Everbound Prologue : Tapestries And Temptations. (Revisited)

Hello, hello everyone, happy, very late New Year! What better way to start 2026 than by giving my readers déjà vu? I've been unhappy with the early chapters for a bit and will slowly ( very, very, very slowly) be updating them. Anyway, I hope this will be more fitting and that you enjoy reading! 

tw: implied gore. 

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Fate’s will was more than thrown-out dice or games played in the dark. In fact, it writhed and changed with every breath, while chance was reduced to a thread for her steady hands to weave. Fragments of realities and choices wound themselves into the grand scheme of things as scarlet knots in an unfinished tapestry. Those growing tangles of pulsing light promised to drag her back to Hell.

Whispers of the early afternoon bleached golden walls, while it crept from the elongated frames of shadows already far too tall. They were unbothered, echoes of footsteps and bowed heads going through the motions of busy work. Carried along with the movements were fading remnants of gossip and muted greetings lost to winding halls. All while the opalescent ghost of sunspots wandered across the marble floor. They seemed to drink up the lingering calm twinged in the warmth of the heliotrope that laced the ever-growing room’s surface. The air hung heavy, as if waiting with bated breath for folded hands and the click of boots to grace the doorway.

Perhaps in a silent show of mercy, the fading glimpse of servants and swaying black silk was replaced with the stern stare of a figure whose chest refused to hold the tension of her rigid spine. Instead, it clung to a regal confidence that threatened to be undermined by the slight rise of a cranberry coloured brow.

“You will not meet me physically, old friend? Even after I cut short my other business for you? “The figure called, her voice swirled around the vaulted ceiling.

For a second, any response was trampled under the quickening footsteps that fled across the oversized hallways. All while the air grew in heft as it lunged forward, seeking to pin squared shoulders to the glinting walls with an unseen stare. Faint notes of earthy sandalwood seeped from the warm breath that dug into the figure’s freckled skin—words formed against the unmoving muscles where the pressure of a body should have been.

“Oh, but this meeting is so simple in purpose; anything else would complicate things. After all, flesh is just a constraint I gave to those with a set form. “

A voice devoured the room whole.

“Shouldn’t a being of your age know better than to think I’ve stopped watching just because your eyes cannot see me? However, if it would quell that paranoid part of you that craves blood, I can assure you, your highness, I am as real as the air in your lungs.”

The click of boots returned once again as the figures’ strides began to lengthen. Much like the unshaken laugh that escaped from the polite grin of somewhat sharpened teeth.

“Beings my age still frown on intruders, real or not. That doesn’t change the fact that you came onto my land, my palace, actually, my bedroom of all places, and refuse to show me basic niceties. “Life seemed to spark between the silent gaps like short bursts of electricity ebbing from an endless wire. “For the architect of everything, your manners are sure slipping, Fate.”

The weight of the room shifted as tendrils of air grew and crept forward. Although it refused to pierce the veins they sat on, the air began to morph and sharpen. However, there would be no daggers in the figure’s steady lungs. Rather, those tendrils of air would writhe as arcs of light took their place.

There was a grace to how they scraped against embroidered sleeves, tearing at the woven thread just as they had the room’s surface. Where disembodied voices lingered was now the glint of splintering energy caught in the sun like golden nerves. Every touch was laced with a withheld threat, as if they craved to stain the black silk with the burning blood red of the figure’s loose waves.

“Careful now, old friend. Those barbs sound more like your husband’s words.” Fate’s voice echoed through the figure’s bones as those golden nerves sank into her shoulders. “If I wanted to deal with the former silver tongue of heaven, I would do so directly.”

“Well, at the very least, your common sense has remained intact. After all, having him comply with anything you say is a fool’s errand.”

The figure’s gaze refused to fall on the slight tremor under her skin. Instead, it settled on the coils of ghost-like string that trailed around doorframes and shadow-filled corners. Although this ghost seemed unsure whether it wanted to be consumed by the rippling grasp of her train or be a flicker caught by her breath as it fled its home wound tight against her finger. Even so, it was forced to follow much like whispers of shining crimson as she shook off the gold’s embrace.

“Oh, I am sure his piqued interest would have outweighed the distaste he holds. Such is the way, when it comes to matters of temptation; in fact, it’s more of a small mortal issue that brings me here. “Fate’s voice seemed to ring out from the figure’s shadows as she walked.

