy would take her to the market to work with him on Sunday. He would always reward her with a peach. That was their favorite fruit. He would hold her hand and they would sit by the docks in Alexandria and watch the boats go by. They wouldn’t leave until Issa ate her whole fruit. Peaches were sweet, just like his baby girl. And then she would climb on her daddy’s back and he would carry her all the way home.
Every night she slept she would dream of these moments. She’d hear her mother’s stories, feel her father’s warmth, and taste the peach upon her lips. But then she would awake and see an unfamiliar room. It was filled with child things that were unrecognizable. They were of higher quality than Issa was used to, but that didn’t matter to her. She wanted her toy from back home. She wanted the blanket her mother made and the doll that her father traded for. She wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare back home where it was safe.
The tears never ended. As time continued to pass the child just sobbed in the corner of her room. She did not play with the toys available to her. She did not run about and imagine like a child would normally do. Issa was beginning to lose her fight though. In the beginning Issa would try to run, try to break down the door, try to do anything to escape. When the woman came to feed or bathe her, she would try to burst her way through. She almost succeeded once or twice before the child became predictable. It was the boy who stopped her. Always the boy.
She hated that boy. He was not her brother. He was another monster. How could another child see this and allow it to happen? She hated Amenemhat with every fiber in her being. It was an odd thing to feel so much hate. She was six, a child should not know the word. But that cold, hard feeling inside her could be described as nothing else. She did not wish him dead, Issa was no violent being, but she did wish him gone. The woman too. They were evil. They were the bad guys in the stories her mother told. Issa wished they would just disappear.
When the second week hit and the attempts all resulted in failures, the fight drained from the child. The woman would come in and give her food. She would then bring a pot filled with water and a small rag, washing the girl. Issa no longer tried to run at this. Her grip was so tight. She just cried and looked forward, allowing the lady to do what she wished. She would ignore her talking, it didn’t matter. She was spewing lies. She was trying to confuse Issa.
She. Was. Not. Kesi.
The day started as it always did. The woman, the girl who kept insisting she was her mother, came in. She gave her the food and bathed her, then she would leave. Occasionally Issa would see glimpses of the boy through the crack of the door. When Issa quieted her tears enough she would look through it. Sometimes he walked past. She would try to listen to the conversations the pair had, though it was muffled. Issa could have swore that she heard the woman fret about the crying, wondering if she was still in pain from the river. But that could have been Issa imagining things. Everything was so confusing.
This day was different than the rest. While she was sniffling, her crying still able to be heard, the door opened from further in the house. Issa could hear a man’s voice. Hope, for the first time in weeks, sprung into her heart. She pounded against the door sobbing for help. Her little fists beat against it as hard as she could.
There was a conversation being had, but Issa couldn’t hear it. She was shouting and crying, pleading to be let go. Suddenly there was silence. Issa sniffled and moved back from the door. It suddenly opened and a big man stood before her. A shout of pain escaped the child’s lips as the man pulled her onto her feet. He looked at her with such a cold gaze filled with disgust and anger. He said two words, “Quiet, Kesi.” before his hand slammed against her face, sending her back to the ground.
Her cheek stung. She looked back up the man with wide, terrified eyes. “I’m not Kes-”
Her words were cut off when a swift kick to the stomach hit her. She felt the breath knock out of her, and the child gasped for breath. “I said quiet, daughter.” He snarled at her, once again picking the child up by the hair.
She was screaming, sobbing thrashing. She tried to bite the man’s grasp but he only dragged her out of the room for the first time in weeks. He brought her to another room where the boy sat. He shoved Issa to the ground, her knee scraping on the floor. Issa was already a mess, with some blood running down her knee, and her cheek and likely stomach bruised.
“Impress me, boy.” Was all the man snapped before leaving the two alone in the room.
Issa sobbed. She felt her body curl up into itself. “I’m not Kesi.” She whispered to the boy, the tears cascading down her cheeks one after another. “I’m not Kesi. I j-ju-just want my m-mommy and d-daddy. I want to go h-home. P-please let me go home. Please…”
It'd been six weeks since Amenemhat's world was torn asunder. Kesi was the center of that world, the young girl that acted as his audience, that gave him a dazzling review and offered him praise for the fantasy shows he drafted up for them. Nem had a vision for his future, a future where the circus was his world and his mother and sister could leave these awful cities with their stuffy windows and terrible children behind. He reveled in the fantasies and shared them so ardently with Kesi, daydreaming with her as they carved pictures of the Tempest of Set into the ground, as they learned to juggle together. They'd worked together on creating outfits for him to wear, then asked mother to sew them into reality before dressing up...
Now, she was gone, and there was an impostor wearing her clothes.
Mother had gone missing for the first few nights after Kesi had died. Tended to by the house slave and assured constantly that Layla would be back for him, Nem tried and tried to find tears for the sister that he'd lost. But, they never fell. The devastation he felt was kept entirely within, a maelstrom that pushed him deeper into the fantasy of his future than ever before. He wanted to believe what his mother did, that Kesi had simply gone missing. But, he'd seen her pulled away with his own eyes, he'd felt his throat go hoarse with his screams as the distant sound of hers broke with the impact against the rocks. He saw her inert body wash away past those rocks.
He never saw Kesi again. This girl, this Issa, whom he was forced to call by his sister's name was a facsimile, a doppelganger.
Papa locked mama into the other room before explaining to him what he was meant to do. Amenemhat listened and felt... nothing. He simply looked at his father with void in his gaze, amber hues drinking in the shift in the man's expression, at the exasperation in the man's eyes before he walked away. Nem, once he was alone, opened up the book to the pages he was told. He read and read, and still... nothingness was what was felt as the reality of the situation settled on him.
He could hear the muffled knocks on the door and her wails to see her daughter again. He could hear papa's insistence that what needed to be done was being done. He heard the sound of the girl shouting next, crying just like mama did in the distance. A cold sense of dread accompanied the shift as he heard her voice grow louder and the sound of hand and foot hitting soft flesh.
"Impress me, boy."
All that his father said to him after the explanation. There was no elaboration as to why this was necessary, why what needed to follow was the proper course of action. But, Amenemhat knew. He'd read it in the margins of the notes he was given. Amenhatep, his grandfather, detailed every bit of his findings and exactly what buttons to push in order to achieve the desired result.
The Tempest of Set runs on sweat, tears and gold. The sweat of the performers and the labourer slaves. The tears of the broken souls that go through the process of indoctrination. The gold of the patronage who remain blissfully ignorant, marveling at the entropy that masquerades as entertainment.
Amenemhat heard the girl Issa's complaints, but there was nothing that drew him towards her to comfort her. He felt hollow as he looked to see Kesi's face with a different voice, a slight difference in the colours of her skin. This girl was outside more than Kesi had been, exposed more to the sun and the beating heart of the city. He wondered if she had friends, if she still had anyone that loved her left in the world. He wondered, because granpapa explained in his writings that the longer those connections remained established, the harder they would fight the treatment and the more doses that needed to be administered.
She lacked any sort of physical fight. It seemed that the beating had knocked it out of her. Or maybe it was mama's treatment, her tough hand keeping the impostor-Kesi in place every day as she washed her, combed her hair, treated her like the little princess with an injured brain that Layla thought her to be. He tilted his head towards her as he ignited the coals, remaining silent as the clay vase above it heated little by little. Amenemhat brought his fake sister to her feet, pushing her towards the coal-encrusted tray and the vase that held the opium on it.
Place the doses inside of a bottle necked vase and force the subject's mouth over it. Plug up their nose and make them breathe in the dose in its entirely. Do not relent.
Amenemhat would listen to granpapa's instructions, because he knew better than Nem how to secure the future. If the fantasies that he played out were born from following these demands to the letter... then he was obligated to comply. Not by his father. Not by his grandfather. But because Amenemhat of Alexandria would rule over the circus and make his fantasies become his reality.
"Shut up," he said to her finally, letting his hand settle at the base of her skull. A diagram showed him exactly how to position his palm, and a sharp memory ensured his accuracy in the matter. As the vase was fully heated, he could see the first wisps of smoke rise from it.
"Open your mouth, Kesi," he said, insisting on using the name given to her by mama as he pushed the neck of the vase against her lips. With his free hand, he reached around her shoulders and plugged her nostrils with his index finger and his thumb.
"Breathe," he instructed her, letting his tones simmer to a whisper.
"Breathe and let everything else go away, Kesi. Focus your mind on the sound of my voice."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It'd been six weeks since Amenemhat's world was torn asunder. Kesi was the center of that world, the young girl that acted as his audience, that gave him a dazzling review and offered him praise for the fantasy shows he drafted up for them. Nem had a vision for his future, a future where the circus was his world and his mother and sister could leave these awful cities with their stuffy windows and terrible children behind. He reveled in the fantasies and shared them so ardently with Kesi, daydreaming with her as they carved pictures of the Tempest of Set into the ground, as they learned to juggle together. They'd worked together on creating outfits for him to wear, then asked mother to sew them into reality before dressing up...
Now, she was gone, and there was an impostor wearing her clothes.
Mother had gone missing for the first few nights after Kesi had died. Tended to by the house slave and assured constantly that Layla would be back for him, Nem tried and tried to find tears for the sister that he'd lost. But, they never fell. The devastation he felt was kept entirely within, a maelstrom that pushed him deeper into the fantasy of his future than ever before. He wanted to believe what his mother did, that Kesi had simply gone missing. But, he'd seen her pulled away with his own eyes, he'd felt his throat go hoarse with his screams as the distant sound of hers broke with the impact against the rocks. He saw her inert body wash away past those rocks.
He never saw Kesi again. This girl, this Issa, whom he was forced to call by his sister's name was a facsimile, a doppelganger.
