An Alternate Slice of Reality
In an alternate slice of reality, your sims live on the edge. Once you upload them to the gallery, they are no longer safely in your hands. They are in the hands of others. Others who may not share ...
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The Lake
The Aberration Weaves
My father had indeed petitioned the King for justice on my behalf, arguing that since I was a member of the Queen’s Tribe, any assault upon my person should result in a forfeiture of all power and authority of the attacker, and that the forfeiture should be unto me; I should be the one to receive the power and authority taken from the one who made the assault. Father explained how he had never brought a petition before since I had never asked. But now that I had asked, he felt duty bound to bring my petition even though the assault had been waged by my own mother, a member of the triad hierarchy.
The Aberration Weaves
My father had indeed petitioned the King for justice on my behalf, arguing that since I was a member of the Queen’s Tribe, any assault upon my person should result in a forfeiture of all power and authority of the attacker, and that the forfeiture should be unto me; I should be the one to receive the power and authority taken from the one who made the assault. Father explained how he had never brought a petition before since I had never asked. But now that I had asked, he felt duty bound to bring my petition even though the assault had been waged by my own mother, a member of the triad hierarchy.
Spoiler
The King, at this time, was just a young petulant boy. He was indulged by both the Council and the Queen’s Tribe. He was bribed at every turn and manipulated to no end. He was not in control; he was a puppet used by the Royal Courts to keep their power. The decision was delayed, seemingly due to my age. I was not old enough to bring an accusation. Father was mocked for not recognizing that my age might be a problem. The Queen became bitter at my father due to her sister’s influence and subsequently made increasingly bizarre requests of him. His relationship with the planners became strained. I was ignored by other children and whispered about by adults. I spent more time in the library, researching all manner of things.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53190317775_ff80546f93_c.jpg
My father and I grew close during this time. Over the next 3 years, he began showing me his great maps and the hidden histories of the kingdom. He showed me how the planners organized the timeframes, and how they picked the avenues the realities would travel. He showed me the weavings the planners used and taught me how to read them. I learned to read them well. In my 13th year, I discovered that there were 2 aberrations. I was one. The other was on the fringe of the fabrics and had happened about 2 weeks after my father petitioned the King. No one seemed to notice it, not even my father. It was as a pin point. I showed it to him. He looked hard and long at it, weaving fabrics and frames, stacking numbers, and splitting the sounds in the air. Nothing changed it. Nothing moved it. Nothing about it made sense.
One night, my father asked me if I could follow the second aberration’s future outward and see what might become of it. I lied and told him that I didn’t know how to weave in the future. He sat me down and asked me to try to weave its past instead. I did it, the best that I could. I told father that the aberration had existed long before it had revealed itself. It had been waiting. It had been waiting and watching, and planning. Father became alarmed and ordered me to weave its future. I protested, but he would not have it. He said he knew I was lying and that it was imperative that he know the future of the second aberration. I told him that even if I could weave its future possibilities, the fact that it was an aberration rendered any weaving null. It was an aberration. It could change every possibility. Father insisted that I weave its future course anyway.
The first time I tried to weave its future, it cut jaggedly against my own. This was terrifying to me. It was my death. I was sure of it. I did not tell father, but kept it hidden and told him that the aberration might die. He didn’t believe me and had me try to weave it again. This time, its future slid up next to mine and hit against it like a wall. I could take no actions, say no words, think no thoughts that the aberration did not counter against.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53190488678_3833502ee7_c.jpg
I tried weaving again. And this time, the aberration laughed at me. It stared at me through the fabric and laughed at me. It then weaved its own future, using my hands. I was screaming in terror, but no sound came out of my lips. Father said I had the appearance of a dead woman, but he couldn’t shake me awake from the weaving. It weaved and weaved while I screamed without sounds. My father was petrified and tried to stop the weaving, but my hands held a strength he could not battle.
When it was over, and my hands were under my control again, I cried out in anguish. Blood covered both of my palms, but there were no cuts. The weaving was secure, misted in blood, and unrelenting in its strength.