For a moment, the distant sound of twirling footfall drifted through the air in place of words. It was more like the haunting rumble of thunder as it strained against the clatter of bells and steady music that briefly entrapped it. Here it was, a mere memory carried by the wind away from the never-ending festivities in the streets below them.

Still, the lingering undercurrent of blood and lavender could not shake the figure’s strides like it did the joyous tone of the noise. Instead, it filled her lungs with the same ease with which her strides closed the distance that spread across the marble floor. A thousand half-formed responses sank into her parted lips like the spectre of her calloused fingertips. All while they glided against the swirls of carved ivory bedposts and the velvety embrace of smoke-kissed emerald sheets. Remnants of worry flashed across the shared hue of her glance as her resigned breath seemed to reach for her goal before her careful grasp could pluck at the few burnt feathers that lingered on what was meant to be a shared place of rest.

“It seems you may have spent a little too much time with your mortal issue, as I remember being the great tempest, not the other way around. Backwards stories aside, you are in the right place even if it means our bit of fun is over.”

A misshapen sound caught between a sneer and a sigh reverberated from the dimming walls as that rumbling deepened. The pantomime of thunder promised to give into reality as trails of silken char and the curves of ash-stained down were brought to the figure’s lips.

Where the sweet pressure of an embrace should have been, were now muttered thanks carried along gold-tinted breath. For a moment, those words soaked in the ghost of lingering dragon’s blood and the spiced aftermath of frankincense before wrapping themselves around the soft curves pressed to her dry, sweat-riddled skin. All the while, the unrelenting pace of revelry defied bow windows and pulsed through the air.

Its rise and fall seemed to hold a twin in the figure’s restless heart as the feather thrashed like a dying animal. Ebony ringlets peeled away from the desperate buckling movement as they tore through the cracks in her grip. Each curl bit into flesh as if trying to imbue the thinning strands with life as they sharpened into gossamer threads. One’s dismayed by their existence of forging lattice-like shadows as their reach seemed to grow in power. Soon, thin spears of thread rose from their posts and split the air, hungry for the entrails of some unseen force.

“I have my story straight, but you have forgotten yourself; where Hell sees an empress, I see mere atoms. Things far more divine than a rogue songbird have fallen by my hand for much less.” Fate’s voice mimicked the growing rumbling that shook the ground and strangled the will from the inky tangle as it plummeted towards spotless marble.

“Forgive me. It seems my concentration slipped while picturing the misery you will no doubt show me. After all, we both know I am only standing here because you puppet my body to highlight the grim path you’ve chosen. This time, you could at least let me practice my weaving first!”

A slow-to-cool resentment hid in the cramps that flooded her tensed jaw and betrayed the figure’s grasp by stealing the colour from her paling knuckles. Flashes of amber stirred in the emerald depths of the figure’s gaze as the faint glow intertwined with the golden nerves once again primed to dig into her high-strung shoulder blades.

However, those flecks of colour had no place to rest among the eclipsing shadows brought by the darkened swirls of the angered clouds. Rather, it clung to the onyx sheen of the winding threads as they sat against the spirals of crimson ink decorating the skilled hands that wove them. Together, they would be silent witnesses to muttered curses lost to the coming rain and the scale-like imprints breaking at her temple, forever caught between reptilian and flesh.

Even so, Fate’s voice crept forward with a seething tilt as a new weight threatened to break into hardened muscles.

“Why are you so hard set on acting like a child! Not forgiving me for that vision all those years ago is one thing, but this is just a shameful stain on what could have been such a nostalgic meeting for you. ‘ “The air hissed out those words. “I thought you could truly handle my one request, for it is so small, just the records of your mundane life. However, if you want to pull teeth, we can pull teeth.”

Heralded by the vicious click of boots turning heel, circlets of embroidered silk were torn asunder by lashes of lightning. The fading afterimage nestled into the taught planes of the figure’s face, tainting bared teeth and twitching brows in a corpse-like blue. All while cries of worry and scrambling feet clung to her haggard breath as they fled from the streets below.

“Forgive you? You want me to forgive you, when seven years is a blink of an eye, and you made me watch that poor young man beg for his mother; beg for the time he should have had as he thrashed in rain-soaked terror. “

The figure’s words were coated in venom.

”You made me watch as he…he.. And now you want a tender part of my past. Tell me, old friend, what pointless suffering are you going to sow with my journals?”