Papa locked mama into the other room before explaining to him what he was meant to do. Amenemhat listened and felt... nothing. He simply looked at his father with void in his gaze, amber hues drinking in the shift in the man's expression, at the exasperation in the man's eyes before he walked away. Nem, once he was alone, opened up the book to the pages he was told. He read and read, and still... nothingness was what was felt as the reality of the situation settled on him.
He could hear the muffled knocks on the door and her wails to see her daughter again. He could hear papa's insistence that what needed to be done was being done. He heard the sound of the girl shouting next, crying just like mama did in the distance. A cold sense of dread accompanied the shift as he heard her voice grow louder and the sound of hand and foot hitting soft flesh.
"Impress me, boy."
All that his father said to him after the explanation. There was no elaboration as to why this was necessary, why what needed to follow was the proper course of action. But, Amenemhat knew. He'd read it in the margins of the notes he was given. Amenhatep, his grandfather, detailed every bit of his findings and exactly what buttons to push in order to achieve the desired result.
The Tempest of Set runs on sweat, tears and gold. The sweat of the performers and the labourer slaves. The tears of the broken souls that go through the process of indoctrination. The gold of the patronage who remain blissfully ignorant, marveling at the entropy that masquerades as entertainment.
Amenemhat heard the girl Issa's complaints, but there was nothing that drew him towards her to comfort her. He felt hollow as he looked to see Kesi's face with a different voice, a slight difference in the colours of her skin. This girl was outside more than Kesi had been, exposed more to the sun and the beating heart of the city. He wondered if she had friends, if she still had anyone that loved her left in the world. He wondered, because granpapa explained in his writings that the longer those connections remained established, the harder they would fight the treatment and the more doses that needed to be administered.
She lacked any sort of physical fight. It seemed that the beating had knocked it out of her. Or maybe it was mama's treatment, her tough hand keeping the impostor-Kesi in place every day as she washed her, combed her hair, treated her like the little princess with an injured brain that Layla thought her to be. He tilted his head towards her as he ignited the coals, remaining silent as the clay vase above it heated little by little. Amenemhat brought his fake sister to her feet, pushing her towards the coal-encrusted tray and the vase that held the opium on it.
Place the doses inside of a bottle necked vase and force the subject's mouth over it. Plug up their nose and make them breathe in the dose in its entirely. Do not relent.
Amenemhat would listen to granpapa's instructions, because he knew better than Nem how to secure the future. If the fantasies that he played out were born from following these demands to the letter... then he was obligated to comply. Not by his father. Not by his grandfather. But because Amenemhat of Alexandria would rule over the circus and make his fantasies become his reality.
"Shut up," he said to her finally, letting his hand settle at the base of her skull. A diagram showed him exactly how to position his palm, and a sharp memory ensured his accuracy in the matter. As the vase was fully heated, he could see the first wisps of smoke rise from it.
"Open your mouth, Kesi," he said, insisting on using the name given to her by mama as he pushed the neck of the vase against her lips. With his free hand, he reached around her shoulders and plugged her nostrils with his index finger and his thumb.
"Breathe," he instructed her, letting his tones simmer to a whisper.
"Breathe and let everything else go away, Kesi. Focus your mind on the sound of my voice."
It'd been six weeks since Amenemhat's world was torn asunder. Kesi was the center of that world, the young girl that acted as his audience, that gave him a dazzling review and offered him praise for the fantasy shows he drafted up for them. Nem had a vision for his future, a future where the circus was his world and his mother and sister could leave these awful cities with their stuffy windows and terrible children behind. He reveled in the fantasies and shared them so ardently with Kesi, daydreaming with her as they carved pictures of the Tempest of Set into the ground, as they learned to juggle together. They'd worked together on creating outfits for him to wear, then asked mother to sew them into reality before dressing up...
Now, she was gone, and there was an impostor wearing her clothes.
Mother had gone missing for the first few nights after Kesi had died. Tended to by the house slave and assured constantly that Layla would be back for him, Nem tried and tried to find tears for the sister that he'd lost. But, they never fell. The devastation he felt was kept entirely within, a maelstrom that pushed him deeper into the fantasy of his future than ever before. He wanted to believe what his mother did, that Kesi had simply gone missing. But, he'd seen her pulled away with his own eyes, he'd felt his throat go hoarse with his screams as the distant sound of hers broke with the impact against the rocks. He saw her inert body wash away past those rocks.
He never saw Kesi again. This girl, this Issa, whom he was forced to call by his sister's name was a facsimile, a doppelganger.
Papa locked mama into the other room before explaining to him what he was meant to do. Amenemhat listened and felt... nothing. He simply looked at his father with void in his gaze, amber hues drinking in the shift in the man's expression, at the exasperation in the man's eyes before he walked away. Nem, once he was alone, opened up the book to the pages he was told. He read and read, and still... nothingness was what was felt as the reality of the situation settled on him.
He could hear the muffled knocks on the door and her wails to see her daughter again. He could hear papa's insistence that what needed to be done was being done. He heard the sound of the girl shouting next, crying just like mama did in the distance. A cold sense of dread accompanied the shift as he heard her voice grow louder and the sound of hand and foot hitting soft flesh.
"Impress me, boy."
All that his father said to him after the explanation. There was no elaboration as to why this was necessary, why what needed to follow was the proper course of action. But, Amenemhat knew. He'd read it in the margins of the notes he was given. Amenhatep, his grandfather, detailed every bit of his findings and exactly what buttons to push in order to achieve the desired result.
The Tempest of Set runs on sweat, tears and gold. The sweat of the performers and the labourer slaves. The tears of the broken souls that go through the process of indoctrination. The gold of the patronage who remain blissfully ignorant, marveling at the entropy that masquerades as entertainment.
Amenemhat heard the girl Issa's complaints, but there was nothing that drew him towards her to comfort her. He felt hollow as he looked to see Kesi's face with a different voice, a slight difference in the colours of her skin. This girl was outside more than Kesi had been, exposed more to the sun and the beating heart of the city. He wondered if she had friends, if she still had anyone that loved her left in the world. He wondered, because granpapa explained in his writings that the longer those connections remained established, the harder they would fight the treatment and the more doses that needed to be administered.
She lacked any sort of physical fight. It seemed that the beating had knocked it out of her. Or maybe it was mama's treatment, her tough hand keeping the impostor-Kesi in place every day as she washed her, combed her hair, treated her like the little princess with an injured brain that Layla thought her to be. He tilted his head towards her as he ignited the coals, remaining silent as the clay vase above it heated little by little. Amenemhat brought his fake sister to her feet, pushing her towards the coal-encrusted tray and the vase that held the opium on it.
Place the doses inside of a bottle necked vase and force the subject's mouth over it. Plug up their nose and make them breathe in the dose in its entirely. Do not relent.
Amenemhat would listen to granpapa's instructions, because he knew better than Nem how to secure the future. If the fantasies that he played out were born from following these demands to the letter... then he was obligated to comply. Not by his father. Not by his grandfather. But because Amenemhat of Alexandria would rule over the circus and make his fantasies become his reality.
"Shut up," he said to her finally, letting his hand settle at the base of her skull. A diagram showed him exactly how to position his palm, and a sharp memory ensured his accuracy in the matter. As the vase was fully heated, he could see the first wisps of smoke rise from it.
"Open your mouth, Kesi," he said, insisting on using the name given to her by mama as he pushed the neck of the vase against her lips. With his free hand, he reached around her shoulders and plugged her nostrils with his index finger and his thumb.
"Breathe," he instructed her, letting his tones simmer to a whisper.
"Breathe and let everything else go away, Kesi. Focus your mind on the sound of my voice."
The boy was acting strangely and Issa felt scared. He wasn’t talking to her and he had the blankest of stares. He was lighting coals, but for what reason? Was he cooking something? Issa didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to know. She just wanted to run away. She wanted to be away from these crazy, scary people.
Bu then the boy finally spoke. He dragged her from her position just as his father did. And he moved her towards the vase. She didn’t resist much. She was in pain and the boy was much bigger than she was. Before Issa could understand what was going on, she was pushed to it by his strong hand, her lips pressing to the neck.
And then he closed her nose. Now was when Kesi truly tried to struggle. She pushed back against the child, trying her hardest to squirm. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t know what this was, and why he was doing this. She held her breath until her chest felt it was in flame and her face turned red. Eventually, her struggles ended, and her body forced her to take that dreaded breath.
All at once, the opium entered her lungs. It took a moment, but a wave of dizziness washed over the child. Her knees crashed to the ground and she blinked with dilated pupils. Her vision twisted and turned. She tried blinking, but the swirling did not stop.
And there were colors that surrounded her. Issa’s hand reached out towards the colors. A giggle escaped her lips. They were… beautiful.
Focus your mind on the sound of my voice.
Where was this voice? She looked left, she looked right. Issa stood up from the ground. And that’s when she saw the voice. The smile disappeared from her lips.
“Daddy?” She whispered. She took a step forward, stumbling. “Daddy, you brought peaches?”
The man did not hold peaches, but they seemed to just… float around him. Issa wanted peaches. She missed them. She wanted the peaches so bad.
Issa continued to walk towards her father, tripping over her own feet. Her hands reached towards nothing, and she crashed to the floor again. But it didn’t hurt this time. She felt nothing. Issa was floating. The child sat again, giggling at the air. The giggling turned into outright laughter. “Peaches! I love peaches, daddy! I missed them. They’re so yummy. They’re sweet, just like your little girl!” She quoted her father. She wanted on his back. She needed on his back.
Issa looked around, and suddenly the world around her shifted again. The smile once again faded. She saw her mommy. She was sleeping but… blood was around her. Issa screamed.