Hello, with a faded o – the blood did not cover the o
Hello, with a faded o – the weaving was thin on the o
I am coming and I am not afraid.
I will be King.
Is there one fit to be my Queen?
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53190381253_94000fc729_c.jpg
I panicked. My heart raced. Father turned ashen white. He folded up the weaving and hid it in one of his trunks. He made me to swear that I would never speak of this. I asked him what it meant. What could it possibly mean? It means nothing he had said. It is an aberration, as you have said. It is only a possibility.
I looked at my bloodied hands. I knew what the books said about futures written in blood. I did not tell father, though I suspected he knew. He washed my hands and covered them in oil. Then he wrapped them in tender cloth and told me to rest. I went to my room and sit down hard on the floor. I trembled uncontrollably. I sat and I thought, and I had visions of a dead man.
And about 2 hours later, I heard my father, sobbing violently in the night.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53190317775_ff80546f93_c.jpg
My father and I grew close during this time. Over the next 3 years, he began showing me his great maps and the hidden histories of the kingdom. He showed me how the planners organized the timeframes, and how they picked the avenues the realities would travel. He showed me the weavings the planners used and taught me how to read them. I learned to read them well. In my 13th year, I discovered that there were 2 aberrations. I was one. The other was on the fringe of the fabrics and had happened about 2 weeks after my father petitioned the King. No one seemed to notice it, not even my father. It was as a pin point. I showed it to him. He looked hard and long at it, weaving fabrics and frames, stacking numbers, and splitting the sounds in the air. Nothing changed it. Nothing moved it. Nothing about it made sense.
One night, my father asked me if I could follow the second aberration’s future outward and see what might become of it. I lied and told him that I didn’t know how to weave in the future. He sat me down and asked me to try to weave its past instead. I did it, the best that I could. I told father that the aberration had existed long before it had revealed itself. It had been waiting. It had been waiting and watching, and planning. Father became alarmed and ordered me to weave its future. I protested, but he would not have it. He said he knew I was lying and that it was imperative that he know the future of the second aberration. I told him that even if I could weave its future possibilities, the fact that it was an aberration rendered any weaving null. It was an aberration. It could change every possibility. Father insisted that I weave its future course anyway.
The first time I tried to weave its future, it cut jaggedly against my own. This was terrifying to me. It was my death. I was sure of it. I did not tell father, but kept it hidden and told him that the aberration might die. He didn’t believe me and had me try to weave it again. This time, its future slid up next to mine and hit against it like a wall. I could take no actions, say no words, think no thoughts that the aberration did not counter against.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53190488678_3833502ee7_c.jpg
I tried weaving again. And this time, the aberration laughed at me. It stared at me through the fabric and laughed at me. It then weaved its own future, using my hands. I was screaming in terror, but no sound came out of my lips. Father said I had the appearance of a dead woman, but he couldn’t shake me awake from the weaving. It weaved and weaved while I screamed without sounds. My father was petrified and tried to stop the weaving, but my hands held a strength he could not battle.
When it was over, and my hands were under my control again, I cried out in anguish. Blood covered both of my palms, but there were no cuts. The weaving was secure, misted in blood, and unrelenting in its strength.
Hello, with a faded o – the blood did not cover the o
Hello, with a faded o – the weaving was thin on the o
I am coming and I am not afraid.
I will be King.
Is there one fit to be my Queen?
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53190381253_94000fc729_c.jpg
I panicked. My heart raced. Father turned ashen white. He folded up the weaving and hid it in one of his trunks. He made me to swear that I would never speak of this. I asked him what it meant. What could it possibly mean? It means nothing he had said. It is an aberration, as you have said. It is only a possibility.
I looked at my bloodied hands. I knew what the books said about futures written in blood. I did not tell father, though I suspected he knew. He washed my hands and covered them in oil. Then he wrapped them in tender cloth and told me to rest. I went to my room and sit down hard on the floor. I trembled uncontrollably. I sat and I thought, and I had visions of a dead man.
And about 2 hours later, I heard my father, sobbing violently in the night.
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