An City Which Now Screams Black (Sequel to The Ocean That Crackled Red)

This is an sequel to The Ocean That Crackled Red. Please read that story before you read this one. Thank you.

https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work/Purple67/The-Ocean-That-Crackled-Red-158473

In one way or another there was an city deemed fearless, enigmatic, and disrespectful by an man you have heard many years ago--- somebody formed from mistakes inflicted upon by the people who would save his life and the river that took his bones and nerves and dug them deep in the sand even though the man was later rendered alive. But nothing ends simply with pure appeasement guaranteed--- because just when Desmond was claimed of his life, another would be next on the gods list of possible executions. Not by public humiliation or even private humiliation--- but by nature's deadly forces of pure evil. Natural, cold-blooded evil.

Cybella was an 21-year-old, Dutch girl living in the worst of societies many failures. Classification of the arbitrary and the trite. Cybella's only necessary traits was her ugly obsession with poison and her obedience to her kingdoms oppressive rule. Since she was an kid, no one saw her as equal. The only thing she could be included in was watching her mother squirm in never ending pain as the baby she was carrying died inside the womb in front of her young eyes or watching the elderly fall to their suicidal deaths for an flawed education on why she should worship the queen, who would attempt at slaying her every second of her little life  Mother died that following morning. The only things important about her existence was this. She was Dutch. And an woman.

Cybella later left her young life to live in Zarc away from all parental figures. And the authorities. No king and no queen. Just mayors, presidents, and government workers. Except all of them were probably just anthropomorphic elven deer men. Or just elven-like.

In an glorious, frosted golden city of Zarc, Cybella wasted time looking around the nightly markets to buy meat or went to snowy chapels nearby to worship. Blizzards swept the city almost every month no matter the season. But tonight, it was completely cleared out of snow. By now, her fair-skinned body turned an deadly, clammy blue tint as her fingertips seared at the ends by the excess cold. Her soles turned purple and yellow, her toes aching every second she walked. But she promised never to complain, even with an obvious painful limp. Instead, she compensated for both aching feet and slipped on flats instead of her heels.  Now, people would just see an dainty Dutch lady walking in brown flats. Not an peasant or an stranger. Just an proper, probably old lady.

Cybella should of just collapsed right there in front of the whole city. Her upper body stiffened, leading her to pull up against an even colder pole. This poor body. Always getting ahead of time and its allowance for me to die.

And now without her knowing, she was stranded in an windy sidewalk. Alone. Without much care of how much pain she was in. Cybella left the sidewalk to re-route inside an warm, cozy art museum. Though she couldn't care to look at the art. She just wanted an place to rest. She had an large bucket ready for lukewarm water to soak in. But this wasn't like home. She was in an public area, People would freak out. 

Where could I possibly hide out in? 

She had to find an place. Fast. Too fast. Her muscles were starting to tighten, like somebody's hand on an wet towel. Except this wasn't an towel. It was skin and bone. Cybella limped even more, holding an arm against her side. An woman on an receptionist chair stared at her barely surviving self. "Welcome on into the museum. Trying to stay out of the cold?"

"Oh yes, madam. How are you?" Cybella spoke at an squeaky, nearly childish octave.

"Just fine. Where is your ticket?"

Oh. So that's where this was going, Tickets for admission. Does she see how much agony I am in right now?

"Uhm, well I just got here. I figured I just look around, get an coffee or an hearty soup or some danishes. Yeah. That's it."

"Y'know..." The receptionist trailed off. "You could just pay here for an ticket for your admission. We are technically letting people off easy today though thanks to the horrible weather, so we should just be having free admissions instead. But since I don't know you, I can't say that is possible." 

Cybella thought of an way to bring up something of reference to the receptionist. "Do you remember me when I was 11 and we took all those long, overnight ballet camps overseas? What about the time I taught you German and Dutch in school together and the time we fought against the prince and the time I combed your blond, silky hair and the time I-"

"Alright. I know who you are, girl. You're Dutch. Brown haired. Big eyes as big as the moon. I get it." 

"Well, now I'm an official citizen here. I no longer have to travel long distances to go out. Do you even care to know who I really am?"

"All I know is that you are an woman. And that the queen wanted you dead. And that's all I care about." The receptionist sighed. "Just get on with it, scramble off and I'll give you the ticket, for fucks sake."

Cybella nodded, not even trying to cry. What had gotten into the woman she loved now?

The receptionist went off to get the tickets, handing it to an suited man at the second booth. Cybella went over, and took the tickets, wandering off around the gilded upstairs to find somewhere private. Cybella had no reason to be treated in this way. She was more than an simple woman. She wanted to be an ballerina. An scientist. An musical artist.

Now, the heat off her body from her distress was the only thing warming her up. And yet, no room was found in her sight to confide in herself. When she got to the popular pottery exhibit, she glumly sat at an crooked, cracked vase nearby in the gallery. Like the vase, she crumpled into an slouch, twiddling her fingers as she zoned out, looking at the bright walls around her. If anyone wanted her, who would it be? If she knew, who would still be alive to live her tale? Was the receptionist true in saying she didn't know her? Or did they always think she was bad because she was Dutch, imperfect, and disrespectful? Did she join the camps for nothing at all? 