She looked wildly around. Where was the voice? Where was her daddy? Her eyes were wide. She didn’t have the voice to guide her. She didn’t have her daddy. She was alone. She was scared.
Her heart felt like it was exploding. The little girl gripped her chest. Her breathing quickened. Faster and faster. She was hyperventilating. “M-m-mommy is d-de-dead. D-da-daddy where are you?”
She felt sick. She didn’t know where daddy was. Everywhere she turned she saw her dead mother. She was dizzy, she was confused. She was scared and she was hurt. The girl began to cry again, the breathing continuing at it’s fast pace. She needed direction. She was lost.
And then she saw him again. The bad man. The man who hit her, and kicked her. Issa shrieked again and crouched on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” She whispered over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She rocked back and forth, arms tight against her ears and hands knit behind her head. Even with her eyes closed, she saw him. He was close, he was close. “I’m Issa, I’m Issa, I’m Issa.”
Her voice was so weak, so pathetic, so broken. The child whimpered, cringing as the man got near. She tried to turn away from him, preparing for a hit that was bound to come. The pain would follow after. Issa’s life was only pain now.
“Daddy, save me!”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The boy was acting strangely and Issa felt scared. He wasn’t talking to her and he had the blankest of stares. He was lighting coals, but for what reason? Was he cooking something? Issa didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to know. She just wanted to run away. She wanted to be away from these crazy, scary people.
Bu then the boy finally spoke. He dragged her from her position just as his father did. And he moved her towards the vase. She didn’t resist much. She was in pain and the boy was much bigger than she was. Before Issa could understand what was going on, she was pushed to it by his strong hand, her lips pressing to the neck.
And then he closed her nose. Now was when Kesi truly tried to struggle. She pushed back against the child, trying her hardest to squirm. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t know what this was, and why he was doing this. She held her breath until her chest felt it was in flame and her face turned red. Eventually, her struggles ended, and her body forced her to take that dreaded breath.
All at once, the opium entered her lungs. It took a moment, but a wave of dizziness washed over the child. Her knees crashed to the ground and she blinked with dilated pupils. Her vision twisted and turned. She tried blinking, but the swirling did not stop.
And there were colors that surrounded her. Issa’s hand reached out towards the colors. A giggle escaped her lips. They were… beautiful.
Focus your mind on the sound of my voice.
Where was this voice? She looked left, she looked right. Issa stood up from the ground. And that’s when she saw the voice. The smile disappeared from her lips.
“Daddy?” She whispered. She took a step forward, stumbling. “Daddy, you brought peaches?”
The man did not hold peaches, but they seemed to just… float around him. Issa wanted peaches. She missed them. She wanted the peaches so bad.
Issa continued to walk towards her father, tripping over her own feet. Her hands reached towards nothing, and she crashed to the floor again. But it didn’t hurt this time. She felt nothing. Issa was floating. The child sat again, giggling at the air. The giggling turned into outright laughter. “Peaches! I love peaches, daddy! I missed them. They’re so yummy. They’re sweet, just like your little girl!” She quoted her father. She wanted on his back. She needed on his back.
Issa looked around, and suddenly the world around her shifted again. The smile once again faded. She saw her mommy. She was sleeping but… blood was around her. Issa screamed.
She looked wildly around. Where was the voice? Where was her daddy? Her eyes were wide. She didn’t have the voice to guide her. She didn’t have her daddy. She was alone. She was scared.
Her heart felt like it was exploding. The little girl gripped her chest. Her breathing quickened. Faster and faster. She was hyperventilating. “M-m-mommy is d-de-dead. D-da-daddy where are you?”
She felt sick. She didn’t know where daddy was. Everywhere she turned she saw her dead mother. She was dizzy, she was confused. She was scared and she was hurt. The girl began to cry again, the breathing continuing at it’s fast pace. She needed direction. She was lost.
And then she saw him again. The bad man. The man who hit her, and kicked her. Issa shrieked again and crouched on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” She whispered over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She rocked back and forth, arms tight against her ears and hands knit behind her head. Even with her eyes closed, she saw him. He was close, he was close. “I’m Issa, I’m Issa, I’m Issa.”
Her voice was so weak, so pathetic, so broken. The child whimpered, cringing as the man got near. She tried to turn away from him, preparing for a hit that was bound to come. The pain would follow after. Issa’s life was only pain now.
“Daddy, save me!”
The boy was acting strangely and Issa felt scared. He wasn’t talking to her and he had the blankest of stares. He was lighting coals, but for what reason? Was he cooking something? Issa didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to know. She just wanted to run away. She wanted to be away from these crazy, scary people.
Bu then the boy finally spoke. He dragged her from her position just as his father did. And he moved her towards the vase. She didn’t resist much. She was in pain and the boy was much bigger than she was. Before Issa could understand what was going on, she was pushed to it by his strong hand, her lips pressing to the neck.
And then he closed her nose. Now was when Kesi truly tried to struggle. She pushed back against the child, trying her hardest to squirm. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t know what this was, and why he was doing this. She held her breath until her chest felt it was in flame and her face turned red. Eventually, her struggles ended, and her body forced her to take that dreaded breath.
All at once, the opium entered her lungs. It took a moment, but a wave of dizziness washed over the child. Her knees crashed to the ground and she blinked with dilated pupils. Her vision twisted and turned. She tried blinking, but the swirling did not stop.
And there were colors that surrounded her. Issa’s hand reached out towards the colors. A giggle escaped her lips. They were… beautiful.
Focus your mind on the sound of my voice.
Where was this voice? She looked left, she looked right. Issa stood up from the ground. And that’s when she saw the voice. The smile disappeared from her lips.
“Daddy?” She whispered. She took a step forward, stumbling. “Daddy, you brought peaches?”
The man did not hold peaches, but they seemed to just… float around him. Issa wanted peaches. She missed them. She wanted the peaches so bad.
Issa continued to walk towards her father, tripping over her own feet. Her hands reached towards nothing, and she crashed to the floor again. But it didn’t hurt this time. She felt nothing. Issa was floating. The child sat again, giggling at the air. The giggling turned into outright laughter. “Peaches! I love peaches, daddy! I missed them. They’re so yummy. They’re sweet, just like your little girl!” She quoted her father. She wanted on his back. She needed on his back.
Issa looked around, and suddenly the world around her shifted again. The smile once again faded. She saw her mommy. She was sleeping but… blood was around her. Issa screamed.
She looked wildly around. Where was the voice? Where was her daddy? Her eyes were wide. She didn’t have the voice to guide her. She didn’t have her daddy. She was alone. She was scared.
Her heart felt like it was exploding. The little girl gripped her chest. Her breathing quickened. Faster and faster. She was hyperventilating. “M-m-mommy is d-de-dead. D-da-daddy where are you?”
She felt sick. She didn’t know where daddy was. Everywhere she turned she saw her dead mother. She was dizzy, she was confused. She was scared and she was hurt. The girl began to cry again, the breathing continuing at it’s fast pace. She needed direction. She was lost.
And then she saw him again. The bad man. The man who hit her, and kicked her. Issa shrieked again and crouched on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” She whispered over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She rocked back and forth, arms tight against her ears and hands knit behind her head. Even with her eyes closed, she saw him. He was close, he was close. “I’m Issa, I’m Issa, I’m Issa.”
Her voice was so weak, so pathetic, so broken. The child whimpered, cringing as the man got near. She tried to turn away from him, preparing for a hit that was bound to come. The pain would follow after. Issa’s life was only pain now.
“Daddy, save me!”
Understand the power that you wield. These substances are meant to sway the mind, coax the heart and derange the senses. Be careful in handling it and stay away from the smoke. Let only the subject inhale it and once they've done so pull away in order to allow them space and for the toxin to disperse.
Amenhotep's instructions were clear, and once the breath forced into Issa's lungs, the older child pulled his hands back, letting the plumes of smoke that erupted from her lungs afterwards dissipate through the meager slits. Nem himself moved away to the opposite of the room as he watched her crash to the floor and blink rapidly. She reached out even as her eyes seemed entirely void, pupils wider than he'd ever seen anyone's before. Sometimes when it was dark, he saw mama's pupils get wider, and he figured that it was related to the light somehow, but he couldn't really determine why. But, with Issa... the room didn't get darker or brighter... what was going on? The effects and the intentions for the use of this toxin was listed, but he didn't quite understand everything that was listed.
Euphoria, hallucinations...
He knew what the words meant but not exactly how they would help him do what granpapa wanted from the grave. However, he'd be patient. He was stuck in this room, regardless, and he knew that this lesson was important for him to know. The sense of dread was gone, the discomfort was gone. Instead, a morbid sense of curiosity welled within him as he observed the prone girl as she listened to the sound of his voice. Had she gone blind? She reached in every which direction, none of which were the right one. Nem was in front of her, but kept his distance as he observed her fall into reverie.
Granpapa advised that it took several moments for the toxin to take effect, then another five minutes afterwards for the mind to become amendable. It was obvious to Nem, even in his youth, why the wait was advised. Right now, this fake-Kesi was on the ground begging for a daddy that for all Nem knew was dead. She mentioned peaches, clearly something held between the two of them. He thought fondly of his mama and the real Kesi, and how she brought them dates, and grapes both dried and succulent. He relished in the taste of the succulent ones most, but in the end, sharing any kind of delicacy with mama was a day well spent. To most, this commonality between the two might invite sympathy. But, sympathy was not on Nem's mind.
Kesi liked grapes, too.
This impostor shared little in common with Kesi aside from a similar face and build. She was a puppet, a doppelganger, but as he listened to her talk... the different voice formed words that the real Kesi might've said to mama. He could feel the dissimilarities and... with the instructions in these notes, he could erase them.
