It was so cold, but the sun was burning bright in the ash-colored sky. The yellow rays, escaping between gaps in the clouds, nearly blinded Eman when she opened her aching eyes. The adjustment from darkness was agonizing, causing her to shift onto her dirty elbows and retch out sparse contents from her stomach. Her head was sick. She was sick. But she could not pinpoint where that sickness was coming from. Dazed and confused, she pushed herself onto shaking knees but could not muster enough strength to stand. Everything felt like death. Her joints ached and cracked each time she moved. Her skin felt loose, hanging heavy like a sack of rocks on her bones.

Dirt and rubble surrounded her, engulfing her in dust. Rancid fumes filled the air and the stench of it all was overwhelming, as though she were wearing a coat of rot. It was a bad sign and she did not need to take in her surroundings to know that something had happened. She wished she could resign herself and lay down on the ground to embrace its caress. But she did not want to succumb to laziness.

She felt different. Eman knew that she had undergone a change but could not put her finger on the sudden feeling. It was all over her body, but at the same time, it felt like certain small parts were being picked at. Had she been injured, she wondered? No signs of new scars were present on her body, though it was obvious by the state of her tattered clothing that she had been roughed up. She gathered the top of her torn gown and decided to move into the direction of destruction and filth.

Eman, the beautiful and prominent Countess of Sogara-dai, sombered when her tired eyes caught sight of her once wondrous city. Brown and red scattered the remains of the city hall and its gardens. Where once a tall hill flourished with multicolored flowers and exotic plants, now stood ruins with ripped flower petals and splatters of dried blood. She had obviously been indisposed for a while, noticing the state of the old blood and interrupted soil. The large building that stood at the very top of that hill was built with strong gothic structures, surrounded by marble pillars and adorned with distinctive art and colorful jewelry. In its current state it lay crumbled on its side, setting in a pool of dried blood with a rough looking hand protruding beneath it.

Eman pressed her fingers together in silent prayer, hoping her fallen people could find peace in the afterworld. She knew that she may not be able to. A sudden rumble from her stomach reminded her that she was hungry and needed food. However, she knew that the last thought on her mind should be food. She needed to find some survivors.

The debris and destruction was too evident in Sogara-dai. The beautiful, gothic structures had been the attraction to all that had come to visit. They had buildings with towering spires and windows decorated with painted designs, marble ingrained in the balconies and porches. Long pillars stood in the front as a huge welcome, radiating a warmth of hospitality. Most of the buildings were grey or white, allowing their visual art with superb shadows of the rainbow to shine against the innards of the edifice. The pristine municipality had been decimated and replaced with withered buildings and smashed rocks. The towers had been crushed into small bricks. Homes that had signs of life prior to the tragedy were now filthy mounds of rubble with a smell of death. Corpses were laid up on the streets of Sogara-dai, bodies on top of bodies in a disgusting mesh of death. It was sickening, and Eman remembered the sickness in the pit of her stomach, emptying small clots of blood as she gagged. There was nothing else to empty but the insides of herself. However, she had no time to worry about her own pains, instead she needed to focus on getting help from the capital of Zalatine.

Ignoring the growing pain in her limp, she tried to call upon her Air Magic but nothing came. When she flicked her wrist again, it felt like she was just wringing her hands. Usually when she cast, her veins sizzled and her skin glowed, but now she felt nothing. Her fingers felt cold, but not because of a brisk wind. She was cold, inside and out. The coldness that she felt when she woke was the loss of her soul, her magic. Nothing else would come when she called. None of the elements were going to aid her in her time of need. What did she do for the gods to abandon her so?

The hunger was beginning to turn her stomach, writhing in immense pain like she had been stabbed. This was an unfamiliar feeling. One that scared her. She was so hungry. Her desire to feed almost felt animalistic. However, she needed to focus. She needed to remember what happened and convene with any survivors that she could find.

She could faintly feel magic nearby. Her people probably felt frightened and confused. She would go to comfort them as best as she could. They needed her right now.

Eman continued to cast for the air to no avail. Knowing that her people were nearby, wasting away, she tried a simple incantation to see through the rubble and pick up on body heat. That too failed, but she still felt their anguish. The smell of fear penetrated her nose. She could almost taste the salt in their sweat. Her goal was becoming closer and she troubled on with a fading limp.

If she could not rely on the gods nor her magic, she would rely on herself. Eventually, she came upon a semi crumbled entrance to the temple of Umbara, the Goddess of Dearth, and the smell was stronger than ever. She was getting close. Traveling into the temple, she finally met with a large group of her citizens. Many of them were heavily drenched in sweat and covered in dirt, while some looked like they had not been outside. She assumed those people had been hiding when tragedy had struck and did not bother to venture outside unless absolutely necessary.

The temple was dirty, but there were still a few clean spots and untouched areas. While the entrance had crumbled, the building itself had held still against any abuse thrown at it. The pews were covered in a forest green felt that easily hid the blood tracked across it. The beautiful glass windows painted with wonders of the magic of Sogara-dai were blanketed by dirty tan curtains and high top furniture. Planks of wood were horridly nailed across the exit doors and smaller windows. The stage normally used for preaching and praying was replaced with a makeshift infirmary. Some of the people laying up were injured, some more critically than others.

Eman noticed a familiar face among the fearful people and stepped forward to speak to them, oblivious that the people were moving away from her. It was one of her personal guards, a young man named Keiv.

“Keiv, I am so glad to see you safe and sound,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand but he recoiled, albeit regrettably. “What is the matter?”

“I apologize for my rudeness, My Ladyship, but I am surprised to see you,” he said.

She raised one delicate, brown eyebrow. “You would write me off as dead?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Eman nodded and clasped her hands together. “I would too. I am surprised at being alive after waking up under a pile of rocks.”

