Chosen

Chosen

Sick of waiting for someone to write a Lady Bone Demon-centric story so I’m doing it myself

When she was born, the air was bitter, and the sky was sickly.

She’d awoken from a heinous dream, in which a skeleton with its lips painted red stood over a world in shambles- and apparently, the real world was no better.

There was no love or light in sight, and drops of rain randomly and irregularly hit her face, as if the rainwater didn’t want to be there, either.

Like any good newborn, she screamed at first, jumping up and swatting her arms at nothing.

She heaved, taking in as much of the putrid oxygen that she could stand, welcoming and hating it as it enters her lungs, like a two-faced bastard welcoming his worst enemy into his home for the sake of appearances.

“Oi!” She heard a man’s voice call along with something else, though she was unable to make out the words.

Her hearing was muffled, like she was underwater- though the unforgiving smell of smoke and pollution riding on the air refused to let her forget that she wasn’t drowning, but breathing.

Breathing- yes, breathing. She was breathing. She was alive.

Her mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to say, names to call out, but nothing came. Her eyes stung, and she frantically rubbed at them. They burned with dirt, soot, and from the smoke in the air.

Once her eyesight had stabilized to ‘just a little bad’ she had the cruel misfortune of being able to look around.

In the air, there was smoke. On the ground, there was fire. Her ears rang, as if trying to drown out the sounds of shouting and screaming for her convenience.

As far as she could see, troops were being pulled back, supposedly finding the wreck they’d created of this town to be sufficient.

She saw whatever belongings that were salvageable being picked out of the rubble and stored, and the dead being picked up by surviving men and piled onto the backs of carts to be dumped into mass graves.

Carts like the one she was on. Her nose stung with sudden realization, and she took a moment to look around herself.

She was sitting on one of the carts carrying away the dead, surrounded by putrid corpses.

Her vision instantly blurred and she screamed, taking her first steps as she pushed out of the cart and stumbled into the dust.

The man who called out earlier said something again, voice rough and angry. He grabbed her by the arm, words slurred together as he cursed and jabbed at her, calling her clumsy and useless and stupid.

He spoke with familiar hatred, as if he’d known her for several years and despised each one, but she’d never seen the man in her life.

She’d never seen anyone here, for that matter.

His dirty handprints had bruised her arm by the time he let go, shoving her into line with a bunch of elderly, sick, injured, women and children.

Their faces were wicked, mouths curled in contempt, expressions forming hideous snarls and sending anyone and everything dirty looks, as if looking for someone to hate- as if their situation wasn’t enough.

The had no idea how to speak or what to say, so she huddled into the crowded corner of the ashy tents, nearest the other lonely-looking women.

Whenever she looked away from the ball she’d curled herself into, she could see the women’s eyes- clutching onto their hatred like soldiers held their swords.

She looked away.

Eventually, men came and plucked the older boys from the tent, forcing them into work, too. She watched as the contagious were burned and the elderly were beheaded to whittle down mouths to feed, too afraid to move.

Maybe she wasn’t alive after all, she thought. Maybe she was an awful person in the life she couldn’t remember and this was Hell.

And then a little boy tugged at her sleeve.

He called her by a name she did not recognize, and she stared at him in response, looking down into his eyes, eyes that held so much sorrow and madness that if he told her he’d served in the imperial army for forty years, she’d believe him.

Despite it all, he smiled a big, toothy grin, closing his eyes and sniffling as a bit of snot escaped him.

“Big sis-ter don’t be sad,” he’d stuttered, tripping over his words. “Big sis alw-always protect me. Big sis my hero! She- she save the world one day!”

Her throat was dry and it hurt to breathe, but she laughed, tears that had been waiting for hours to flow washing away the dirt in her eyes.

She laughed and she pet the boy’s head, and she screamed and thrashed and cried when he was taken away to he burned with the rest of the sick, even though she couldn’t remember his name, or who he was.

