An ancient fortune teller, with a crooked and hunched body, possibly born more than two centuries ago came to them in the night. And using many ancient runes, and old sigils, she foretold the inevitable future, of the children born from the woman. One would be evil the other would be good. And when the two children were born, it seemed to them obvious which child was which. One was a scrawny and small boy, with leathery bat-like wings, dark red pupils, a head of ebony hair, and small goat horns protruding from his forehead. The other was beautiful, born with long platinum hair, gentle golden pupils, a small odd golden halo floating above her head. And snow-white feathery wings on her back.
At first they wanted to slay the boy, but even then, they could not bring themselves to end the life of a newborn baby. Instead, they sold the boy to a travelling merchant, and kept the girl. In this, they considered themselves wise, and lucky. Lucky that they had been warned, and that the signs had been so obvious. They praised their little girl to the village, where she became the luck of the people there, the mascot of the village. Beloved by all.
The boy was taken away, fed on goat's milk and the merchant did not return to that village. The girl was raised with all the love and attention that such as she could get. Treated with reverence and love, she lacked for nothing. And yet, while the adults of the village saw nothing, the other children, they started to notice something was off. Accidents happened. Older villagers died. Many children found that strangely, when the girl with the angel wings pushed them, or punched them, the adults never believed them. She tormented them, killing their pets, stealing their treats, and whenever they tried to retaliate, they were ruthlessly punished by their parents.
The boy grew up in far away lands, where beings like him, supernaturally changed, were more normal. The merchant who had brought him, sold him again when he was but two, to a kindly old herbalist, who needed a young pair of eyes to help her make her potions. She taught him about kindness, about reason, about the importance of using the knowledge of herbs, alchemy, and some mild magic, to cure the ill, and help the needy.
As the girl grew up, she became haughty. The priests of the faith proclaimed her an angel, and gifted her with many fine things. Scented perfumes, fine necklaces, beautiful rings. Silk dresses, and fine tunics. Knights came to ask for her hand in marriage when she became of age. But she spurned them all. And she was still cruel. The other children in the village, having grown up with her, distrusted her. Feared her even. More than one of them had seen her true face, and among themselves whispered that the wrong child had been sent away.
The boy with the horns, eventually had to take over the shop, as the old herbalist became too weak. He tended the shop, made the potions, with the careful instruction of his weakened adoptive mother, and became known as a kind and friendly young man. He was known to be helpful, and affable. And he became great in the art of healing. While having demonic features made some people wary, his warm red eyes, his open smile, generous nature, and his free laughter, eventually penetrated the paranoia of all but the most odd of people.
The girl, with her angelic traits, was eventually courted by the crown prince of the kingdom she lived in, and that proposal of marriage, she accepted. Her marriage was garish, and ostentatious. While the power as crown princess was great, she wanted to become more. She aimed for the highest of powers, and using her charm, she managed to get close enough to the king, that she could kill him. When her husband inherited the throne, she used a carefully maintained spell to render him feeble and unable to rule. Then she took the title of regent, ruling in her poor husband's stead. And she did not rule with angelic grace, or kindness. She raised taxes, reintroduced serfdom to many who had been freed, and bore monstrous children. None were trueborn, but whoever dared to point that out, lost their head, and the executioner's work was never done. They had to hire several underlings for him to aid with executing those that conspired against the ruling queen, those that no longer amused her, and those that she just wanted to see die for the sheer thrill of controlling life and death.
The boy took over his adoptive mother's store after her death, burying her, and visiting her grave once a week. One of the people like him, those with odd traits that lived in the city he did, a girl with a mouse's tail and a tapered nose, with cute whiskers wriggling in the air, asked him on a date. They ate together at the inn, and walked in the moonlight together. He wasn't a muscular man, but as he grew his once scrawny body had filled out to a lean and agile thing, and he was quite the tall fellow, a veritable beanpole. They dated for a while, and eventually, the boy asked the mousy girl to marry him. It was a humble and small affair. Shortly after they moved in together, in the old house of the herbalist, the mousy girl grew in size. A girl first, then a son, and then another daughter. Soon the sound of happy, laughing children could be heard in the house. It was a home, the two of them working together, keeping the herbal garden, making medicine together, raising beautiful children, with mouse tails and bat wings.
The angelic girl had changed. No longer did her golden eyes seem pure, but seemed tainted as they moved from side to side in evil paranoid thought. Her platinum hair was falling out, and her wings barely had any feathers on them. Her halo, floating above her head, no longer gleamed with pure light, but only barely shone, like the last few embers in the fireplace. That was how the army of peasants, rising up, found her. As she had ripped out the throat of her husband, the poor king, only a few moments before. Welding a long thin blade, she charged the emaciated peasants with a horrible laugh. And though she killed many with blade and spell, she was eventually skewered on an old pitchfork. The kingdom, broken, ruined, and infested with the monstrous children she had birthed, could finally rebuild. But it would be a long time before that land was as good as it had once been.
The boy heard only little about this, being hundreds of miles away. He never did learn that this evil queen, so pure in visage, but so vile in nature, was his own sister. He lived a good long life, curing the ill, aiding those in need, earning good money on his business, and after many years, he grew old. He saw his children married, teaching them each the trade, the eldest child took over the handling of the shop, while the other two moved to other cities, each carrying with them a book that the demon-seeming boy had written, about the herbs of the land, their uses, and recipes for healthy potions and tinctures of vitality. When he died, he was lying in bed, surrounded by his family. His old wife, mousy and sweet, holding his hands. While his children, all three of them showing signs of ageing, stood at the end of his bed. Around him were many grandchildren. And in his hands, he held his first great-grandson. He spoke of how blessed his life had been, how he wanted his family not to mourn, but to know that he loved them. And that his life had been worth living.
Source: Reddit
r/apocalypseowl
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