The storm roared like a rabid beast that night, and rain poured down from the dark clouds torrentially. Their house barely survived the turbulent downpour. The wooden entrance was ripped off by the furious wind, and windows rattled while furniture dragged along the wet wooden floorboards.
She shivered in a black cotton shirt, one she seemed to have worn for days. She had on a short, tattered pleated skirt, with an old scarlet scarf wrapped around her bony neck. It was her only protection from the violent cold.
Lyra, a girl of just eleven years, but her mind felt burdened like that of an adult, weighed down by the struggles of her existence, her endurance, her curse.
Her family had always lived in poverty. She was born in this cramped house in the middle of a forest. Fortunately, there were no wild predators in the area, making it somewhat habitable. Her father would travel to town to sell timber and return home with whatever money he could gather. Her mother tended a small farm behind their house, which was how they managed to eat.
Lyra longed to help her parents, but they always refused, insisting it was too dangerous for her to go to town. Her education was conducted entirely at home, her parents provided her with books, musical instruments, and everything else she needed, but they never allowed her to step outside the forest.
That was until her father fell terminally ill, showing only signs of frailty. It was strange because Daniel, her father, had always been a spirited young man. But in the end, he died a slow, agonising death.
Lyra couldn't help but blame her mother for not giving up on him. After all, he was only thirty-five. It was during this time that she learned the horrifying truth about The Curse.
There were three kinds of people in the world:
The Blessed. As the name suggests, they were favored by the gods, especially Zeus and his kin. They possessed extraordinary energy called Vibe, allowing them to harness the power of music for protection against the lurking demons in the shadows.
The Norms. These individuals did not possess Vibe and were unable to perform extraordinary feats with music. Instead, they focused on various professions such as trades, education, healthcare, engineering, and food industries. The majority of the population fell into this category.
The Cursed. Created by Pan, the demon goat, they were flawed beings who could not live long lives. Even though they had power, it came at a devastating cost: their souls were drained by the very power that brought them into existence. Most of them died before the age of thirty-five, and none escaped this fate. This was the essence of being The Cursed.
Naturally, The Blessed despised The Cursed due to their origins, even though it was beyond their control. The Cursed bore the blame for their plight, but the world was indifferent to their suffering.
Lyra and her family were among those branded as The Cursed. However, their situation was even more dire; her parents had been exiled from their own country—the land of The Cursed, which had been a home for many over the centuries.
Lyra's parents had chosen to deny the originality of their origin. They were determined to uncover the truth behind their creation. Their quest for answers ultimately led them too far, resulting in their banishment and the eventual relocation to the forest where they now lived.
Lyra was unaware of her family's past or the existence of the cursed land. All she comprehended at the time was the curse that hindered her life and the parents who inadvertently brought it upon her.
"Selfish bastards," she muttered, tears filling her hollow grey eyes as she watched her mother, Delores, lie feeble and lifeless on the bed, fading away too. A dark future loomed in her mind.
Her mother, who was in torment, turned to look at her, cuddled on a chair beside the bed. The storm raged outside, tearing at the house's foundations.
"I'm sorry, Lyra… for bringing you into this world," Delores said, her voice quivering, breaths ragged and rough, her heart aching with the uncertainty of her daughter's future now that she was dying.
"You should be, Mom. You should be. Why do I have to live with this? Mom?" Lyra replied, her tears flowing freely now.
The wind slammed against the window beside her, yanking it from its hinges with a loud crash, startling both Lyra and Delores.
Delores slowly and shakily extended her hand toward her. She rebuked her.
"No, Mom! Don't do that! Don't act all lovey-dovey now!" She screamed, her voice booming for an eleven-year-old, but barely audible in the raging storm.
"Listen to me!" her mom yelled before immediately coughing up blood. "I know you hate me... but please, honor your father and me. Do not share your real surname. They must not know."
"Why? What aren't you telling me?" Lyra narrowed her eyes, a puzzled look on her face.
Delores exhaled slowly, struggling to keep her eyes open. "I love you, Lyra… I always will." With that, she closed her eyes. Finally.
"Mom, mom, mom," Lyra cried, running to Delores and shaking her a few times before bursting into tears.
"No, no, no... it finally happened," she whispered.
Instead of crying more, she slowly lay down on the wet floor beside the bed. It was freezing, but that didn't bother her. There was another pain overwhelming her heart.
Even though she wasn't very fond of her mom, she still loved her. She needed her and wasn't ready to let her go. Who could blame her? She was just a little girl, now alone to carry the weight of her life. It felt too early. Would she be crushed? Would she survive? She had no answers.
"Don't share your real surname"? What did that even mean? She felt utterly clueless.
Soon after, the raging storm quieted. Lyra stood up from the wet floor. Her face didn't show any particular emotion. Not sadness, not anger, not pain. Just a blank look. It was as though she had transformed, as if all her feelings had disappeared. But that wasn't true; she was simply holding them back.
She stepped up, soaking wet. Her long dreadlocks felt heavier from being drenched. Water dripped down her back, and her shirt clung to her skin. She looked around the room: at the battered window, at the torn curtain, at the door that had been ripped off its hinges, and finally, at her mother's lifeless body.
She felt comfort in the silence, convinced that it was the only thing keeping her together. Like any slight sound could tear her apart. She stepped gingerly on the floorboards, trying her hardest not to make a noise. But the unstable wood disagreed.
As she took the first step, the board creaked, startling her. She fell hard onto her bottom from the surprise. Still wearing that blank expression, she looked around.
She remained there, staring into the space before her, unable to think, her mind frozen. She couldn't feel anything; her heart wasn't even pumping. All that filled her ears was a high-pitched noise. She just sat there, staring.
***
"CREAK!" The kitchen cupboard said hollowly. Tilting her head, Lyra looked back even emptier at it. She stood on the kitchen cabinet. The cupboard was empty, except for a single red apple sitting quietly in the corner on the wooden slab. Just one apple, her mother had left her.
She took it and slid it into the overly patched knapsack she was holding. She had packed just two outfits, a blanket, and an apple.
Walking back to her mother's room, she gazed at Delores lying on the bed. Her mother's face was pale and cold. Lyra stepped closer.
A sudden push to her side caused her mother to roll off the bed, landing hard on the floor with a loud thud and crack as the wooden floor splintered.
Lyra lifted Delores' arm, dragging her with all her strength, grunting as she bit her teeth. Veins popped out on her blank face.
Finally, she managed to haul her outside.
It was next to her father's grave at the back of their house, just before the small farm now overrun with pests.
"I should at least give her a proper send-off," she said, staring at the grave.
"So… I'm leaving. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm sure as hell not staying here," she continued.
"Maybe I'll go down to town, like you always told me not to. Don't worry; I'll carry the name Lyra Mikaelson… just thought you should know."
She turned to her father's grave. "By the way, you both owe me answers. I hope you stashed them somewhere… not that I'm willing to find them, at least not now."
"Okay, bye. I'm leaving now."
And thus began the journey. The journey of the ones who had no choice. It all started That Wretched Night