A Story of an Egyptian Demi-God that has found her life becoming cold and lonely.
Author note: Please put your character’s name in the title of every chapter and please refrain from killing other people’s characters or any sort of power-playing. Though I know you guys won’t. Most of all though, just have fun!
Isis:: Leaving Home
The bus screeched to a halt: the air was crisp and the screeching of seagulls could be heard flocking around the fishermen’s boats. I loved it here, it was peaceful and serene. The sycamores bent in the breeze and the sky was always clear and blue. It was called Ocean Skye and is a town you would only know about if you knew where it was. Yet business pulled me elsewhere, if it was not important I would not leave, I never turn my attention to medial tasks.
Yet here I was, staring at my reflection in the bus windows. My hair was black and straigh, falling down to my lower back. I never used to have black hair, it used to be a white-blonde until my 'curse' burnt it. My eyes were a stunning gold (a birth defect to all those that ask) in truth, they used to be crystal blue. I was a salutation to the sun and germanic tribes, now I have forfeited it all to become a piece of Egyptian history.
I have Egyptian hieroglyphics running down my back and arms but fading into my legs, stomach and neck. They ran in circles, swirls and shapes like the wind caressing the boughs of my ancient sycamores. They say a myriad of things, from prayers to words from the Gods, I have slowly learnt each part of my body and it's touching. I draw on the power of words for my spells and as such they are etched into the fabric of my being. That's all I am now, word of mouth passed down through the generations.
I picked up my backpack and got on the bus, paying my fare and slinking into the back seat. It seemed new, the red leather still fresh and the metal still shimmering in the fresh sunlight. I even noticed the bus-driver. She had brown hair falling around her face in frizzy curls, she had a bright smile and even though she was well into her forties I could tell she had not been a bus-driver very long.
I sat rubbing my Egyptian Ankh, murmuring a slight spell of safe-keeping under my breath and making my tattoo's glow gold slightly. I was known for my strength and hard-hearted approaches. But even I couldn’t really help gazing out of the back window as she tore away over the dirt path, between the two mountains that hid my little town from the rest of the world before joining the tarmac. All I can think was: this had better be worth it.