I can help make the perfect little Kesi for mama. I can save this girl and make her new. Kesi isn't gone... She's just waiting to come back.
The boy tilted his head as he listened to the girl's words turn from warm and excited to devastation. She seemed to recall what had happened. Did fake-Kesi see her parents die? Is that why she cried so hard?
No, Kesi. Your parents are still alive. Mama's just waiting for you to come back to us.
He wanted to tell her, he wanted to ensure her that everything was okay, but the fake-Kesi, the girl named Issa was still there, still seeing her dead mama and papa, the lies of the world were still there for her to cling to. She seemed to move again through her hallucinations, it sounded like she was talking to someone else.
"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me."
Was it papa that she referred to?
"I'm Issa, I'm Issa."
No, you're not. You're Kesi. Or... you're going to be.
Nem shook his head as he tipped forward. He positioned himself on the ground behind his fake-sister and let his small fingers thread into the girl's hair. Enough time had passed, and he sought to follow granpapa's commands to the letter.
"Daddy, save me!"
If the subject cries out for help, take the role of the helping hand. The begging is a sign of a weakness that begs to be taken advantage of.
Nem nodded, pressing closer to the sister that was so unfamiliar to him. Gently, he poured shushing whispers in her ear. Gently, he closed his eyes and brought his lips to his sister's ear.
"Hush, Kesi," he encouraged in those low tones. He allowed himself to feel for this girl, this puppet that his sister's spirit might come to inhabit.
"Hush, Kesi. Papa isn't here. Papa isn't coming. It's Nem. Your brother... Come back to me, Kesi. Come home."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Understand the power that you wield. These substances are meant to sway the mind, coax the heart and derange the senses. Be careful in handling it and stay away from the smoke. Let only the subject inhale it and once they've done so pull away in order to allow them space and for the toxin to disperse.
Amenhotep's instructions were clear, and once the breath forced into Issa's lungs, the older child pulled his hands back, letting the plumes of smoke that erupted from her lungs afterwards dissipate through the meager slits. Nem himself moved away to the opposite of the room as he watched her crash to the floor and blink rapidly. She reached out even as her eyes seemed entirely void, pupils wider than he'd ever seen anyone's before. Sometimes when it was dark, he saw mama's pupils get wider, and he figured that it was related to the light somehow, but he couldn't really determine why. But, with Issa... the room didn't get darker or brighter... what was going on? The effects and the intentions for the use of this toxin was listed, but he didn't quite understand everything that was listed.
Euphoria, hallucinations...
He knew what the words meant but not exactly how they would help him do what granpapa wanted from the grave. However, he'd be patient. He was stuck in this room, regardless, and he knew that this lesson was important for him to know. The sense of dread was gone, the discomfort was gone. Instead, a morbid sense of curiosity welled within him as he observed the prone girl as she listened to the sound of his voice. Had she gone blind? She reached in every which direction, none of which were the right one. Nem was in front of her, but kept his distance as he observed her fall into reverie.
Granpapa advised that it took several moments for the toxin to take effect, then another five minutes afterwards for the mind to become amendable. It was obvious to Nem, even in his youth, why the wait was advised. Right now, this fake-Kesi was on the ground begging for a daddy that for all Nem knew was dead. She mentioned peaches, clearly something held between the two of them. He thought fondly of his mama and the real Kesi, and how she brought them dates, and grapes both dried and succulent. He relished in the taste of the succulent ones most, but in the end, sharing any kind of delicacy with mama was a day well spent. To most, this commonality between the two might invite sympathy. But, sympathy was not on Nem's mind.
Kesi liked grapes, too.
This impostor shared little in common with Kesi aside from a similar face and build. She was a puppet, a doppelganger, but as he listened to her talk... the different voice formed words that the real Kesi might've said to mama. He could feel the dissimilarities and... with the instructions in these notes, he could erase them.
I can help make the perfect little Kesi for mama. I can save this girl and make her new. Kesi isn't gone... She's just waiting to come back.
The boy tilted his head as he listened to the girl's words turn from warm and excited to devastation. She seemed to recall what had happened. Did fake-Kesi see her parents die? Is that why she cried so hard?
No, Kesi. Your parents are still alive. Mama's just waiting for you to come back to us.
He wanted to tell her, he wanted to ensure her that everything was okay, but the fake-Kesi, the girl named Issa was still there, still seeing her dead mama and papa, the lies of the world were still there for her to cling to. She seemed to move again through her hallucinations, it sounded like she was talking to someone else.
"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me."
Was it papa that she referred to?
"I'm Issa, I'm Issa."
No, you're not. You're Kesi. Or... you're going to be.
Nem shook his head as he tipped forward. He positioned himself on the ground behind his fake-sister and let his small fingers thread into the girl's hair. Enough time had passed, and he sought to follow granpapa's commands to the letter.
"Daddy, save me!"
If the subject cries out for help, take the role of the helping hand. The begging is a sign of a weakness that begs to be taken advantage of.
Nem nodded, pressing closer to the sister that was so unfamiliar to him. Gently, he poured shushing whispers in her ear. Gently, he closed his eyes and brought his lips to his sister's ear.
"Hush, Kesi," he encouraged in those low tones. He allowed himself to feel for this girl, this puppet that his sister's spirit might come to inhabit.
"Hush, Kesi. Papa isn't here. Papa isn't coming. It's Nem. Your brother... Come back to me, Kesi. Come home."
Understand the power that you wield. These substances are meant to sway the mind, coax the heart and derange the senses. Be careful in handling it and stay away from the smoke. Let only the subject inhale it and once they've done so pull away in order to allow them space and for the toxin to disperse.
Amenhotep's instructions were clear, and once the breath forced into Issa's lungs, the older child pulled his hands back, letting the plumes of smoke that erupted from her lungs afterwards dissipate through the meager slits. Nem himself moved away to the opposite of the room as he watched her crash to the floor and blink rapidly. She reached out even as her eyes seemed entirely void, pupils wider than he'd ever seen anyone's before. Sometimes when it was dark, he saw mama's pupils get wider, and he figured that it was related to the light somehow, but he couldn't really determine why. But, with Issa... the room didn't get darker or brighter... what was going on? The effects and the intentions for the use of this toxin was listed, but he didn't quite understand everything that was listed.
Euphoria, hallucinations...
He knew what the words meant but not exactly how they would help him do what granpapa wanted from the grave. However, he'd be patient. He was stuck in this room, regardless, and he knew that this lesson was important for him to know. The sense of dread was gone, the discomfort was gone. Instead, a morbid sense of curiosity welled within him as he observed the prone girl as she listened to the sound of his voice. Had she gone blind? She reached in every which direction, none of which were the right one. Nem was in front of her, but kept his distance as he observed her fall into reverie.
Granpapa advised that it took several moments for the toxin to take effect, then another five minutes afterwards for the mind to become amendable. It was obvious to Nem, even in his youth, why the wait was advised. Right now, this fake-Kesi was on the ground begging for a daddy that for all Nem knew was dead. She mentioned peaches, clearly something held between the two of them. He thought fondly of his mama and the real Kesi, and how she brought them dates, and grapes both dried and succulent. He relished in the taste of the succulent ones most, but in the end, sharing any kind of delicacy with mama was a day well spent. To most, this commonality between the two might invite sympathy. But, sympathy was not on Nem's mind.
Kesi liked grapes, too.
This impostor shared little in common with Kesi aside from a similar face and build. She was a puppet, a doppelganger, but as he listened to her talk... the different voice formed words that the real Kesi might've said to mama. He could feel the dissimilarities and... with the instructions in these notes, he could erase them.
I can help make the perfect little Kesi for mama. I can save this girl and make her new. Kesi isn't gone... She's just waiting to come back.
The boy tilted his head as he listened to the girl's words turn from warm and excited to devastation. She seemed to recall what had happened. Did fake-Kesi see her parents die? Is that why she cried so hard?
No, Kesi. Your parents are still alive. Mama's just waiting for you to come back to us.
He wanted to tell her, he wanted to ensure her that everything was okay, but the fake-Kesi, the girl named Issa was still there, still seeing her dead mama and papa, the lies of the world were still there for her to cling to. She seemed to move again through her hallucinations, it sounded like she was talking to someone else.
"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me."
Was it papa that she referred to?
"I'm Issa, I'm Issa."
No, you're not. You're Kesi. Or... you're going to be.
Nem shook his head as he tipped forward. He positioned himself on the ground behind his fake-sister and let his small fingers thread into the girl's hair. Enough time had passed, and he sought to follow granpapa's commands to the letter.
"Daddy, save me!"
If the subject cries out for help, take the role of the helping hand. The begging is a sign of a weakness that begs to be taken advantage of.
Nem nodded, pressing closer to the sister that was so unfamiliar to him. Gently, he poured shushing whispers in her ear. Gently, he closed his eyes and brought his lips to his sister's ear.
"Hush, Kesi," he encouraged in those low tones. He allowed himself to feel for this girl, this puppet that his sister's spirit might come to inhabit.
"Hush, Kesi. Papa isn't here. Papa isn't coming. It's Nem. Your brother... Come back to me, Kesi. Come home."
The pain never came. Instead a warm arm wrapped around her. A whimper escaped her lips, but she did not cringe away from it. It asked her to hush. The tone was low, soothing. Papa wasn’t here? Papa wasn’t coming.
That’s because he was dead.
But was he? Issa had seen her father so clearly. He had peaches. He was here. He couldn’t be dead right? But then how could he not be here? Why wasn’t he coming? Did he not like Issa anymore? Did he not love her?
“Am I bad?” The words slipped from her mouth before she even realized. “Have I been bad?”
