A Lenria’s Tale – First Chapter


This is the first chapter to the prequel story I started back in 2015. This is as far as I ended up writing for it, but I do intend on completing this story at some point in the future.

This ‘chapter’ is quite short because I never actually finished it, but it still ends somewhat decently. 

As I said in my previous post, I have been away for a while but I am coming back in full force. Keep an eye on my YouTube channel, that’s where I’ll be devoting a good amount of my energy, other than working on new stories that I intend to self-publish by the end of the year.

Things might get a bit crazy over the course of this year.

I’ll leave it at that.

Hope you enjoy reading this, and I’ll see you around sooner than the last time I posted about that.  


So, here I sit, shrouded in angst. Resentful. Hateful. Vengeful. I am them all and so much more. I am the dark that stalks the light, bound and imprisoned by an eternal fate no weeping could wither. I am many things, but never regretful.

No, because it is now I who shall determine my fate. It is my words that shall spin this story, my hands that paint the picture, my will that tells the tale. A tale of a young girl destined to destroy. A girl spawned to spawn calamity in turn.

And so we begin where the first signs of calamity did, and to do so we shall take a trip down memory lane to a distant place that’s flames have long since extinguished. To the place which I was born, to my home town of Forswin.

As you may have guessed, Forswin was not a particularly well-known or talked about town. The town just about struggled on, held barely stable by its farming industry–if the town was known for anything, it would be that. The population would always remain in the dozens, a small town of people who simply wanted to go about their day without any trouble.

Myths of magical creatures that hid amongst the human populace had spread like wildfire. There were talks of what to do with them, but the problem was no one knew what they looked like, all we knew was they looked like us.

In Forswin, a town where nobody dealt with the supernatural, where myths and legends remained just that, and we lived in peace as the world turned, and the mysteries turned with it. It was as though no world existed outside our own. But that’s what makes what happened perhaps truly humorous.

Several months after the initial rumors had begun spreading, a new claim emerged. People began saying that all the alleged creatures were women. Of course, you know what happened at that point. The men scoffed it off, their egos too fragile, too arrogant to accept such a thing. “It’s just old fisher wives tales,” they’d say.

The world laughed as stories of magical women became commonplace. But not in Forswin. You see, something the town was frequent in doing – though not as well-known for – was their pious witch hunts. The inhabitants to the small town had believed women possessed supernatural ability for decades, but they always believed that something made them immune to it. That being mostly cut off from the world – save for their farming –  also severed all ties to the hellish Void that corrupted it.

I don’t need to tell you how preposterous that is. Anyway, it was not too long after a fire erupted in one of the small homes in the town that minds began to change, reconsidering what may be. And any doubt that lingered in their minds dissipated when they saw the young, black-haired girl leaving the burning house, not a scar or wound to her. And when they saw those glistening devilish red eyes of hers, what were they to think?

“Witch!” they hissed. “Foul demon! Burn her!” They’d rush for their rusted swords, knees wobbling and arms obviously untrained. They’d not seen action for the past century. The townspeople were out of touch with reality. But on that day they came back to it.

Of course, the girl who limped out of the house was me. And of course, I was far too naïve to understand my power. I had indeed burned the house, but there had been no one in it. What exactly was the problem? Sure, they’d have to rebuild it, it’d be costly, but was that any reason to call me a witch? When Madeline Arell somehow burnt her stew every other day was that because she was a witch? When Aran Nock lusted over Sweet Susie, was that because she was using her witchery to seduce him?

Of course, it wasn’t. But I didn’t think about that. I just ran. I ran as far from the town as I could, straight into Forswin Forest.

And that was where they caught me. Where they shot me down, piercing my lower thigh with an arrow. Where I fell, and first learned what pain, bloody, violent pain truly felt like.

As I bled amongst the autumn leaves, screaming in agonizing pain. Oh, oh if only I knew just what would happen to them only moments after.

That is what makes the beginning all the more important. That is what led to this path to darkness.

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Published by

Alexander Thomas

Through the act of storytelling, I strive to subvert your expectations of stories, the world, and maybe even yourself.

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