The people behind Keiv’s broad shoulders grimaced and stepped even further away.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at her people. As much as she was happy to see that many were well, she was frustrated at the rather cold welcome she was receiving.

“Is this the welcome that your Countess deserves?” She asked haughtily. “Am I to be treated as an outcast now that the city has lost its power and standing?”

“Are you aware of what has happened to Sogara-dai, My Ladyship?” one person asked.

“I told you I woke up under a pile of rocks and I do not know what has happened. What has happened to Sogara-dai?”

The fearful silence in the temple was deafening. Eman had let her anger get the best of her and she was becoming agitated. She was tired, in pain, and hungry. She almost could not stand her anguish anymore but she needed answers and a safe haven.

“I cannot imagine how traumatic this must have been to cause muteness in you all, but we cannot afford to waste anymore time,” She turned to the makeshift door and dusted her gown, “I need someone to help me survey the damage and have an accurate report to send to Zalatine--”

“No, My Ladyship, we cannot help you.” Keiv said.

Eman scoffed. “Why not?”

One man touched Keiv’s shoulders, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “Keiv, Your Ladyship actually has no memory of what transpired. Tell her.”

Her guard sighed, then straightened up and turned to face a flushed Eman. “Half of the city has been plagued by a witch due to our disrespect and lawlessness. She said we were monsters that cared for no human life. From the top of the Great Hall, she turned half the people into soulless creatures. None of them can use magic until they…” Keiv trailed off, shivering in front of her.

Eman blinked. “Until they what? There is a way to gain my magic back?”

“Those people out there--they are not our friends and families. They are monsters! Eating the flesh of their loved ones without remorse!” Exclaimed one of the men within the tattered crowd, shaking when he turned to lock eyes with Lady Eman.

Eman was shocked, but not enough to forget about the raging hunger in her belly. She turned away to think about the situation they were in. She did not remember anyone coming into Sogara-dai or anything about a curse. She did not understand why all this was happening or why she felt so much pain in her stomach. Hunger overwhelmed her, keeping her from a steady concentration.

“I still do not understand what is going on, but we need to call for help as soon as possible,” she said, placing a weak hand on her growling stomach. “Do you have any food to hold me over?”

Silence met her again. This time her patience ran thin and she lashed out, ignoring the frightened stares she received. “I am your Countess and I rule you. I will have your heads for such disobedience!”

Keiv brandished his sword, along with a few of the common men. Some began to channel their magic to prepare for an attack.

“You would attack me while I am powerless?” The Countess growled at them.

“Lady Eman, we watched that witch strike you first with the plague. The many that came after you were no better.”

“I am obviously not the enemy you claim me to be. I came here for help among my people but you defy me at every turn.”

An older man held a dagger to her. His long beard was uneven and caked with crud and gore. His eyes shone with determination. He had been fighting for survival.

“The gods are punishing us, Eman,” his raspy voice like a whisper, disrespecting her by removing her title, “because we have been too prideful. We are selfish creatures, people who only take and take. We have done wrong by the land now we must atone for it.”

“Atone by killing me?” she asked with a snarl.

“Atone by destroying this city! We have burned our crops, demolished our buildings, and crushed our culture because our foolishness should not be remembered.”

She became irritated at the old man’s self righteous talk. All that she and her people have ever done was live their life with no regrets, living their life without any apologies or shame. Why should she care about what others thought? Damn that witch for corrupting her people into fearful followers.

Eman did not care to argue with the old man. She felt powerless. But she also felt nimble. She felt the hunger within the boiling pits of her stomach. She just wanted to eat something. The old man was the most annoying of the group, but he was starting to look more appealing with that foolish conviction in his eyes.

The time was now. She did not want to think about what was right and what was wrong. She only wanted to appease herself. She dashed forward to him, drawn to the fear radiating from his sweaty skin. She felt the burns of fire magic, the sharp needles of water magic on her skin, but she ignored all the pain once she bit into the neck of the old man. His dagger slid into her shoulder blade, producing blackish, red blood ooze. Eman cared nothing for the pain and only for the consummation of flesh. It was foreign compared to the animal meat that she was accustomed to, but the rawness and difference was appetizing. It did not bother her that she was wounded or that the man beneath her was crying out in the throes of death. But the taste of copper in her mouth was so satisfying. The flesh melted between her gums and she sloshed the blood in her mouth, running her tongue up and around her teeth. She breathed in fresh air with contentment. Her hunger had been quenched momentarily.

Lazily, she turned her head to the remaining people in the temple. Others had fled during her quick feast, but Keiv had stayed. Eman wondered how the young guard’s flesh would feel sliding between her lips. The old man was clearly not enough to sate her, but she had a plate full of young bones and toned muscles in front of her. It was one of the reasons why the young man was the captain of the guard at the Countess’ estate--it was the only way he could stay within the luxury of being in society’s eyes. He was not gifted at magic like many others before and after him, but he had enough prowess to impress, both as a protector and a lover. She already knew how he tasted on the outside, but she longed to know what his pathetic humanity tasted like on the inside.

The small boost from the older man was flowing through Eman’s veins, burning slowly like hot coals on a fire. The initial tingling between her bones and skin was foreign at first. The magic that mingled with her rotten blood was not her own, but she started to welcome it as though it were. She did not care about the old strength she had lost, this new magic would be enough to serve her. It would be enough to survive the ongoing tragedy happening within the city. She still did not know what was going on, only that she was beginning to get hungry again. The look that she showed Keiv could be described as one that was lost in the world of gluttony. The limp subsided, the pain dulled and the ache within herself flourished into something much lighter. She could not go back to how she was before, she felt so much stronger now with this new power. The coldness that she felt when she woke in the midst of dead bodies earlier had been replaced with a smoldering desire to consume.