She didn’t know. She moved closer to the body that was with her, clutching onto him. She was no longer sobbing, but the tears continued to roll down her cheeks, dripping onto the boy holding her.
I’m not Kesi. I’m Issa.
But those words didn’t come. She couldn’t voice them. Why couldn’t she voice them? It was like it was caught in her throat. She wanted to say them, she wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. Issa was lost, confused, and scared. And all she had to help her was this boy, a boy she could not see. Her vision was still obscured, swirling. Nothing was coherent. The world was a mess of colors.
The man wasn’t here.
Issa blinked and looked around. The man was gone. She wasn’t hit again. She wasn’t kicked. And neither was the woman here, forcing her to eat or combing her hair or washing her. They weren’t here insisting that she was Kesi. She was… alone.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t alone. She had... A brother? Issa’s eyebrows furrowed together. She never had a brother before. She didn’t have a brother, did she? “Nem?” The name felt unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as her surroundings. That couldn’t be right. She didn’t know a Nem. She had a mommy and she had a daddy… right?
But the body felt so warm. The hyperventilating had slowed and she had returned to normal breathing. This man wasn’t scary, not like she had previously thought. He was… safe. He was… good. He made the bad feelings go away. She wasn’t as scared anymore.
He wasn’t her brother. That much was abundantly clear. But Issa could not will herself out of his arms. She buried her face into him, little body trembling and weak from her own tears. “W-Why doesn’t daddy love me?” She asked the boy. “I-I didn’t mean t-to be b-bad. W-why doesn’t he love me?” Why won’t he save her? Daddy wasn’t dead, she knew that. She saw him. He was here. What did she do wrong? “I-I’m his s-sweet baby girl. W-What did I do, N-Nem?” Her voice cracked. All over again she was broken. She wanted to be put together, she needed to be put together, but how was it possible when she no longer knew the difference between fiction and reality?
She finally tried to pull away from the boy. She looked up at him, or what she thought was him, with her wide dark eyes. She was pleading. She needed to know what she had done wrong. Was she imperfect? Was she undesirable? Did her father abandon her to a scary house? How did she even get here? Issa tried to remember, but her might was so foggy.
“Was it because I-I couldn’t eat peaches?” Her mind grasped at logic where there was none to be had. “I-I wanted the peaches. I want them a lot. N-Nem can I have peaches? W-Would daddy love me again? W-would I be his sweet baby girl a-again?”
The child was trembling. The colors were swirling so fast that she felt ill. She wanted the happy feeling back. She wanted to laugh again. She hated this. Why was this happening? What did she do to deserve this? “M-Mommy died, N-Nem,” she whispered. “I-Is that why daddy hates me?”
Did daddy hurt her? Now Issa was more confused. She saw the scary man right after she saw daddy. “D-Did daddy hurt me?” Maybe he paid the scary man. Daddy was a merchant, he had money. “W-Why did daddy hurt me?” Daddy never hurt her before.
“W-Why am I bad?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The pain never came. Instead a warm arm wrapped around her. A whimper escaped her lips, but she did not cringe away from it. It asked her to hush. The tone was low, soothing. Papa wasn’t here? Papa wasn’t coming.
That’s because he was dead.
But was he? Issa had seen her father so clearly. He had peaches. He was here. He couldn’t be dead right? But then how could he not be here? Why wasn’t he coming? Did he not like Issa anymore? Did he not love her?
“Am I bad?” The words slipped from her mouth before she even realized. “Have I been bad?”
She didn’t know. She moved closer to the body that was with her, clutching onto him. She was no longer sobbing, but the tears continued to roll down her cheeks, dripping onto the boy holding her.
I’m not Kesi. I’m Issa.
But those words didn’t come. She couldn’t voice them. Why couldn’t she voice them? It was like it was caught in her throat. She wanted to say them, she wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. Issa was lost, confused, and scared. And all she had to help her was this boy, a boy she could not see. Her vision was still obscured, swirling. Nothing was coherent. The world was a mess of colors.
The man wasn’t here.
Issa blinked and looked around. The man was gone. She wasn’t hit again. She wasn’t kicked. And neither was the woman here, forcing her to eat or combing her hair or washing her. They weren’t here insisting that she was Kesi. She was… alone.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t alone. She had... A brother? Issa’s eyebrows furrowed together. She never had a brother before. She didn’t have a brother, did she? “Nem?” The name felt unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as her surroundings. That couldn’t be right. She didn’t know a Nem. She had a mommy and she had a daddy… right?
But the body felt so warm. The hyperventilating had slowed and she had returned to normal breathing. This man wasn’t scary, not like she had previously thought. He was… safe. He was… good. He made the bad feelings go away. She wasn’t as scared anymore.
He wasn’t her brother. That much was abundantly clear. But Issa could not will herself out of his arms. She buried her face into him, little body trembling and weak from her own tears. “W-Why doesn’t daddy love me?” She asked the boy. “I-I didn’t mean t-to be b-bad. W-why doesn’t he love me?” Why won’t he save her? Daddy wasn’t dead, she knew that. She saw him. He was here. What did she do wrong? “I-I’m his s-sweet baby girl. W-What did I do, N-Nem?” Her voice cracked. All over again she was broken. She wanted to be put together, she needed to be put together, but how was it possible when she no longer knew the difference between fiction and reality?
She finally tried to pull away from the boy. She looked up at him, or what she thought was him, with her wide dark eyes. She was pleading. She needed to know what she had done wrong. Was she imperfect? Was she undesirable? Did her father abandon her to a scary house? How did she even get here? Issa tried to remember, but her might was so foggy.
“Was it because I-I couldn’t eat peaches?” Her mind grasped at logic where there was none to be had. “I-I wanted the peaches. I want them a lot. N-Nem can I have peaches? W-Would daddy love me again? W-would I be his sweet baby girl a-again?”
The child was trembling. The colors were swirling so fast that she felt ill. She wanted the happy feeling back. She wanted to laugh again. She hated this. Why was this happening? What did she do to deserve this? “M-Mommy died, N-Nem,” she whispered. “I-Is that why daddy hates me?”
Did daddy hurt her? Now Issa was more confused. She saw the scary man right after she saw daddy. “D-Did daddy hurt me?” Maybe he paid the scary man. Daddy was a merchant, he had money. “W-Why did daddy hurt me?” Daddy never hurt her before.
“W-Why am I bad?”
The pain never came. Instead a warm arm wrapped around her. A whimper escaped her lips, but she did not cringe away from it. It asked her to hush. The tone was low, soothing. Papa wasn’t here? Papa wasn’t coming.
That’s because he was dead.
But was he? Issa had seen her father so clearly. He had peaches. He was here. He couldn’t be dead right? But then how could he not be here? Why wasn’t he coming? Did he not like Issa anymore? Did he not love her?
“Am I bad?” The words slipped from her mouth before she even realized. “Have I been bad?”
She didn’t know. She moved closer to the body that was with her, clutching onto him. She was no longer sobbing, but the tears continued to roll down her cheeks, dripping onto the boy holding her.
I’m not Kesi. I’m Issa.
But those words didn’t come. She couldn’t voice them. Why couldn’t she voice them? It was like it was caught in her throat. She wanted to say them, she wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. Issa was lost, confused, and scared. And all she had to help her was this boy, a boy she could not see. Her vision was still obscured, swirling. Nothing was coherent. The world was a mess of colors.
The man wasn’t here.
Issa blinked and looked around. The man was gone. She wasn’t hit again. She wasn’t kicked. And neither was the woman here, forcing her to eat or combing her hair or washing her. They weren’t here insisting that she was Kesi. She was… alone.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t alone. She had... A brother? Issa’s eyebrows furrowed together. She never had a brother before. She didn’t have a brother, did she? “Nem?” The name felt unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as her surroundings. That couldn’t be right. She didn’t know a Nem. She had a mommy and she had a daddy… right?
But the body felt so warm. The hyperventilating had slowed and she had returned to normal breathing. This man wasn’t scary, not like she had previously thought. He was… safe. He was… good. He made the bad feelings go away. She wasn’t as scared anymore.
He wasn’t her brother. That much was abundantly clear. But Issa could not will herself out of his arms. She buried her face into him, little body trembling and weak from her own tears. “W-Why doesn’t daddy love me?” She asked the boy. “I-I didn’t mean t-to be b-bad. W-why doesn’t he love me?” Why won’t he save her? Daddy wasn’t dead, she knew that. She saw him. He was here. What did she do wrong? “I-I’m his s-sweet baby girl. W-What did I do, N-Nem?” Her voice cracked. All over again she was broken. She wanted to be put together, she needed to be put together, but how was it possible when she no longer knew the difference between fiction and reality?
She finally tried to pull away from the boy. She looked up at him, or what she thought was him, with her wide dark eyes. She was pleading. She needed to know what she had done wrong. Was she imperfect? Was she undesirable? Did her father abandon her to a scary house? How did she even get here? Issa tried to remember, but her might was so foggy.
“Was it because I-I couldn’t eat peaches?” Her mind grasped at logic where there was none to be had. “I-I wanted the peaches. I want them a lot. N-Nem can I have peaches? W-Would daddy love me again? W-would I be his sweet baby girl a-again?”
The child was trembling. The colors were swirling so fast that she felt ill. She wanted the happy feeling back. She wanted to laugh again. She hated this. Why was this happening? What did she do to deserve this? “M-Mommy died, N-Nem,” she whispered. “I-Is that why daddy hates me?”
Did daddy hurt her? Now Issa was more confused. She saw the scary man right after she saw daddy. “D-Did daddy hurt me?” Maybe he paid the scary man. Daddy was a merchant, he had money. “W-Why did daddy hurt me?” Daddy never hurt her before.
“W-Why am I bad?”
"Am I bad?"
