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Description
The sound of chanting filled the large halls, echoing off of the stone walls and lingering a moment before flying off into the air. A young figure was shrouded in a dusky brown cloak, crouching beside what looked like a coffin. A group of monks, all with the same brown outfits sang endlessly throughout the temple. Coloured light spilled in through the thick stained windows, beams of light filling up the small stonework building.
A loud chiming began, booming throughout the temple, rattling the walls but not the chanting, which continued, if possible, louder than before. Clouds of dust flew down from the loose and ancient bricks overhead. The crouched figure had grown used to this and was not afraid, but this time, everything was different. He was sure now, that this was finally the time.
Specks fluttered down from the beam of light that lay right above the coffin, illuminating what usually is a dark and hollow place. Light seemed to shine off of the whole building, except the figure crouching down, who now seemed to be praying.
To all of this, Iona was oblivious as she slept, her breath soft as it fogged up the glass. The chime rang again, singing the time to all who could hear it. Iona didn’t seem to stir, but her eyelids fluttered for a moment and the figure stood up almost immediately. Everyday the figure had been watching this coffin where Iona lay. Now, he was to wait no more.
The fifth chime rang, and this time Iona gasped faintly. But still she did not wake. The monks sang on, almost urgently now, and the sixth chime resounded.
“Only one more.” the young boy, Daman, stood in front of the coffin whispered. He stared at Iona who rested peacefully in the coffin. Carefully, he grasped the glass case that covered the top of the coffin and pulled it off, laying it down neatly at his side by the foot of the coffin.
Iona’s hair was laid out like a wreath around her head, and now wilted flowers were in her hands.
But as Daman watched,, the flowers began to turn bright and new again, as if they had just been picked off the fields that lay just out of town. One grew back into a bright apple red rose, which had little spots of dew on it’s curled petals, and the other was a thistle, pollen dust sprinkled atop it’s bright purple petals.
He remembered placing the thistle in her hands after she had begun to sleep. It was like nothing had ever changed.
Suddenly, causing him to jump, the last chime exploded into a thousand different bells singing throughout what seemed like the world, echoing for miles. The sweet sound was indescribable, and the monks stopped their heavenly chant to listen. Finally, once the last echoes of the bells faded away, the boy cleared his head of the melody to remember what it was all for; Iona.
Quickly his head shot back down to gaze at her. Her eyes had opened, deep blue like the ocean a night, or the last hour after the sunset just before the stars came out. They were frightened, and she didn’t sit up or move at all except to blink up at him in fear.
“Iona?”
She tried to respond, but it seemed like she had forgotten how to speak. Daman smiled and reached his hand down as an offer to help her up. At last, she moved but not to take his hand. She instead pushed herself up to a sitting position, edging away a bit from him. Daman still held his hand out, but seeing as she wouldn’t take it, he slowly lowered it back down by his side.
Her eyes seemed to search every inch of him, and it was a while before she made another move.
“W-where-?” she managed to choke out.
“Erm, well.” he smiled again, “To put it simply? I have no idea.”
She stared at him in confusion, but sat in silence. Then her head turned down, and she noticed the flowers that had been placed in her hands, and held them up.
“We put them there. Me and Father.”
She glanced up at him, still worried. Maybe she was dreaming? Her brother couldn’t be here, and neither could her father. They had died long ago, and she couldn’t go back. Though, maybe there was still a chance? She ran her finger along the petals of the rose delicately.
“Where is Father?” she asked quietly. She looked around the temple nervously, as if actually realizing there was more to the room then just the coffin. She jumped when she finally noticed the monks who were starting up their chanting again. If she recognized the place, she did not say so.
“Not…. here. Well, at least not in the world of the living.” He said, the look on his face unsettling. Like he had a mix of emotions running through him, unsure of what he should feel.
“Ah.” Iona said, in perhaps a bit insensitive way. So maybe she wasn’t dreaming?
Daman shifted uncomfortably, putting weight on one leg before switching again. Neither of them knew what to say, or what to feel.
Iona stared at him for a moment, not believing she could ever be alright, for what hope could there be for her? She had accepted her fate long ago, thinking herself doomed to live in the plains just beyond existance, so how could this be?
