NaNoWriMo: Prelude!

While I welcome constructive criticism, please do not judge this too harshly, it is an unedited first draft! Part of #NaNoWriMo is to just use November to write, editing can come later. Furthermore, I used my phone to type this out as I have no computer. That means if you are seeing it via a computer, I have no idea what that formatting looks like. I also have no spellcheck, just auto-correct.

This content may not be reproduced for any reason.

All those disclaimers said, I hope you enjoy it!!!

UNTITLED: PRELUDE

Armon held up his hands, wrinkled and trembling and marked with age spots. He clenched his hands into feeble fists, his physical strength gone, and glared at the woman in front of him. Young and beautiful and cruel, and once, his partner in dark magic. His sister. His, elder sister.

"What did you do to me, you bitch?" Armon demanded, touching his face upon hearing the age in his voice. His skin felt papery thin, lined with wrinkles and sagging downward in folds. Armon's glare was withering, but Laurel gave him a cold laugh, followed by an even colder smile.

"Awe, you don't like it, Armon? I thought you of all people would appreciate the genius behind it. It took months of practice to create a curse perfect enough to use on you dear brother. I needed it to be strong enough to stop you from tearing through it and clever enough to cause you a lifetime of anguish. Once I perfected it I saved it, treasured it. For 13 years I held onto this curse, knowing if I performed it even once within your knowledge you would be able to stop me from using it on you. Knowing this day would eventually come, I kept it secret." Laurel smiled once more.

Armon knew if he let her continue talking she would only grow more frenzied and dramatic.

"Tell me then, the price you put on betrayal and be done with it." His gritty, elderly voice spat out.

"Do you think simply aging is your punishment?" She asked, prodding at him.

His mouth set in a grim line. No, he didn't, she would never go so easy on him. But he'd be damned before giving her the satisfaction of an answer. The pause lasted only a moment before Laurel continued as though she had not expected one.

"Of course not! You will fall asleep this night looking and feeling and sounding like a decrepit old man. You are a decrepit old man, do not mistake me. The transfomation is complete. But, when you awaken tomorrow, you will be someone else entirely, with no control over who it will be. Perhaps a vagrant, covered in fleas. You could be a leaper, moments from death. Or, on your luckier days, even a nobleman. Even a woman about to give birth. But only for a day." She smiled once more, true madness showing through and fear settled into the pit of his stomach, the implications sinking in.

"Every day a new name, a new face, a new body, and you will not be able to speak a word of it to a single soul. You cannot so much as speak your own name aloud, brother. It will not be long before you will tire of trying to break it. You will seek death, my little experiments taught me that. But death will not find you, I worked that out as well. Your own power runs the curse. Chosing the form you take and never wearing down. Your strength is your own downfall. It will never wear down, you will never die." Lautel gave a gleeful little squeal.

"I've really outdone myself, you should see your face! Out smarted and out maneuvered by a woman with half your power. How does it feel Armon?" She asked, opening her arms wide as though to embrace his answer.

This he ignored entirely, he would not give to her curiosity. Instead he answered her question with a question, though he dreaded the answer, he needed to know.

"What is the counter?" He asked.

Every curse must have one counter connected to it. A true practitioner would make the counter as difficult as the curse itself, but it had to exist. Even the darkest wizards and mages must bend to that single rule, such was the nature of balance. The irony was too great to not acknowledge. Curses and their counters were his specialty, and she's used it against him.

Laurel's smile slid into a sachrine cheshire grin.

"Oh, it's delicious, truly. The simplest thing in the world. You only have to convince some hapless idiot to love you. Organically. No magical interventions. And, you must fall in love as well.

You, who will be a new person every single day of your life, cannot speak of your curse and oh, another caveot. You may not touch a soul in any way they have not touched you first. No swaying them with your famous honeyed lips, brother. You've never loved a thing in your life. You are well and truly fucked." Laurel laughed and laughed.

Armon looked back at her, totally numb inside. She was right. There was not one person or thing he loved. She'd won.

"I'll check in on you now and then. I wonder how long it will take you to forget your own name, oh mighty wizard?" She cackled some more and vanished with a quick flash of light.

Alone with his thoughts and useless rage Armon attempted to shift his body back to who he really was, but nothing happened, no matter how much energy he spent. When he reached a cap, a place in the curse that would not allow him to use his own power any further he sat down on a tree stump, put his wrinkled old head in his hands and cried.

If you enjoyed that and would like to continue reading, the first part of Chapter 1 IS HERE, thank you!!!