"Have I been bad?"
Nem didn't know the answer. This girl, this soon-to-be Kesi was an entity as of yet unfamiliar. She was a vessel in which Layla and Amenemhat would pour memories into, stories and it was today where it would begin. The methods Amenhatep entailed weren't meant to show mercy towards the heart and soul of a slave. They were meant to vacate the mind, ensnare it. Amenemhat read the missives, understood the diagrams and how to administer this treatment. While a young boy in every regard, the clever child was given every opportunity to hone his mind.
He wouldn't let granpapa down. He wouldn't defy his instructions. Today was papa's first show of force, the first among a future of many efforts to show Nem the way to become the leader the Tempest of Set needed him to be. It was, perhaps, an asset to the child that he could never create friendships, that the idea of compassion slipped from his capacity. As much as Issa looked like Kesi, she wasn't.
Soon, she will be. Soon, I can let her in. But for now... my heart must be iron. Granpapa will toil in the afterlife if I am weak.
Curiosity welled within the boy as he kept his grasp on Kesi, as he held her close to create a facade of affection for the girl. He did not move until he heard the sound of his own name. So uncertain, so unsure. The voice that wasn't Kesi's seemed a world away, distant under the endless machinations of the toxin that welled every thought and forced her to hallucinate.
His sweet baby girl? Papa never loved my sister. She's extrapolating feelings about her dad and pushing them on papa?
Amenemhat rose to his feet and took his sister's hand in his own. The clay vessel was still hot, and there was more toxin, more opium to use. He readied the vessel, keeping his free hand in Kesi's before he brought the helpless girl over to him. He didn't know what would happen if he had her go under again, but more amendable to calling him by name and no longer as rebellious, he doubted he needed to show further force. He didn't want to. Papa was the violent one. Papa was the one she could hate. Kesi was and always would be his precious sister, even if it wasn't the real one.
As the coals melted the opium within the vessel, the plume of smoke gathered within, wisps of silver vapor rising from the neck.
"Breathe. The pain will go away. 'Daddy' won't hurt you any more," he said, momentarily avoiding the use of her name. He didn't need to confuse her until she went further into the roil. Her thoughts needed to be his to shape and control. If she followed his instructions, he'd bring her close to him, turning her about to embrace her.
The two remained in this embrace for the duration of the incubation period as Amenemhat whispered into the girl's ear.
"Remember, Kesi? Remember when the sun went away? Remember playing into the night? The shows we made together? The circus? The Tempest of Set that we are destined to join? Remember watching me as I bowed and flourished, as I announced the flashy dancers and intrepid acrobats? The fire eaters and the jugglers? Remember, Kesi."
He brought one hand to the back of the girl's head, pressing his forehead to hers in a brief, affectionate gesture before he told her,
"You were in an accident. You hit your head. You were never bad. You are confused. Listen to your dear brother, Kesi. He knows best and he always will."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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"Am I bad?"
"Have I been bad?"
Nem didn't know the answer. This girl, this soon-to-be Kesi was an entity as of yet unfamiliar. She was a vessel in which Layla and Amenemhat would pour memories into, stories and it was today where it would begin. The methods Amenhatep entailed weren't meant to show mercy towards the heart and soul of a slave. They were meant to vacate the mind, ensnare it. Amenemhat read the missives, understood the diagrams and how to administer this treatment. While a young boy in every regard, the clever child was given every opportunity to hone his mind.
He wouldn't let granpapa down. He wouldn't defy his instructions. Today was papa's first show of force, the first among a future of many efforts to show Nem the way to become the leader the Tempest of Set needed him to be. It was, perhaps, an asset to the child that he could never create friendships, that the idea of compassion slipped from his capacity. As much as Issa looked like Kesi, she wasn't.
Soon, she will be. Soon, I can let her in. But for now... my heart must be iron. Granpapa will toil in the afterlife if I am weak.
Curiosity welled within the boy as he kept his grasp on Kesi, as he held her close to create a facade of affection for the girl. He did not move until he heard the sound of his own name. So uncertain, so unsure. The voice that wasn't Kesi's seemed a world away, distant under the endless machinations of the toxin that welled every thought and forced her to hallucinate.
His sweet baby girl? Papa never loved my sister. She's extrapolating feelings about her dad and pushing them on papa?
Amenemhat rose to his feet and took his sister's hand in his own. The clay vessel was still hot, and there was more toxin, more opium to use. He readied the vessel, keeping his free hand in Kesi's before he brought the helpless girl over to him. He didn't know what would happen if he had her go under again, but more amendable to calling him by name and no longer as rebellious, he doubted he needed to show further force. He didn't want to. Papa was the violent one. Papa was the one she could hate. Kesi was and always would be his precious sister, even if it wasn't the real one.
As the coals melted the opium within the vessel, the plume of smoke gathered within, wisps of silver vapor rising from the neck.
"Breathe. The pain will go away. 'Daddy' won't hurt you any more," he said, momentarily avoiding the use of her name. He didn't need to confuse her until she went further into the roil. Her thoughts needed to be his to shape and control. If she followed his instructions, he'd bring her close to him, turning her about to embrace her.
The two remained in this embrace for the duration of the incubation period as Amenemhat whispered into the girl's ear.
"Remember, Kesi? Remember when the sun went away? Remember playing into the night? The shows we made together? The circus? The Tempest of Set that we are destined to join? Remember watching me as I bowed and flourished, as I announced the flashy dancers and intrepid acrobats? The fire eaters and the jugglers? Remember, Kesi."
He brought one hand to the back of the girl's head, pressing his forehead to hers in a brief, affectionate gesture before he told her,
"You were in an accident. You hit your head. You were never bad. You are confused. Listen to your dear brother, Kesi. He knows best and he always will."
"Am I bad?"
"Have I been bad?"
Nem didn't know the answer. This girl, this soon-to-be Kesi was an entity as of yet unfamiliar. She was a vessel in which Layla and Amenemhat would pour memories into, stories and it was today where it would begin. The methods Amenhatep entailed weren't meant to show mercy towards the heart and soul of a slave. They were meant to vacate the mind, ensnare it. Amenemhat read the missives, understood the diagrams and how to administer this treatment. While a young boy in every regard, the clever child was given every opportunity to hone his mind.
He wouldn't let granpapa down. He wouldn't defy his instructions. Today was papa's first show of force, the first among a future of many efforts to show Nem the way to become the leader the Tempest of Set needed him to be. It was, perhaps, an asset to the child that he could never create friendships, that the idea of compassion slipped from his capacity. As much as Issa looked like Kesi, she wasn't.
Soon, she will be. Soon, I can let her in. But for now... my heart must be iron. Granpapa will toil in the afterlife if I am weak.
Curiosity welled within the boy as he kept his grasp on Kesi, as he held her close to create a facade of affection for the girl. He did not move until he heard the sound of his own name. So uncertain, so unsure. The voice that wasn't Kesi's seemed a world away, distant under the endless machinations of the toxin that welled every thought and forced her to hallucinate.
His sweet baby girl? Papa never loved my sister. She's extrapolating feelings about her dad and pushing them on papa?
Amenemhat rose to his feet and took his sister's hand in his own. The clay vessel was still hot, and there was more toxin, more opium to use. He readied the vessel, keeping his free hand in Kesi's before he brought the helpless girl over to him. He didn't know what would happen if he had her go under again, but more amendable to calling him by name and no longer as rebellious, he doubted he needed to show further force. He didn't want to. Papa was the violent one. Papa was the one she could hate. Kesi was and always would be his precious sister, even if it wasn't the real one.
As the coals melted the opium within the vessel, the plume of smoke gathered within, wisps of silver vapor rising from the neck.
"Breathe. The pain will go away. 'Daddy' won't hurt you any more," he said, momentarily avoiding the use of her name. He didn't need to confuse her until she went further into the roil. Her thoughts needed to be his to shape and control. If she followed his instructions, he'd bring her close to him, turning her about to embrace her.
The two remained in this embrace for the duration of the incubation period as Amenemhat whispered into the girl's ear.
"Remember, Kesi? Remember when the sun went away? Remember playing into the night? The shows we made together? The circus? The Tempest of Set that we are destined to join? Remember watching me as I bowed and flourished, as I announced the flashy dancers and intrepid acrobats? The fire eaters and the jugglers? Remember, Kesi."
He brought one hand to the back of the girl's head, pressing his forehead to hers in a brief, affectionate gesture before he told her,
"You were in an accident. You hit your head. You were never bad. You are confused. Listen to your dear brother, Kesi. He knows best and he always will."
No longer could the child fight. She was in a daze, dizzy and blind, confused and hurt. A hand led her to her feet, and Issa followed, stumbling towards the clay vase once again. All it took was a little guiding and her lips were back upon its neck. Issa did not hold her breath, not this time. She did not think. She was simply guided, her body a child’s doll to play with as they would. Once again the smoke entered her lungs and once again the world swirled with color.
She felt ill. There was so much swirling, so many colors. The child collapsed onto the ground. Her entire body felt numb. No, numb wasn’t the right word. She didn’t feel her body at all. She was floating in empty space, far above, far below, far away. She was an aura, a spirit, a wisp through the air unconnected completely with reality.
The tears that had flowed faster than the Nile, that had existed for weeks, ended. She sat there merely sniffing and then nothing at all.
Remember playing into the night. The shows we made? The circus?
Colors danced around Issa and she looked. She could practically see the fire dancers throwing their flaming baton in the air. She could hear the lions as they roared. And she could see a man in the center of it all, a blurred vision, a silhouette, but nevertheless there.
She giggled. Her smile was wide. Issa felt free. A circus! She looked around. A circus sounded wonderful. She had always wanted to go to the circus. Circuses had cats, and jugglers, and dancers and music! Everyone was happy at the circus. Things weren’t bad there. It could only be good there.