Not even the old tales her mother had ever told her were as outlandish as this! And if they had, why did this have to happen to her? Life is always cruel to the kindest, her mother used to say, but Iona had never believed her. Now she believed she had reason to.
She had given up. How long had she been awake like that, a shadow, with the light too far away to reach? She had been drowning in the waters of her soul, alone for what she thought was eternity.
But Daman was here.
Iona brushed the tears out of her eyes and her gaze flicked over to her brother. She remembered him, now that she looked. The kind smiles he gave her all the time, when he helped her stand up every time she fell, or kiss her knees when she scraped them by running around the gardens too fast.
Iona had hardly ever spent a moment without him, except when getting dressed of course, that was her own business. They supported each other, Daman always made her feel better when she was upset, like the time when her favorite skirt got torn, and Iona always helped him with all the strong stuff he couldn’t do, because their Father wanted him to be really strong and fight, but he wasn’t very good at it, so Iona would do it for him.
“Daman?” she reached out to touch him, as if testing to see if he was real or not. He grinned and grabbed her hand. Real.
“I was alone for so long…” Iona began to sob, quietly, tears streaming down her face, her real face, for the first time in many years. Still a bit startled, Daman wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight, though he bore the look of utter confusion.
“What exactly do you mean? You were asleep...?”
“I- I wasn’t sleeping. I was...here,” she sniffed, “But nobody could hear me or touch me or even see me, but I was here the whole time! And everyone was gone…” Now her body was shaking violently, her hands covering her face. Her somehow neat hair draped over her face and hands as she cried. Daman pet her hair awkwardly but reassuringly, and whispered, “You’re not alone now, Iona. It’s alright. I’m here,”
A few minutes passed like this, no sound but Daman’s sympathetic whispers and the slowly fading chants of the monks. The gonging of the bell had tolled it’s last chime a while ago, but Daman could still feel it’s prescence towering overhead. Finally, Iona seemed to calm down a bit and take it all in.
“There, see. It’s really not that bad here, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Daman handed her the rose back, a warm expression on his pale freckled face.
Iona gave this a thought a moment before responding.
“You talk as if you do know where we are.” she twirled the stem of the thistle in between her fingers, trying not to show that she was still shaking.
“I know what happened to you. To us.” he reached down and plucked up the rose which Iona had forgotten beside her.”After all, Father told me everything just before it happened.”
Iona looked up sharply at this, glaring at him, “How dare you say such a thing! You know that I thought you all were dead!”
Daman looked taken aback; he had never expected her to react like this. Though, from what he could remember she did have a bit of a temper.

The king, her father, had other children as well, 4 of them in fact. But young Iona never got along with them too well, because they were much older than her anyways. She only likes Nimah, who was the oldest, but she liked to watch them play or steal them cakes from the kitchens.
But out of all her siblings, she never had a brother who was quite like Daman.
“Do you not believe me?”
Iona squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously. “Well I think I can change your mind.” She peeked one eye open to look at him, and yet again his hand was outstretched. This time she took it, and he helped pull her out of the coffin.

Description
The sound of chanting filled the large halls, echoing off of the stone walls and lingering a moment before flying off into the air. A young figure was shrouded in a dusky brown cloak, crouching beside what looked like a coffin. A group of monks, all with the same brown outfits sang endlessly throughout the temple. Coloured light spilled in through the thick stained windows, beams of light filling up the small stonework building.
A loud chiming began, booming throughout the temple, rattling the walls but not the chanting, which continued, if possible, louder than before. Clouds of dust flew down from the loose and ancient bricks overhead. The crouched figure had grown used to this and was not afraid, but this time, everything was different. He was sure now, that this was finally the time.
Specks fluttered down from the beam of light that lay right above the coffin, illuminating what usually is a dark and hollow place. Light seemed to shine off of the whole building, except the figure crouching down, who now seemed to be praying.
To all of this, Iona was oblivious as she slept, her breath soft as it fogged up the glass. The chime rang again, singing the time to all who could hear it. Iona didn’t seem to stir, but her eyelids fluttered for a moment and the figure stood up almost immediately. Everyday the figure had been watching this coffin where Iona lay. Now, he was to wait no more.
The fifth chime rang, and this time Iona gasped faintly. But still she did not wake. The monks sang on, almost urgently now, and the sixth chime resounded.