The growing dampness that smothered the rising fire in the figure’s lungs did little to numb the dagger’s edge that pierced her waterlogged tendons. It was a steady weapon crafted from the ruthless sheets of rain that drew ever nearer. Even so, the hiss-like rhythm of its fall felt closer to a butcher’s laugh than what shook the garden mere inches away from her.

Once tall tree branches bowed their heavy heads, and age-old roots were drowned under the tossing waves of carnage born from red clay. In the approaching storm, no catharsis would come from the few remaining wind-swept limbs taking out their wrath on the fogging windows.

“Even though everything hinged on you being this way, it’s a shame you’re one of such little faith. Unlike that treacherous thing called free will, I am no petty goddess rearranging random events. “

Those golden nerves lurched forward, splinters of light seeming to distort with every word. A stuttering click of boots joined the chaos of the streets below as fraying edges of light twisted into pointed, needle-like tips. It seemed unhappy with its form as arcs of light contorted into the misshapen curl of fingers. Ones that craved to split open the figure’s flesh, weaving the opulent reflection through iron-soaked gashes.

In the end, Fate’s coming words seemed to stain the air like the tacky warmth that clung to the figures’ cheeks and stifled cries of pain.

“However, if you wish to prolong this so-called pointless suffering, be my guest. Just remember your stalling pieces on the board that will be moved, regardless”.

Unspoken responses formed in between building hisses laced with a smothered hurt. All before they tumbled into the pool of crimson at the figure’s feet. The gurgle of scrambled words was as futile as her straining grasp attempting to sink into those gilded lights.

“If you can move the pieces … then why do you need me…”

The figure’s words nearly fled with the rain as it mingled with a callous laugh.

“Oh, I can move the pieces, but that does not stop them from biting my hand. You said it yourself. It is a fool’s errand to get your husband to do anything for me, and yet it’s his journal I need.”

Another bitter laugh swirled around the vaulted ceiling, dodging the rumble of thunder as it looked for the lips that birthed it. Instead, it found wide, fearful eyes, betraying steady shoulders as lithe fingers clawed at the grasp before them. The once stoic rise and fall of the figure’s chest grew as hectic as her backpedalling steps. All while those golden threads threatened to tear into cheekbones.

“Even if it were mine to give you, you do know how old that journal is? It needed to be archived; unless you can turn back time, it will be dust in your hands. Illegible dust at that!”

The space between shallow gasps was filled with a struggle coated in the scent of sandalwood. Even as its warmth played among shaking breaths, it did little to consume the ghost of ageing copper that consumed the room. It didn’t grow through the undercurrents of panicked steps or grasping hands clawing at the burrowing light. Rather, it overtook heels through sickly strings of crimson that echoed tendons stripped bare.

“I don’t need to bend something as fickle as time when I merely need to visit his little flock.” Fate’s voice reverberated through the walls like vocal cords aching to be used.

Its aftermath soaked into the marble deeper than the blood could ever reach as the click of boots was cut short. Not through the stilling walls as the shadows fell into silence, but the press of wood against vertebrae. The once comforting wear of the loom behind her seemed to now mirror the violent throws of tree branches as the apple wood pierced through silk and fought to skewer millennia-old scars.

No fresh gore would be pulled from the figure as she waited for the pressure of some unseen body. Instead, slowed words would be pulled from her mouth like unwinding threads ripped away by shaking fists.

“By The Ars Goetia, of course. T-This whole thing was just an excuse to step onto coven grounds without my husband starting a bloodbath. “

The figure’s voice clung to a slight tremor that went against her squared shoulders and straightening spine. For a second, her emerald gaze seemed to harden as that long-lost stoic elegance returned.

“Even your little shows of force were to distract from the fact that no mortal alive could read or even understand the original copy. Tell me, is this due to the humans being too scared to question whether the change on the wind would lead to prosperity or ruin? “

Remains of that unshakeable empress returned through forceful steps forward. The click of heels dragged both golden trim and what survived of ruined thread through fresh streams of blood. It seemed to swallow the forsaken tapestry with the same mournful acceptance that drove her callused fingers into heaving wounds. The one steady grace that reconstructed the world outside her window now tore at nerves both flesh and light. Amidst the stain of scarlet were iron perfumed gags where screams should be.

All while those gleaming shreds seemed to morph into a pearl-like gaze staring into her own. Long after fate’s final words were lost to the wind.

“I expected you to know by now that change isn’t simply good nor bad.”