“The circus is happy.” Issa’s giggles turned to laughter. Pure, joyous laughter. She was euphoric. Any thoughts of sadness or fear was washed away. “The circus is fun!”
Fun. That word… just saying it triggered something in Issa. Fun… that’s all she ever wanted. When she had fun nothing else mattered. She didn’t have to think about the bad stuff or the scary stuff. Fun was her escape. Fun was her freedom. Fun numbed her from reality, allowed her to live in a world entirely in her own imagination. Fun was what Issa needed to pull herself back together and move to a brighter future.
It was boring that she hated. It was a terrible, horrible, no good thing. Within boredom, the mind could be left to wander. She could remember the terrible events that occurred, the pain that she was suffering, and the fear that she was in. Boredom did not offer a distraction from reality as fun did. All it did was perpetuate toxic feelings and hurt a mind that was already in pain.
And then she laughed even harder. Her stomach would be in pain, but she no longer could feel it. “I like fun! I like it more than anything.” Just thinking of the circus, thinking of the word fun, seemed to almost… knit something in Issa’s mind. A new connection fired in her brain. The circus was fun. And she played circus with Nem. That’s a good feeling. That’s a great feeling! “I wanna play circus.”
She looked around again. The circus was beautiful. It was joyous. It was everything she ever dreamed about. There were floating tigers and pink snakes. Who wouldn’t want that? The colors drew Issa in more, so much so that she barely felt the hand on the back of her head or the forehead to her.
Her laughter quieted when she heard the guiding voice again. Nem’s voice. She hurt her head? Her head didn’t feel like it hurt. How could she have hurt it? She didn’t remember hurting it.
Listen to your dear brother, Kesi. He knows best and he always will.
Brother. There was that word again. But the more he said it, the more it started to feel right. He was her brother. He would protect her from the scary man. He wouldn’t let daddy hurt her anymore. He made the pain go away like magic. He was magic. He was special, so of course, Issa should listen to him.
Issa’s eyes were wide, swimming back and forth entirely unfocused. “Big brother, can I go to the circus?” Her voice was soft and tinged with slight fear. She didn’t want him to say no. Fun would keep the happy here, happy she hadn’t had in so long. Issa leaned back against his hand, and in doing so she collapsed completely on the ground. She likely hit her head off the floor, but even if she did she wouldn’t have realized. Her body was nothing. “The circus is fun! ” the child laughed again.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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No longer could the child fight. She was in a daze, dizzy and blind, confused and hurt. A hand led her to her feet, and Issa followed, stumbling towards the clay vase once again. All it took was a little guiding and her lips were back upon its neck. Issa did not hold her breath, not this time. She did not think. She was simply guided, her body a child’s doll to play with as they would. Once again the smoke entered her lungs and once again the world swirled with color.
She felt ill. There was so much swirling, so many colors. The child collapsed onto the ground. Her entire body felt numb. No, numb wasn’t the right word. She didn’t feel her body at all. She was floating in empty space, far above, far below, far away. She was an aura, a spirit, a wisp through the air unconnected completely with reality.
The tears that had flowed faster than the Nile, that had existed for weeks, ended. She sat there merely sniffing and then nothing at all.
Remember playing into the night. The shows we made? The circus?
Colors danced around Issa and she looked. She could practically see the fire dancers throwing their flaming baton in the air. She could hear the lions as they roared. And she could see a man in the center of it all, a blurred vision, a silhouette, but nevertheless there.
She giggled. Her smile was wide. Issa felt free. A circus! She looked around. A circus sounded wonderful. She had always wanted to go to the circus. Circuses had cats, and jugglers, and dancers and music! Everyone was happy at the circus. Things weren’t bad there. It could only be good there.
“The circus is happy.” Issa’s giggles turned to laughter. Pure, joyous laughter. She was euphoric. Any thoughts of sadness or fear was washed away. “The circus is fun!”
Fun. That word… just saying it triggered something in Issa. Fun… that’s all she ever wanted. When she had fun nothing else mattered. She didn’t have to think about the bad stuff or the scary stuff. Fun was her escape. Fun was her freedom. Fun numbed her from reality, allowed her to live in a world entirely in her own imagination. Fun was what Issa needed to pull herself back together and move to a brighter future.
It was boring that she hated. It was a terrible, horrible, no good thing. Within boredom, the mind could be left to wander. She could remember the terrible events that occurred, the pain that she was suffering, and the fear that she was in. Boredom did not offer a distraction from reality as fun did. All it did was perpetuate toxic feelings and hurt a mind that was already in pain.
And then she laughed even harder. Her stomach would be in pain, but she no longer could feel it. “I like fun! I like it more than anything.” Just thinking of the circus, thinking of the word fun, seemed to almost… knit something in Issa’s mind. A new connection fired in her brain. The circus was fun. And she played circus with Nem. That’s a good feeling. That’s a great feeling! “I wanna play circus.”
She looked around again. The circus was beautiful. It was joyous. It was everything she ever dreamed about. There were floating tigers and pink snakes. Who wouldn’t want that? The colors drew Issa in more, so much so that she barely felt the hand on the back of her head or the forehead to her.
Her laughter quieted when she heard the guiding voice again. Nem’s voice. She hurt her head? Her head didn’t feel like it hurt. How could she have hurt it? She didn’t remember hurting it.
Listen to your dear brother, Kesi. He knows best and he always will.
Brother. There was that word again. But the more he said it, the more it started to feel right. He was her brother. He would protect her from the scary man. He wouldn’t let daddy hurt her anymore. He made the pain go away like magic. He was magic. He was special, so of course, Issa should listen to him.
Issa’s eyes were wide, swimming back and forth entirely unfocused. “Big brother, can I go to the circus?” Her voice was soft and tinged with slight fear. She didn’t want him to say no. Fun would keep the happy here, happy she hadn’t had in so long. Issa leaned back against his hand, and in doing so she collapsed completely on the ground. She likely hit her head off the floor, but even if she did she wouldn’t have realized. Her body was nothing. “The circus is fun! ” the child laughed again.
No longer could the child fight. She was in a daze, dizzy and blind, confused and hurt. A hand led her to her feet, and Issa followed, stumbling towards the clay vase once again. All it took was a little guiding and her lips were back upon its neck. Issa did not hold her breath, not this time. She did not think. She was simply guided, her body a child’s doll to play with as they would. Once again the smoke entered her lungs and once again the world swirled with color.
She felt ill. There was so much swirling, so many colors. The child collapsed onto the ground. Her entire body felt numb. No, numb wasn’t the right word. She didn’t feel her body at all. She was floating in empty space, far above, far below, far away. She was an aura, a spirit, a wisp through the air unconnected completely with reality.
The tears that had flowed faster than the Nile, that had existed for weeks, ended. She sat there merely sniffing and then nothing at all.
Remember playing into the night. The shows we made? The circus?
Colors danced around Issa and she looked. She could practically see the fire dancers throwing their flaming baton in the air. She could hear the lions as they roared. And she could see a man in the center of it all, a blurred vision, a silhouette, but nevertheless there.
She giggled. Her smile was wide. Issa felt free. A circus! She looked around. A circus sounded wonderful. She had always wanted to go to the circus. Circuses had cats, and jugglers, and dancers and music! Everyone was happy at the circus. Things weren’t bad there. It could only be good there.
“The circus is happy.” Issa’s giggles turned to laughter. Pure, joyous laughter. She was euphoric. Any thoughts of sadness or fear was washed away. “The circus is fun!”
Fun. That word… just saying it triggered something in Issa. Fun… that’s all she ever wanted. When she had fun nothing else mattered. She didn’t have to think about the bad stuff or the scary stuff. Fun was her escape. Fun was her freedom. Fun numbed her from reality, allowed her to live in a world entirely in her own imagination. Fun was what Issa needed to pull herself back together and move to a brighter future.
It was boring that she hated. It was a terrible, horrible, no good thing. Within boredom, the mind could be left to wander. She could remember the terrible events that occurred, the pain that she was suffering, and the fear that she was in. Boredom did not offer a distraction from reality as fun did. All it did was perpetuate toxic feelings and hurt a mind that was already in pain.
And then she laughed even harder. Her stomach would be in pain, but she no longer could feel it. “I like fun! I like it more than anything.” Just thinking of the circus, thinking of the word fun, seemed to almost… knit something in Issa’s mind. A new connection fired in her brain. The circus was fun. And she played circus with Nem. That’s a good feeling. That’s a great feeling! “I wanna play circus.”
She looked around again. The circus was beautiful. It was joyous. It was everything she ever dreamed about. There were floating tigers and pink snakes. Who wouldn’t want that? The colors drew Issa in more, so much so that she barely felt the hand on the back of her head or the forehead to her.
Her laughter quieted when she heard the guiding voice again. Nem’s voice. She hurt her head? Her head didn’t feel like it hurt. How could she have hurt it? She didn’t remember hurting it.
Listen to your dear brother, Kesi. He knows best and he always will.
Brother. There was that word again. But the more he said it, the more it started to feel right. He was her brother. He would protect her from the scary man. He wouldn’t let daddy hurt her anymore. He made the pain go away like magic. He was magic. He was special, so of course, Issa should listen to him.
Issa’s eyes were wide, swimming back and forth entirely unfocused. “Big brother, can I go to the circus?” Her voice was soft and tinged with slight fear. She didn’t want him to say no. Fun would keep the happy here, happy she hadn’t had in so long. Issa leaned back against his hand, and in doing so she collapsed completely on the ground. She likely hit her head off the floor, but even if she did she wouldn’t have realized. Her body was nothing. “The circus is fun! ” the child laughed again.