Did she deserve to be alive?

Cybella sat with these questions foaming up the bath in her head, which had now just been back to cold, moisture deprived air. Her heart pumped faster, as it was just as distressed as she was, pumping on its own like the marching bands she admired as an baby. Slowing down, she sighed and picked back up her stride to the best of her ability. 

And without warning, her shoes were oozing with blood in the soles. They had finally cracked open. The blood wasn't fast or flowed, it just trickled down her insole. The receptionist came back, staring at Cybella's bruised ankles. She just looked down, and walked off without care. Now, Cybella could not walk without the fear of the cuts getting larger. She had put her feet through hell, but she never thought they would crack open---like this. 

Cybella waltzed down to the public women's restrooms, taking an handful of paper towels and hiding away in an wheelchair accessible stall. Removing the flats off her feet, she struggled to pull them off just because of how swollen her feet were. They didn't even feel real. Did she fracture something and just didn't notice?

Cybella gasped as her socks had an bloody lined stain at the arch. She tore them off, realizing that her feet were not becoming hers anymore. Her pretty toe nail beds were becoming necrotic, blackened by something she didn't quite know. Her heels were opening up, oozing nearly tarry blood as her ankles were so swollen that it was like her limbs were close to exploding, But something worse was coming. 

Barefooted, Cybella stood up on her feet, trying to keep herself upright without screaming out in pain. Straight-lined steps to the door released an strange, uncanny sound against her eardrums. It was like the sound of shattered glass. There were no glass fixtures. Did somebody break into the room? 

No. It was worse than that. Two broken legs. Now it was the time to scream. Cybella bit her lip, falling down on her bottom as her legs gave out below her. Cybella punctured something on her lip, so she couldn't bite down much longer. Cybella screamed, crying out but only allowing silence to be heard before something demonic spewed out of her mouth. An sound akin to an dying whale mixed with an banshee. This lasted for more than an second to the point it was more like an wail than an scream. They just got louder, and she couldn't stop to breathe. An bunch of men scrambled to the women's restroom, wondering what the hell happened with the girl that they admitted for free in an museum. One of them tried to break down the door, but could not succeed. Then, the men complained of their tongue's being black and how badly their breath smelled in the air. One of the men screamed. "Get her out! Now!"  

Cybella could overhear the receptionist retching in another room, groaning as her keys shuffle against her belt. "Do you really think its okay to gamble when Dannela up front is puking inside of the men's restroom? What if the lady is getting sick, too?" An young, high pitched voice asks as she gags probably due to the smell of his breath. "I need an mint!'

Cybella stopped screaming to see the rest of her crumpled body taken away from the restroom by the suited man from the second booth. Cybella's weakly gagged. Her cuts were starting to smell just as bad as the men's breaths. Bitter, rotten, and dying. Who knew what could of happened if they just left her to rot. She didn't want to think like that. Until the last thing she heard was that she was going to die. 

Her dreams were not so sweet before her body laid to rest and passed on. Maybe she'll was always destined to be an dead, rotten woman.

***

Poison. Her passing was caused by poison. Or what she thought was her death.

Zarc was no more than an sickened tale of nature's deadliest, most rotten powers. But now, her new existence was bound to yet another world. To her shock, Danella was still alive. But now she had learned to better handle Bibi, Cybella's new name since her arrival in the South. Danella was robbed of her ability to eat or hear very well, but now admired Bibi more than ever. What was once an hatred for Bibi was now Danella's only hope in an new, unfamiliar world. 

Before the days went darker and darker, Bibi's fair, snowy skin turned into an golden brown tan. Bibi improved in her ballet skills and started performing around the globe and occasionally singing for opera houses during the holidays. But an side effect from Bibi's fate was that she could no longer feel her legs, making it harder to know when she was hurting herself. Desmond found her fascinating, lovely, perfect. Both had physical advantages and challenges from the world surrounding their past lives. And Desmond being strong felt like she was the perfect foil for himself. Bibi was sensitive and kind. Desmond was hard-edged and fixated on his past. 

Mr. Westchief appeared at their table, pushing Desmond out the way to get to the both of them. 

"I do not deserved to be pushed, you hear me?" Desmond cried out. 

Mr. Westchief scoffed, laughing under his breath to then clear his throat. "I have an dare for you both."

Both sat in silence awaiting for his response. Mr. Westchief spilled it out eventually. "Have an few drinks. But you'll have to perform for me after. Especially Mrs. Bibi. I want to see your true potential. If you mess this up, I'll have to do what I have been always been due to do."

"What is that, Mister?" Bibi inquired. 

Mr. Westchief cleared his throat again. "You'll be bound to give me your most prized possession. I do not care what is contains, but it will have to be something you would die to keep forever. If I cannot get an reaction from the crowd, you will get nothing and your prize will be burned in the fire. If that doesn't work, I'll have to do something worse. Steal your dignity. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Mr. Westchief prohibited their input when Bibi messed up the week after. For the thing he stole, it was something she had worked hard to get. Her first born child. And an single golden leaf. 

THE END