• Name: Teraset Delamar
    Age: 19
    Status: Second General in Command
    Element: Wayer
    Genrealiese Relation: Best friend of Elion Genrealiese

    Droplet, Part One

    The gates had been closed to madness. There was no longer Chaos in this Hell.

    ]Now

    She was dripping. The blood did not gush, or flow, or drown – merely it dripped, forcing small puddles to curl around her toes, slowly turning the color of flesh.
    The color of her flesh was blood. It was typical; sane; expected; her life was blood, why not her flesh?; sensible.

    Teraset.

    No. No it wasn't time. It wa-

    “Teraset.”

    Please. Please. It couldn – please.

    “TERASET!” The voice pierced. It curled. It mangled, no,was mangled.

    It pleaded.

    Shaking of shoulders, crying into ears, waking mind up, making eyes open.

    A nightmare. The blood, the pain, the flesh; A nightmare.

    But, then she realizes, how much of a nightmare can it be when you awake with your body as mangled as her voice, your hands as rednow as your feet were?

    How much of a nightmare can reality be?


    Then

    “Teraset!”

    The voice echoed through Tera's ears like a gunshot in a room before it hits you in the chest; painfully. She flicked on her Dissociative Commute, a small magic-powered chip intertwining the minds of those who desire to be so, with a small grimace gracing her otherwise soft features.

    “Sir?”

    “Teraset, I need you to get back here ASAP.” The girl, on instinct, turned herself around, then comprehended, then stopped – possibly everything, including the electricity from her brain to the rest of her body.

    It wasn't particularly safe to stop in mid-air above a rather sharp mountain range. Treading air wasn't quite the same as treading water, and if Tera weren't concentrating, it would only be up to how much gravity was on the planet to decide whether or not she plummeted to her demise. This was probably a bad thing, as, somehow, her mind refused to do anything else except think, quite loudly: “WHAT?!” and the last time she hadn't been paying enough attention, Tera had managed to fall into the Gorge of Seell. Couldn't find her way out for three days.

    “Sir, permission to speak?” Not waiting for permission, Tera continued, “Turn back?”

    “Goddamnit, Tera, yes. When I say turn back, I ******** mean turn the hell back.”

    “Sir, yes sir.” A small click signaled the end of the connection.

    Damn that old hag to The Creator Rulae, Tera thought. She had been sent on an important
    mission, and while she realized that if Elion were calling her back it had to be more important, Tera was still aggravated by the situation. She'd had to kill six Starhunters, 25 Tenshe, and bypass 3 Morshak Stragglers to get this far...and, when it came right down to it, this one seemed like fun for once. No assassination, no overthrowing a government, no political negotiations, no battle tactics: the plan had been seduction, pure seduction for an integral piece of information.

    And Tera knew seduction.

    Damn that b***h.

    ***

    The Morshak Stragglers had been easy enough; they tend to have issues seeing behind themselves. The Starhunters, regenerating bastards that they are, had been slightly more difficult, especially as they'd managed to find another 3 friends. Thus, Tera walked to the meeting room still attempting to pull bits of dried blood out of her hair, and pieces of burned body-parts out of her bra. Hoping she was presentable, she opened the door, making Rulea's Respect – a standard show of patriotism for the Genrealiese. Normally Tera wouldn't bother with the formalities, but with the number of the most powerful children of Rulea there, and considering the formal context, it would be plain rude to ignore them. Not to mention the outrage it would cause the other non-Sovereign members of the Quorum.

    Better to stick to the standards.

    ***

    Elion Genrealiese was not actually an old hag. She was just a temperamental 19-year-old girl. Perhaps the better description, rather, would be that Elion Genrealiese was just a temperamental 19-year-old girl; the Genrealiese Spirit – the Goddess of Natrile – was as old as Rulea, if not older. As old as the age of existence.

    So, “Old Hag” was correct...in a sense.

    Eight born Genrealiese, and three whom married into the family, sat around the head of the Quorum table, with Her Royal Excellency, Mia Genrealiese, Empress of the Multiverse, Goddess of All at the very head. Elion sat close, second to the throne; the youngest, but ascension to this throne didn't go by age; it went by power. Rulea herself said who was where in the line. It was pure coincidence, really, that Seren, the eldest of the living seven siblings at age twenty-three, was first to the throne.