The young Amenemhat couldn't help the curious obsession with the words his granpapa wrote. To him, it was scripture. It was mantra. It was law. Everything that granpapa left for him was made by the notes made within these pages, all of the legacy given to papa as well. Papa seemed intent on letting Amenemhat figure this out. He wondered if papa knew that granpapa's words rang through his every thought like they did, if the need to impress not papa himself, but the man who watched from the void of the eternal....
I miss him, he realized. He had fledgling memories of granpapa himself. The man was old by the time Nem was born, and stayed in Alexandria once the life of travel with the circus became too intense for him. While Nem had few friends, the time he could spend with the old man, limited in its own right, was meted into his memory.
I won't disappoint you, he assured the man in the voic as he held the fake-Kesi's head to the neck of the vase, as she inhaled and the toxin took her to another place again. He whispered his words, whispered elaborations, wrought from his own memory. The happy times he'd shared with his sister were recounted between the circus' heir and the isolated child that would take his sister's place. He sought to paint the picture, measuring his tone, keeping his cadence sure. There was no emotion to be felt in this moment. As the tender memories of his time with his real sister poured from his lips, an icy calm washed over his senses.
Then, there was that laughter.
The laughter tore shivers down his spine. It was as if Kesi had met her real self, as if she'd come face to face with the girl who drowned in the Nile and took her place completely. A doppleganger, a fiendish creature that took the form of the innocent. Kesi of Alexandria was dead, and this girl that shared her place was a replica.
A lie.
But, she's so close.
It's not her.
But, it will be, he reminded himself.
It would be. The memory of Issa of Who Cares would whittle away, pushed aside and abandoned in favour of the happier story. And, the doppelganger was right. The circus was fun. It was Nem's dream to be there, it was his vision to be there with his sister and his mother, admiring the performers and standing among them.
That dream will be made real. For mama, he thought as he listened to his fake sister, as she stated her desire to play circus. The smile at last formed upon his lips, but it felt wrong. It felt false. Because it was. He played on cue, forming the smile that would reassure even his mother of the reality of Kesi's miraculous return to life. A smile that, if he looked in the mirror, might even convince Nem himself.
"We can play circus, Kesi," he said, letting the hollow chuckle escape his lips as he reached for his sister's hands. He plucked granpapa's book from the table, tucking it under his arm as he pulled his sister towards the door. He shoved at the door, and found it to be unlocked. Surprised but not displeased, he led Kesi out of that room, letting go of her hand as he told her,
"Close the door, Kesi. We'll play circus in our room."
He hoped it was done, he hoped that the treatment would take and his sister might form out of it. He wanted to believe in Kesi's return, but there was no ignoring what he'd done.
Was it guilt that he felt?
No. That girl is the new Kesi. The medicine makes it true.
He nodded, as if agreeing with himself as he listened to her question once she'd come back to him.
"Big brother, can I go to the circus?"
How quickly the tide changed. Pleased that he hadn't failed granpapa, he turned to Kesi with at last a true smile cast upon his lips. The doppelganger would catch the warmth on his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. However, Amenemhat did not look away from the doppelganger. He kept his gaze trained on her as the agreement moved his head.
"The circus is wonderful, my sister. We can go to the show tonight with mama. I'm sure she'd love it. But for now... let's play pretend."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The young Amenemhat couldn't help the curious obsession with the words his granpapa wrote. To him, it was scripture. It was mantra. It was law. Everything that granpapa left for him was made by the notes made within these pages, all of the legacy given to papa as well. Papa seemed intent on letting Amenemhat figure this out. He wondered if papa knew that granpapa's words rang through his every thought like they did, if the need to impress not papa himself, but the man who watched from the void of the eternal....
I miss him, he realized. He had fledgling memories of granpapa himself. The man was old by the time Nem was born, and stayed in Alexandria once the life of travel with the circus became too intense for him. While Nem had few friends, the time he could spend with the old man, limited in its own right, was meted into his memory.
I won't disappoint you, he assured the man in the voic as he held the fake-Kesi's head to the neck of the vase, as she inhaled and the toxin took her to another place again. He whispered his words, whispered elaborations, wrought from his own memory. The happy times he'd shared with his sister were recounted between the circus' heir and the isolated child that would take his sister's place. He sought to paint the picture, measuring his tone, keeping his cadence sure. There was no emotion to be felt in this moment. As the tender memories of his time with his real sister poured from his lips, an icy calm washed over his senses.
Then, there was that laughter.
The laughter tore shivers down his spine. It was as if Kesi had met her real self, as if she'd come face to face with the girl who drowned in the Nile and took her place completely. A doppleganger, a fiendish creature that took the form of the innocent. Kesi of Alexandria was dead, and this girl that shared her place was a replica.
A lie.
But, she's so close.
It's not her.
But, it will be, he reminded himself.
It would be. The memory of Issa of Who Cares would whittle away, pushed aside and abandoned in favour of the happier story. And, the doppelganger was right. The circus was fun. It was Nem's dream to be there, it was his vision to be there with his sister and his mother, admiring the performers and standing among them.
That dream will be made real. For mama, he thought as he listened to his fake sister, as she stated her desire to play circus. The smile at last formed upon his lips, but it felt wrong. It felt false. Because it was. He played on cue, forming the smile that would reassure even his mother of the reality of Kesi's miraculous return to life. A smile that, if he looked in the mirror, might even convince Nem himself.
"We can play circus, Kesi," he said, letting the hollow chuckle escape his lips as he reached for his sister's hands. He plucked granpapa's book from the table, tucking it under his arm as he pulled his sister towards the door. He shoved at the door, and found it to be unlocked. Surprised but not displeased, he led Kesi out of that room, letting go of her hand as he told her,
"Close the door, Kesi. We'll play circus in our room."
He hoped it was done, he hoped that the treatment would take and his sister might form out of it. He wanted to believe in Kesi's return, but there was no ignoring what he'd done.
Was it guilt that he felt?
No. That girl is the new Kesi. The medicine makes it true.
He nodded, as if agreeing with himself as he listened to her question once she'd come back to him.
"Big brother, can I go to the circus?"
How quickly the tide changed. Pleased that he hadn't failed granpapa, he turned to Kesi with at last a true smile cast upon his lips. The doppelganger would catch the warmth on his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. However, Amenemhat did not look away from the doppelganger. He kept his gaze trained on her as the agreement moved his head.
"The circus is wonderful, my sister. We can go to the show tonight with mama. I'm sure she'd love it. But for now... let's play pretend."
The young Amenemhat couldn't help the curious obsession with the words his granpapa wrote. To him, it was scripture. It was mantra. It was law. Everything that granpapa left for him was made by the notes made within these pages, all of the legacy given to papa as well. Papa seemed intent on letting Amenemhat figure this out. He wondered if papa knew that granpapa's words rang through his every thought like they did, if the need to impress not papa himself, but the man who watched from the void of the eternal....
I miss him, he realized. He had fledgling memories of granpapa himself. The man was old by the time Nem was born, and stayed in Alexandria once the life of travel with the circus became too intense for him. While Nem had few friends, the time he could spend with the old man, limited in its own right, was meted into his memory.
I won't disappoint you, he assured the man in the voic as he held the fake-Kesi's head to the neck of the vase, as she inhaled and the toxin took her to another place again. He whispered his words, whispered elaborations, wrought from his own memory. The happy times he'd shared with his sister were recounted between the circus' heir and the isolated child that would take his sister's place. He sought to paint the picture, measuring his tone, keeping his cadence sure. There was no emotion to be felt in this moment. As the tender memories of his time with his real sister poured from his lips, an icy calm washed over his senses.
Then, there was that laughter.
The laughter tore shivers down his spine. It was as if Kesi had met her real self, as if she'd come face to face with the girl who drowned in the Nile and took her place completely. A doppleganger, a fiendish creature that took the form of the innocent. Kesi of Alexandria was dead, and this girl that shared her place was a replica.
A lie.
But, she's so close.
It's not her.
But, it will be, he reminded himself.
It would be. The memory of Issa of Who Cares would whittle away, pushed aside and abandoned in favour of the happier story. And, the doppelganger was right. The circus was fun. It was Nem's dream to be there, it was his vision to be there with his sister and his mother, admiring the performers and standing among them.
That dream will be made real. For mama, he thought as he listened to his fake sister, as she stated her desire to play circus. The smile at last formed upon his lips, but it felt wrong. It felt false. Because it was. He played on cue, forming the smile that would reassure even his mother of the reality of Kesi's miraculous return to life. A smile that, if he looked in the mirror, might even convince Nem himself.
"We can play circus, Kesi," he said, letting the hollow chuckle escape his lips as he reached for his sister's hands. He plucked granpapa's book from the table, tucking it under his arm as he pulled his sister towards the door. He shoved at the door, and found it to be unlocked. Surprised but not displeased, he led Kesi out of that room, letting go of her hand as he told her,
"Close the door, Kesi. We'll play circus in our room."
He hoped it was done, he hoped that the treatment would take and his sister might form out of it. He wanted to believe in Kesi's return, but there was no ignoring what he'd done.
Was it guilt that he felt?
No. That girl is the new Kesi. The medicine makes it true.
He nodded, as if agreeing with himself as he listened to her question once she'd come back to him.
"Big brother, can I go to the circus?"
How quickly the tide changed. Pleased that he hadn't failed granpapa, he turned to Kesi with at last a true smile cast upon his lips. The doppelganger would catch the warmth on his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. However, Amenemhat did not look away from the doppelganger. He kept his gaze trained on her as the agreement moved his head.
"The circus is wonderful, my sister. We can go to the show tonight with mama. I'm sure she'd love it. But for now... let's play pretend."