Secret Heritage

Beautiful, unparalleled , deadly 'creatures' are ruled By the unbreakable Loratalia and have done so since the start of time. Loratalia was strong, but one small mistake on an April morning, for just one moment, for the tiniest weeniest fraction of a second, she let her guard down.
Loratalia fell in love.
Now she has a secret, a secret so scary and dangerous, so poisonous and destructive, it threatens to crumble the entire structure and beauty of her society. When the secret is let loose, others will stop at nothing to tear it apart...

Ilse is an exceptionally talented, lonely seventeen year old girl. She lives with her horrible uncle and step aunt and two unpleasant cousins. However, one February morning her world caves in and suddenly, she finds herself questioning her very existence.
When two worlds collide, Ilse will have to decide what is real and what is an illusion.


7. Illusions.

“How about, ‘my brother has just died from cancer’.” Julian asked Ilse, walking backwards so that he faced her. Ilse rolled her eyes.

“You can’t use that as an excuse not to do P.E, and Miss Wood knows you don’t have a brother.”

Sometimes, when Ilse was caught up in some crazy situation, this time it was the bizarre, violent episode with her uncle and of course the mysterious familiar dragon that she had drawn , she seemed to forget about Jules which was tragic. Julian was the kind of friend that would have still called you his bestfriend if you murdered fifteen people and one of those happened to be his own mother (Julian disliked his mother, but that's beside the point) His aggressive loyalty was amazing and Ilse had loved him for it since they were at nursery together. . 

Jules was short, shorter than Ilse, and his hair was a shock of tumbling bright orange. It curled in ringlets down to his earlobes and matched the array of freckles on his nose and cheeks. His eyes were a kind hazel, and his eyelashes were very light.

Julian flashed Ilse a grin, his two front teeth were crooked and the skin around his eyes creased into many lines.

“C’mon Ilse, just because you’re so impossibly good, doesn’t mean we all have to be.” He said it jokingly; winking at Ilse, but nevertheless, it stung her slightly. Was  ‘good’ all that all she really was? Did she lay herself down for conformity? Did she allow herself to be trodden on and hidden away, gathering dust like an old teapot in the back of a cupboard?

Ilse thought of how Aunt Caroline, a woman that had no blood connection to Ilse at all, would order her about and she would just take it, like a slave. She thought of the way she had allowed Stacy and her cronies to intimate and diminish her countless times, she thought of how she had sat in the toilet lunchtime after lunchtime with her head against the stall wall, hot tears making her cheek sticky and her throat hurt.

Firmly Ilse pushed it away, she was only doing that because she didn’t want to hurt Stacy, not after last time, Ilse wasn’t heartless, she didn’t want to cause somebody else pain, not when she knew all too well how that felt. Anyway, after the happening with Uncle Harold in the second drawing room, Ilse had been extremely careful to keep her distance from Stacy.

She pushed Jules.

“Maybe I’m just a well kept secret.” She said, smiling at him.

Julian lifted a ginger eyebrow and snorted.

“Maybe I’m the hottest boy in school.” He said.

Ilse laughed.


Ilse turned away and tucked her hair behind her ears.


Julian was twirling a leaf in his stubby fingers, even his knuckles were covered in freckles so dense that they almost changed the colour of his skin. 


"Something... Happened." 

Jules looked up sharply, his ringlets were blown off his face in the movement and Ilse was struck by how young he looked. Julian was the fifth child and only son in his family, he had older sisters too, but Julian was the only one who looked like he did- All his sisters were blonde, tall and green eyed, Jules was the only one with red hair and hazel eyes and Ilse loved that he was so diverse.

"What happened?"

Ilse opened her mouth to tell him about her uncle, but was overcome with an almighty wave of agony whereupon she fell to the ground in a heap. The pain was so intensely awful that at first, Ilse couldn’t figure out where the epicentre was. Panicked screams erupted from her mouth as she understood what her mind was telling her: there was no epicentre, the pain was everywhere, it was in her muscles and her ribcage, it was in her head and her hands, every part of her cried out in horror as they were snapped and scraped. She writhed on the ground, screaming for Julian, but he hadn’t moved. She looked around, sweat stinging her eyes, the pain tearing at her body, and realised that nothing was moving. The trees were paused mid blow through, their leaves mid somersault in the chilly February morning air. Jule’s locks were over his eyes, which stared vacantly straight ahead, their prior expression of concern no where to be seen. Ilse curled in on herself and as the mindless power of the pain made bright spots cover her eyes, she realised that whatever was happening to her, she truly was alone in it. Her bones splintered, her veins burst and brain matter leaked from her ear in a bloody mess. The pain intensified and came in blinding waves, each one pushing pressure against her impossible injuries. She could smell her blood, she could feel the heat of her insides as they worked against her, forcing themselves out of her body. Ilse clutched at the gravel, she felt her fingertips slice open as she hung onto the ground as if she was about to fall off it and fall into the sky.

The world roared with the sound of Ilse’s suffering, her screams were tangled and terrible, her limbs split open and her heartbeat became exposed to air, the sound of it thudding and skittering in the way that vulnerable things do. The still world thumped with her heartbeat and her screams.

Then, there was silence.

The silence was worse, Ilse could see the horrors, she could see the entanglement of her broken limbs, and all that blood, but she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t make a sound. She wasn’t there.

She looked up, looked up to darkness, to the dissolving world of torture and terror and believed she was dead.

Or dying at least.

She was terrified, she tried to breathe, tried to stop her spine shattering, and she desperately attempted to escape the darkness that had begun to tighten its claws around her throat, but it was no use; her vertebrae crumbled, her shoulder blades splintered, her skull was crushed and smashed as it fell to a the ground, leaving was what left of Ilse, a pitiful, destroyed conscience, to fall away into nothing.

Ilse died. 

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