[Flashback] An Impossible Shade of Red

[Ciryn]

45th of Summer, 496 AV

Cyrin, Cyrin, your name is weird.
Why is your name so funny sounding?
Your name is wrong.

You’re not one of us.

The other children were cruel. The taunts she had endured all her life echoed in her head, rattling around like bones. She had stripped them of their flesh, but the cold, hard piercing pain was still there, it would always be there. Flesh rots and decays, bone is not destroyed so easily.

She knew she was different. She had always known. Her skin was disgustingly pale, and her name…it was a constant reminder of where she came from, of what she was. Her blood was dirtied. There were other children with names that stood out, but she could not hide her appearance. Every chance she had she begged her mother to teach her new braids, new knots, she begged her to tie bits of bone and beads into her long, dark hair. It was one of the few Myrian traits she could cling to, but even that was tainted with the slightest copper sheen owing to her father. Sometimes she almost hated him.

Almost. When the other children called her names the blood would rise to her cheeks, her pale skin becoming a brilliant shade of red inaccessible to any pure Myrian. Cyrin knew she was different, but she was certainly not weak. She could not fight their words with words, but she could fight them the way a true Myrian would.

[Ciryn]

The sun blazed red in the sky. The fire burning in the heavens made her head hot and her heart hotter.

I said “You’re not one of us”, Rasha grinned, “Are you deaf as well? Or just dumb?” He turned back to the group of children, “She’s too stupid to even reply, or maybe...” he paused “she’s too scared”. Ciryn’s temper flared. She was not scared. She would never be scared. Hurt, yes. The words hit deep, but the words were true. She was not one of them. She could not fight the truth. But being called scared, that was a lie, and she was prepared to fight that to the death.

She had taken enough. Their words bit and she would bite back. Ciryn lunged for Rasha, driving her fist into his gut. As he toppled over she grabbed his arm and sunk her teeth into his golden brown flesh. The steely taste of blood filled her mouth.

He screamed in pain. “You crazy bitch! Get off me! Somebody get her off me!” The other children crowded around, none making any move towards stopping the fight.

Rasha recovered from the shock and used all his strength to push her off him. Seconds after his fist collided with her face. Now not only did his blood run down her chin, but her own gushed out, bloodying her teeth. She flashed the on looking children a smile, her teeth outlined in red, and unleashed a battle cry. Some of the children looked frightened, some joined in, their howling chant rising and falling. Her heart began to beat faster, mirroring that of the chant.

Rasha was several inches taller and almost two years older, but Ciryn was quick. She was able to dodge most of his swings, darting out of the way, dancing around him, taunting him the way he had taunted her.

Rasha landed a blow, knocking her to her knees. He towered over her, leering, confident in his victory, “Don’t you think for a second that you’re better than me. Dirty blood”. He spat out the last two words as if it dirtied his mouth just to say them. He reached for her, but Cyrin scrambled beneath his legs and launched herself onto his back. Her head pounded from the force of that last strike she had taken, but she managed to hold on, latching her fists into his hair and pulling as hard as she could. He shrieked, but was quickly cut off as her hands found his neck and began to squeeze. All her fury turned to pride as he fell to the ground, writhing and gasping for air.

The ring of children broke, turning into a crowd. They cheered, reveling in the burst of violence. She felt their hands clap against her back, heard their words praising her, but all the same they had shown no warmth before. Was acceptance really won through violence? It had felt good. The crunch and crack as she hit his nose, the bitter warmth of blood, the rush as the rage that she had kept hidden so long took revenge. She wanted to hurt again. It had not been enough. The damage done by their words could not be repaid in blood.

I’m still not one of you.

That thought echoed in her head, drowning out the shouts of praise.