Color. A wonderful, mysterious thing for one who has never before seen the world in such a way. What was once an ocean of ash and stone transfigured itself into something greater, a wash of brilliant flowers here or the glint of light there. The world had taken on a very different tone, one filled with the beauty of emotions and thought. It was the antithesis of the world she had existed in before, where thoughts and cries were silenced within her own mind, where colors were trapped behind her eyes and grey devoured all.

Yvette-G103 stood amidst her kinsmen, taking in the world as she had never seen it before. For the first time since birth, her own thoughts filled her mind and colors danced before her eyes. A horrifying terror burned in her chest, but with that terror came the realization of something beautiful: freedom.

A scream tore itself from her chest as she grappled with her own thoughts and emotions. Fear and awe both fought for supremacy of her body and she crumpled to the ground, their war ravaging her heart and mind. Suddenly, a shadow engulfed her frame.

“Yvette…G103, your morality has darkened.”

Her shout had drawn the attention of one of the Saints, the peacekeepers of the Sanctimonious. They existed purely to ensure the morality of Commonfolk was in good esteem. Everything they did was for the good of the Commonfolk, to make sure they abstained from the Sins and Pleasures warned of in the Good Book.  

Yvette clutched her head as she wrestled with her thoughts. She was only vaguely aware of the Saint standing over her, the pain clouded over everything else.

“G103, please come with me. We will take care of you. Save you. The Light can never truly abandon one of his Children.”

The pain subsided just enough for her to be able to hear his words. “Save you…”, that was the last thing she wanted to hear. She could hazily remember what happened to other Commonfolk who had been Saved. She never saw them again, never talked about them again…never remembered them again.They were gone.

She didn’t want to disappear. Not after having tasted her freedom.  

As the Saint reached down to grasp her arms, she swung up and clocked him square in the jaw. A shower of spittle and blood rained down upon her face. She hit him one more time for good measure, kicking him square in the chest. As he toppled over, she jumped over his comatose frame and ran for…ran for freedom. She had no idea where she would go, knowing she would be entered into the list of the Fallen. No place was safe for her anymore in the Haven.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of an empty building as she sprinted past. Her fingers touched the face that stared back, admiring the fire that burned in those once dull eyes. Once glassy spheres of dull steel, they glared black with the fire and bite of quicksilver. The ashen clothes that had once fitted her lifeless person now looked positively hideous, only marring the beauty lying dormant within her. When her eyes came to life, so did she. They brought a vivaciousness to her limbs and a shine to her black locks. Yvette G103, no, just Yvette, fell in love with that figure in the reflection. Like the tenacious flower bursting through concrete, she had become something against the oppression and tyranny of those above her.

The sound of sirens above and around caused her to start and another surge of flame broiled throughout her veins. She took off running again though she began to tire almost immediately. The Commonfolk had no use for running because everything they needed was right there in the Haven for them. All they would ever need was provided for them by the Sanctimonious. There were no such things as wants or desires. It wasn’t long until her legs gave out entirely and she crumpled to the ground. Tears swam in her eyes as the sirens drew closer, heralding the end of her freedom. The end of her true humanity.

“Hey!”

About a hundred feet in front of her a pair of eyes looked out from under the cover of a manhole. They danced with the same fire she recognized in her own, and a powerful feeling of hope surged in her chest.

“Yeah, you! You don’t want to be Saved do you? Get over here!”

With a new shot of adrenaline she clambered to her knees and darted towards the sewer grate. The area grew awash with light as soon as it slammed shut above her head, a second longer and she would’ve been taken. On the ground below she could see the silhouette of the person who had called out to her through the darkness of the sewer.

“Come on down! I’m not a Saint or anything, no one’s going to Save you here.”

She attempted to finish her climb down the ladder, but her legs wouldn’t listen to her commands. A wave of exhaustion crashed over her body and she slipped on the rung below her, causing her to fall down into the arms of the man below her.

“Woah there, I know you’re now a Fallen but you don’t have to take that literally.” He laughed as she stared at him quizzically. “Yeah you learn humor later. Generally the first thing you get is the fear, am I right?” The guy smiled as she nodded her head, too tired to even speak.