An old woman, who, big surprise, she didn’t know either, took a wooden ladle and beat her with it as punishment for her outburst in response to the boy being taken, dragging her back inside the tent when she tried to run out after the boy.

“It’s hopeless,” said one of the oldest men, moments before he slipped into unrest, never to wake again.

Beside herself with rage for the little boy’s death, she stood while the others sulked.

“You are all fools!” She’d said. They looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

“You’re giving up and throwing your children to that mess? For what? Can’t you see that you, as the people are still here? Rebuild, I beg of you!” She pleaded. “Try!”

She spoke for this random village she had no attachment to as if it were her own, like it was her own child. Why, she had no idea.

One of the old crones from the corner scoffed in response. “The village beauty,” she sneered. “Always the first to lose it.”

“Yeah,” A teenage girl agreed. “We’re not the gods, you know. We can’t just magic our village back! And even if we could, those hooligans will just burn it down again!”

The teen jabbed an accusing finger at her, as if it were all her fault.

“Who can save us!?” She demanded, voice shrill and bitter. “Who can possibly fix this?”

For that, she had no answer and faltered. The boy’s face flashed before her eyes, clearing her vision and guiding anger back into her tone.

“If you cannot help yourself, then I will find somebody who can!” She snapped. “I’m not going to give up on all of you, no matter how faithless and unsightly you’ve all become!”

The crones howled in injustice and the old men jeered at her, calling her slurs and names. She blocked them out, leaving with her dignity and faith.

The next days of her life found her finding that she didn’t need to use the bathroom, or drink water, no matter how much she wanted some.

The gods decided to favor her one day, and she found a clear river with water to drink from. In it, she saw for the first time her reflection.

The face she saw, she did not recognize.

Before the month ended, she had found another village- this one not in ruins. It was bustling and busy yet poor and beggarly, all of its money and taxes fiendishly boarded by the village’s gluttonous lord.

I ought to give that fat cat a stern talking too, she thought, but the lord refused to see a woman outside of the bedroom, let alone for a political discussion.

She had no power to do anything! She was angry, so regretful that she’d been born a woman with no status, or even a name to her unfamiliar face that her own flesh cowered before her anger, molding and reshaping itself.

The next day, she entered the rich man’s mansion as an innocent old man, demanding that he share his wealth with his citizens.

Apparently, while being a man might grant you an audience with the land’s lord, it certainly did not mean he would listen to anything you have to say.

But she didn’t let it get her down- she could shapeshift! Who cared if this meant she was likely a demon now, infesting a skeleton and wearing her human corpse like it was a designer hat?

Imagine all the people she could help with such a power! The lives she could save! Her very own flesh quivered in fear of her rage. Soon, all evil would feel the same way.

As if she’d been newly awakened, she was greeted by her first- or second dream that very night, sleeping outside among other homeless people.

A kind-hearted boy on the heavier side with a warm, handsome face waved to his people, eyes slightly watery as their city flourished under his care.

Beneath the ground, six feet under, was the fat lord the citizens currently lived under and his lustful son, side by side, souls being pried from their corpses and pulled into the Diyu for their sins.

If only that boy were real, she thought that day, as she packed her things to move on to the next area.

And then she saw him.

Shopping for bread, smile as warm as the sun as he treated each person he came across with kindness and compassion. The lord’s son, she’d soon found out. His second son, the son of not his wife but his mistress, who could never inherit the land unless his father and brother were gone.

If a moment, vile thoughts filled her head.

If the other two were gone, she thought, then this kind man would rule peacefully, unlike his oafish father and brother.

But no- she couldn’t possibly. Just because she had a dream about it didn’t make it real.

A colder side of her whispered; “But how did your dream know the son’s face? A face that which you’ve never seen? Look at these people,” it hovered over her, its lying tongue flicking against her ears. “They need you. Do you think you had that dream for no reason? Don’t be a fool, girl.”

