The
sun rose over the untrimmed hedges surrounding Lasve Castle. The dirty,
crumbling stone sculptures looking much dirtier than before, due to the bright
light illuminating and accentuating every weathered feature. The castle walls
weren’t in a very good condition either, the windows were smothered in dust and
the walls covered in green, thick moss. The many doors scattered around the
green walls of the castle looked horrible; they were a nice brown colour, but
most of it had peeled off, revealing a ghastly dull grey colour. The door knobs
on every door were silver and slightly rusted. The size of door varied on the
importance of the part of the outside of the Lasve Castle.
All
in all, the exterior looked worse for wear. It looked many centuries old, and
as if it had been long since it’d been inhabited. Nevertheless, anyone who
thought it was empty and most likely about to crumble down entirely was wrong.
It was neither inhabited nor on the brink of destruction.
Its
interior was the entire opposite of its exterior. With immaculate hallways and
tidy rooms, one would most probably think they had entered another house
somehow. No cracks in the walls, no chipped paint anywhere. It was unnatural and most likely bordering on
obsessively neat.
Nyla
Lasve, the only occupant of the ancient castle, was hidden in the South tower.
She was staring into the dawn, seemingly captivated by the wide variety of
colours the early morning had to offer. Her dark mocha hair flying in the wind.
It was waist length and wavy. Her light azure eyes shone with tears not yet
cried. Nor will they ever be cried. She couldn’t.
She,
of course, knew she wasn’t really captivated by the dawn. She had seen it every
day for the previous fifty years, and it never changed at all. It was always
the same, in summer it was early and in winter late. Always orange, then pink
and a smidge of a green shade, ending with the sky blue colour it had all day,
until dusk. It tired her, as her days were always so repetitive.
The
worst time of day was most probably dusk, for Nyla. It somehow represented the
end of the day but also the continuation of a never-ending dark and light day,
for she couldn’t sleep.
It
showed that even the darkest nights could not put her at rest.
She
greatly, every night, regretted choosing this life. She could’ve chosen to just
die, and then that would be done. But she chose to live in this non-corporeal
form, sentencing herself to an eternity long punishment for which crime she
hadn’t done.
It
wasn’t fair.
That
was basically all she thought. She would’ve screamed it from the highest tower
in the damn castle were it not for the fact that she had no voice whatsoever.
Death
had stolen her voice in exchange for the chance to live in this almost translucent
form.
All
those myths, legends and stories were lies. This castle wasn’t haunted by a
bloodthirsty, ravenous, maniacal demon.
It
was occupied by a lonely, sad, mute ghost.
Damn
her wish for immortality.
Damn
her wish to see the future.
Damn
her naive and hopeful teenage mind.
Damn
Death and his conditions, loopholes and games.
Damn
destiny.
***
“Nyla...” a whisper sounded from
across her room. “Nyla...”
Nyla, dressed in her modest nightgown
and sitting by the fire, sat up and closed her book.
“Who- Who is it?” she asked out loud.
When no response came, she forgot about it and opened her book, to continue
reading.
It started again, this time repeating
her name many times; “Nyla... Nyla... Nyla... Nyla... Nyla... NYLA... NYLA...
NYLA... NYLA!” Every time her name was said, the voice got a bit louder and
angrier, until it was practically shouting, screaming in fury. “I have come, to
collect your debt.”
She had a second to remember what it
meant, and she paled considerably at the thought. She’d forgotten her deal to
save her life.
Suddenly, it all went black, and
white, and back to black. It changed rapidly from white to black, making her
dizzy and slightly sick.
Soon after, although it’d felt more
like hours later, it stopped and she was lying on the floor, her book misplaced
clumsily on the cushion upon her armchair. When she tried to lift her hand to
place it properly, she found she couldn’t – her body was immobile.
“Nyla...” the voice whispered, a hint
of smugness laced into its menacing voice. “You have eternity...”
Once again, it all went black.
***
Days,
or weeks, later, she finally thought of something. An idea which; if it worked,
would set her free. She’d rather be dead – literally – than to live another day
alone. She spoke the same words the voice had spoken to her moments before her
supposed death, with the needed change:
“I
wish to break a deal,” she declared, as she stood tall at the same spot she was
to have died. She faltered a bit once she realised she had spoken for the first
time in half a century, but pushed it to the back of her mind; it wasn’t
important.
The
effect was instantaneous, the atmosphere suddenly became dark and depressing,
and the weather was suddenly cold. A dark mist appeared in front of her, like
so many years before, shapeless and blurred.
“Nyla
Lasve,” it drawled in its deep voice. It sent shivers down her spine – fearful
ones – and she looked down. Her nose burned while she breathed, it smelt of
death, which, admittedly, was logical as he was Death. “My dear- You called for
me?”
Nyla,
her voice hoarse and stuttering, managed to force out a semi-strong; “Yes.” She
looked up and stared into a pair of blood red orbs, no black or white in them
whatsoever. It motivated her, encouraged her. “Yes! I wish to break the deal,”
she informed it. “I wish for death and I no longer wish to live eternally
mute.”
“Don’t
you hear, you have a voice now.”
“Now,
but the fact remains, sir, that life has become awful. I no longer am possessed
by the thoughts I was thinking back then.”
The
red orbs seemed to look at her disapprovingly, as if scolding her. It trapped
her, her own eyes couldn’t look away from them, she forgot where she was, who
she was. “If you want... So be it!”
An
aged scroll appeared and Nyla unrolled it, hastily ripping it up as proof of
her broken deal. Once she ripped most of it up, she saw a small print at the
bottom of the paper.
‘Deals
are only broken once the name is erased from the agreement and blood from the
deal maker is spilled. Only then is this scroll to be destroyed with fire from
Hell.’
Horrified,
she looked up and saw the thick black mist had grown in size and now loomed
feet over her. Instead of feeling scared, though, she felt a sense of relief,
as she thought she was dying anyways.
The
last thing she saw before she passed out in pure and utter shock were the burnt
orange, fiery walls of Hell and the terrible sight of the laughing face of the
devil.
Melissa Camargo Vázquez 2º E.S.O. A