Such a peculiar thing, the life and inner-workings of the heathen class, those that eschew the moral correctness of any higher power, that damn themselves to an eternity of the void, all without regard for the fate of their immortal souls. To live for their mortal essence, the corporeal aspect of their being, and revel in such nihilism, is unquestionably baffling to those who pervade this mortal plane in a correct, sanctimonious manner. What, exactly, compels these irreligionists, these “atheists” or “skeptics” as they prefer to be named, to live in the naive euphoria of such blasphemy? Chiefly, a blatant disregard for the scale of might such celestial beings would swiftly execute upon them, should they righteously deign to do so, yet they believe that such cosmological giants remain absent from the sphere of reality! Such arrogance, impudence! These blasphemers show no remorse, prompting a rather in-depth inquisition, akin to a physiologist’s dissection of a body’s cancer or maladious infusion, so that he might purge it from such personage.

To begin, one must observe the very occupations that make up the industry of the blasphemer, in order to recognize one peremptorily assuming himself in the good streets of our society. He is arrogant, and scornful, of any notion of the righteous higher power, openly admitting to his slanderous nature by performing it as one practices Shakespeare. The avowed flippancy which he exudes towards any belief in an unquestionable being would make any good practitioner halt in numbing terror, afraid that heaven’s wrath should choose to smite the infidel at such an opportune occurrence. Luckily, the middling blasphemer shall, more often than not, identify himself to you with relative ease, as is their nature to do so, believing that it is their profane obligation to announce their iniquities.

However, many young ladies and gents of our age have begun to view the acceptance of un-acceptance to be something of a desirable nature, a perverse habit to be nipped before bloom with the most shrewd of pruners. Should someone of familiarity fall into the ocean of despair, it is recommended that one seek immediate, divine assistance from the local sanctuary of faith, as an exorcism may be required to save loved ones. It is no small secret that these pagans regularly employ assistance of their own as, to great surprise, they do believe in a power greater than their own, though not of a divine nature like any good-natured man of society would, instead choosing to ally themselves with fiends born of black magic and hellions of a great abyss, with their chief rulers being none other than the gentry of the underworld.

This bane on society may also be discovered through un-natural calamities throughout the social class and innate order of beings. Foremost, the disappearing of young babes and the exsanguination of the community’s most pure easily signals that a heathen may have taken roost in the vicinity. Let it be no secret that the average nontheist subsists itself upon a diet of youthful flesh, chiefly of the newly- and unborn babes of the commonality. Though the nontheist can survive from a plain diet of newly-born bairn, he most indubitably prefers the succulent plasm of the foetus, finding the formal to be of an undesirable rancor tainted upon leaving the womb. Where a string of women have had their babes forcibly torn from their womanhood, make note that a barbarian may have assumed a predatory nature within the area, and that proper officials should be duly noted. However, should the slaughter extend to the exsanguination of the populace’s maidens, the eminently recalcitrant diabolist should be hunted down on immediate notice, lest he ascend to the status of occultist, necromancer, or thaumaturge, as the nectar of lovely virgins bestows upon one a dark breed.

Withal, a more surreptitious agent of malady may be ascertained through the investigation of his domicile, though a show of force may be necessary. Should the suspicious house manage the care of a select breed of beast, either bearing scales or of an ovine nature, inquisitors should be wary of the domicile’s caretaker. Creatures adorned with scales, especially ones of a serpentine constitution, are highly coveted by pagans as a show of more scorn towards theists and the well-to-do of society, a show of arrogance. Furthermore, ovine fauna serve as the opposite of scorn, as praise and reverence to their lords and mistresses of the demonic beings they truly serve, a show of, ironically, good faith. If no animals are present within the abode, then detectives should make note of any pentacles and, or pentagrams adorning the interior of the home, especially in rooms illuminated by only the glow of tapers. Such rooms are often accompanied by a seemingly far-off wailing, caused by the thinning wall between the mortal plane and the damning abyss, a consequence of the occurrence and repetition of profane rituals and dark deeds. If sufficient evidence incriminates the household, inquisitors are recommended to purge the den of iniquity via righteous and sanctimonious retribution.

One should irrevocably be able to recognize the unquestionable signs of the residential infidel at such moment in time, though it is highly recommended that one should complete further research as to the defense against such a perverse entity, lest they lose themselves or loved ones to the cold embrace of skepticism. Though the power of a divine being may be enough to protect oneself, through the power of holy symbols or sacrosanct incantations, the pernicious might of the disloyal should never be underestimated.

So I can see I haven’t touched this thing in forever. Let’s rectify that