HourgIass
Analytical - Parasitic - Resilient
A Stolen Life
Pet Name: HourgIass
Owner: Melody
Theme / Type: Arctic Nokwi
Born: January 30, 2013
Gender: Female
MisticPal Name: Fate
MisticPal Age: 3164 Days
Battle Portal Stats
Hit Points: 12 / 12
Strength: 15
Defense: 0
Speed: 18
Intellect: 15
Misticpower: 1
Battles Won: 0
Battles Lost: 0
| Attached Weapons | |
Books Read
Books Read: None
Exotic Foods Eaten
Foods Eaten: 0/1254 [ View Foods ]
Pet Profile
The year that Lyda became sick was a strange one. The doctors declared these as the symptoms: hallucination, leading to madness. Rapid decay of the body. Death usually occurred when a critical organ failed. When Lyda became sick, there was no known cure.
She was rushed into the hospital at the very first sign of trouble, and placed into the only open bed - its previous occupant had exited through the back door just a few moments before. She looked around at the doctors. She looked at the people who lay dying. She closed her eyes.
She could see their life.
It was like a mist around them, a whirl of the finest sand. The doctors were framed in perfect spirals, except for one who had just a few thin wisps. Many of the ill were possessed almost as greatly as the healthy, but even as she watched she could see bits of their sand blacken and vanish with one final spark of light, as if burned and consumed. She watched, fascinated, as the last hint of sand was lost from the man in the bed across from her - the light in his eyes was lost in the same moment. She watched, fascinated, as the sand around her steadily flickered into oblivion.
This was the case of those afflicted. They knew their own lifespan. They helplessly observed their final hours ticking away and then they died, their foreknowledge giving them no advantage over the cackling death. But humans, confronted by death, don’t always go silently. Like desperate animals, they cling to life in any way they can. And if life was sand, as to Lyra it now seemed to be, then she would cling to that. She had seen all the people around her die, and she saw that she didn’t have much time left herself. So when the doctor came around, she reached out and tried to steal some of his sand.
It worked.
Several weeks later, the summer left and fall was welcomed in as the end of the year’s trials. Many had died from the plague: mostly children, though two of the doctors - Lyra’s - had also been victims. But Lyra herself lived, seeming to have made a perfect recovery, as far as anyone else could tell. Only she could see the burning of the sands of lives not her own drifting around her. Only she knew why she left to move to the city, where no one would notice a few years stolen here and there. She had no choice: her years were mere hours, and she wanted to live.
She got a job as a nurse, and found comfort in that. She gave life to young children who hadn’t yet tasted what it could offer, and she in turn took it from those she judged less needing. She tried to justify her actions: she was simply equalizing the world. Death was natural, as everyone knew, and did not differentiate between deserving and undeserving people; why should she herself not try to do so? She was trying to do good. She was trying not to do evil. She was just trying to live - was that so wrong?
But still she could see the shadow of death around people, and she shuddered when it descended.
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