She packed her things as quickly as possible. She wanted to run away from this. She decided against the unholy thoughts that invaded her mind, asking her to do things she, as a human, could not possibly do.

The cold side of her snapped and snarled, curling against her flesh. Wickedness and seething rage twisting its voice, it spoke to her again.

“You’re not human.”

These words played on repeat in her mind, hands trembling as she poisoned the lord’s wine in the garb of a servant, wearing the face of an old woman.

They went from a whisper to a raw-throated scream when she stopped by the lord’s mistress’ room, and stained by her side for a few hours and she sobbed into her plush pillow, patting her back, and assuring her that everything would be okay, as if she couldn’t see the bruises, burns and bites that marred her arms and neck.

“Why do men like that walk the Earth?” The poor woman cried, dirtying her expensive blankets with snot and tears.

“Dear Lord, strike him down!” She begged, hands clasped in frantic prayer to anyone who would listen. “Demons, claim him for your Hell! Take him away, please! Somebody! Somebody!”

She’d fallen asleep that night, only to be greeted with another dream. The demon hidden beneath her flesh shivered with excitement, twitching underneath her skin.

It tugged and pushed her all around the dream, pointing and showing her what it wanted her to see like an excited child pointing and laughing at a jester.

The lord was to be buried with his late first wife, and his eldest son near. No one attended the funeral, callously rejoicing in the streets and in their homes that their wicked lord and his wicked son were dead.

The mistress’ eyes watered with relief as she hugged her son, who was greeted by the people who shook his hand and bowed to him.

“Call to me,” the skeleton wrapped her bony fingers around the mistress’ shoulders.

The words were spoken to the mistress, but were meant for her. “Call to me, and it is yours.”

A day later, she smiled for the first time in a long time. She smiled, because this time, it wasn’t just a dream.

It was real. At her hands, in response to a prayer, two men had died. Two men who were surely being welcomed by Hell’s embrace.

Poisoned wine turned sweet as chugs were sold by the dozen in the square, the bustling city ablaze with happiness and hope she hadn’t seen since her birth.

This wasn’t a punishment, she decided. She wasn’t an awful human, cursed to remain on Earth as a skeleton demon. She helped people! She could make a difference if she just held on!

It hurt at first, sure. Sure, she’d seen a lot of things she didn’t want to see, and would have liked to forget. Maybe she didn’t like… killing people.

But that is why she was reborn a demon. A demon with magic power unfamiliar to the world of man. It may hurt, but nobody else would bother doing it. There was a reason for everything, wasn’t there?

She was chosen for this.

Perhaps that is how she was able to hold on for so long.

She had continued her work in several other areas. She had held many positions of power over her years, ceremoniously being called names such as, The White Bone Spirit, Baigujing, or The Lady Bone Demon. She wore whatever face necessary to her goal- nay, her purpose.

She advised countless leaders, eased political tensions, and worked in trade over the Silk Road. Every now and again, she would succeed. But mortals were finicky, evanescent, parasitic creatures that either took or were taken from and stomped their morals out like lights at the slightest gust of wind.

Nothing ever lasted.

She wasn’t doing enough. She hadn’t gone far enough.

Her blessed precognition had even been failing her lately, replaying the same horrid vision of her demon prying itself from her flesh and smiling hauntingly as it engulfed the world in blue flame, eating light and darkness alike.

She’d soon begin avoiding sleep. There was much to do, and none of that was obsessing over a nightmare.

Much to do, yes… she thought. She wasn’t doing enough. Helping cities individually was inefficient and there was nothing guaranteeing that it would stay that way. She needed to talk to the person in charge. Somebody with real power!

Today, her skeleton wails in injustice as she stands at the feet of the imperial palace, dressed in white and pink traditional robes, face carefully made up and jewelry adorning her hair.

She carefully folds her hands behind her back and heads up the stairs. She doesn’t care how long it takes.

Destiny cannot be hurried.

I LOVE LADY BONE DEMONNN

OMG OTHERS?