    Elion would only get it if Serenity died.

    But then again, Seren wouldn't be at the head if Vickter hadn't...

    Being a Sovereign isn't a safe job. In fact, it's the most dangerous out there. And you don't have a choice on whether you're born as one or not.

    “Sit, Teraset,” said the second youngest, Zoeidina, from next to Elion. She was a tad bit less hard-headed than her younger twin, and, luckily, far more formal in these types of situations. Her upright back, pulled back black hair, and folded hands were in stark contrast to Elion's combat boots on the table, a glass of rum in front of her, her curls in disarray, and a scowl
    on her face.

    “Yes, Tera, sit, and listen to the bullshit that we have to deal with now.”

    Seren, not too subtly, jabbed Elion in the ribs, as the rest of the Quorum just rolled their eyes, knowing the girl well enough to handle her inability to control her mouth.

    Teraset, meanwhile, sat in her place between the Genrealiese and the others. Her place between the powerful and those who strove for it.

    Teraset sat. And listened to the bullshit that they had to deal with now.



    Now

    A Sovereign's Coma; different from a layman's coma in that, if you've survived it, you probably are a Sovereign.

    Teraset is not a Sovereign. And, even in a coma, she knows this: She will not live.

    Not unless she pushes herself to.

    Not unless she wants to wake up more than anything she's ever wanted.

    And when it comes right down to it – she doesn't know if she wants it that badly.


    Then

    “You'll have to sit this mission out,” Elion stated as rage boiled through Tera's mind.
    “Io!” Tera started, using Elion's informal nickname, “C'mon! I'm your second commander. I'm in charge of a third of Rulea's Army! What the hell do you mean I have to 'sit this mission out'?”

    Tera knew something was very wrong when Elion lashed out, turning to rapidly push and shatter everything that sat on her desk.

    “Because you're my best ******** friend and, may Rulea damn me for it, I'm not going to ******** sit around and just let you die!” Elion's back was turned to Tera, as she stared at the mess she'd made, breathing heavily.

    Genrealiese are attached to almost everything they touch; they're especially attached to their home, emotionally and magically. It's because of their Element; each is born with the pure spirit of one of the seven elements – Fire, Ice, Water, Air, Lightning, Nature, and Death – living within them, far moreso than the bits of Element within laymen. They make their lives out of these Elements, and their rooms and homes represent them the most.

    As Elion gasped for air, Tera felt;saw;knew that the forest green room was gasping with her.

    Even the orange hangings from Elion's four-post bed shivered.

    “Io...” Tera began, but found that she didn't know how to end. All she knew to do was to move forward, slowly folding Io into her arms, feeling as her closest friend tensed up beneath the gesture of love.

    Even with a husband, a huge family, and the best friends a person could ask for, Elion never did the 'love' thing very well. But, on the other hand, she deserved those reservations. After everything she'd been through, Elion deserved any reservations she wanted.

    “Tera... you should know something. My curse, it's not to re-live the death of those I've lost. Tera... I'm a Ruleshtka.”


    Now

    Droplet.

    Every single one matters. Every ounce of Water Element she could keep inside her was important. Every ounce lost was even more so.

    The other name for a Sovereign's Coma is The Bleeding Coma – except you don't bleed blood. What you bleed is far more important; magic.

    No person, Geadlish, the average child of Rulea, Genrealiese, the powerful child of Rulea, or the human child born of little to no magic, had more magic than blood in their body. And magic is the spark of life. Only those with the most magic live through The Bleeding Coma.

    Teraset is not one of those with the most magic. Just because she has honed her skills does not mean that she has more of them.

    This isn't the time to hope. This is the time to fear. Only the fear of death will save me; not the hope for life.

    ***

    The gates had been closed to madness. There was no longer Chaos in this Hell; no yelling, screeching, tearing and ripping. There was no pain, but no joy either – but then again, Hell was not one for joy. Nor for love or kindness; redemption and reciprocity.
    But there was also no more Chaos in Hell. She had been banished – for good, to hope.

    Now, there was nothing.

    Nothing at all.

    End Droplet, Part One