“Only one more.” the young boy, Daman, stood in front of the coffin whispered. He stared at Iona who rested peacefully in the coffin. Carefully, he grasped the glass case that covered the top of the coffin and pulled it off, laying it down neatly at his side by the foot of the coffin.
Iona’s hair was laid out like a wreath around her head, and now wilted flowers were in her hands.
But as Daman watched,, the flowers began to turn bright and new again, as if they had just been picked off the fields that lay just out of town. One grew back into a bright apple red rose, which had little spots of dew on it’s curled petals, and the other was a thistle, pollen dust sprinkled atop it’s bright purple petals.
He remembered placing the thistle in her hands after she had begun to sleep. It was like nothing had ever changed.
Suddenly, causing him to jump, the last chime exploded into a thousand different bells singing throughout what seemed like the world, echoing for miles. The sweet sound was indescribable, and the monks stopped their heavenly chant to listen. Finally, once the last echoes of the bells faded away, the boy cleared his head of the melody to remember what it was all for; Iona.
Quickly his head shot back down to gaze at her. Her eyes had opened, deep blue like the ocean a night, or the last hour after the sunset just before the stars came out. They were frightened, and she didn’t sit up or move at all except to blink up at him in fear.
“Iona?”
She tried to respond, but it seemed like she had forgotten how to speak. Daman smiled and reached his hand down as an offer to help her up. At last, she moved but not to take his hand. She instead pushed herself up to a sitting position, edging away a bit from him. Daman still held his hand out, but seeing as she wouldn’t take it, he slowly lowered it back down by his side.
Her eyes seemed to search every inch of him, and it was a while before she made another move.
“W-where-?” she managed to choke out.
“Erm, well.” he smiled again, “To put it simply? I have no idea.”
She stared at him in confusion, but sat in silence. Then her head turned down, and she noticed the flowers that had been placed in her hands, and held them up.
“We put them there. Me and Father.”
She glanced up at him, still worried. Maybe she was dreaming? Her brother couldn’t be here, and neither could her father. They had died long ago, and she couldn’t go back. Though, maybe there was still a chance? She ran her finger along the petals of the rose delicately.
“Where is Father?” she asked quietly. She looked around the temple nervously, as if actually realizing there was more to the room then just the coffin. She jumped when she finally noticed the monks who were starting up their chanting again. If she recognized the place, she did not say so.
“Not…. here. Well, at least not in the world of the living.” He said, the look on his face unsettling. Like he had a mix of emotions running through him, unsure of what he should feel.
“Ah.” Iona said, in perhaps a bit insensitive way. So maybe she wasn’t dreaming?
Daman shifted uncomfortably, putting weight on one leg before switching again. Neither of them knew what to say, or what to feel.
Iona stared at him for a moment, not believing she could ever be alright, for what hope could there be for her? She had accepted her fate long ago, thinking herself doomed to live in the plains just beyond existance, so how could this be?
Not even the old tales her mother had ever told her were as outlandish as this! And if they had, why did this have to happen to her? Life is always cruel to the kindest, her mother used to say, but Iona had never believed her. Now she believed she had reason to.
She had given up. How long had she been awake like that, a shadow, with the light too far away to reach? She had been drowning in the waters of her soul, alone for what she thought was eternity.
But Daman was here.
Iona brushed the tears out of her eyes and her gaze flicked over to her brother. She remembered him, now that she looked. The kind smiles he gave her all the time, when he helped her stand up every time she fell, or kiss her knees when she scraped them by running around the gardens too fast.
Iona had hardly ever spent a moment without him, except when getting dressed of course, that was her own business. They supported each other, Daman always made her feel better when she was upset, like the time when her favorite skirt got torn, and Iona always helped him with all the strong stuff he couldn’t do, because their Father wanted him to be really strong and fight, but he wasn’t very good at it, so Iona would do it for him.
“Daman?” she reached out to touch him, as if testing to see if he was real or not. He grinned and grabbed her hand. Real.
“I was alone for so long…” Iona began to sob, quietly, tears streaming down her face, her real face, for the first time in many years. Still a bit startled, Daman wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight, though he bore the look of utter confusion.
“What exactly do you mean? You were asleep...?”
“I- I wasn’t sleeping. I was...here,” she sniffed, “But nobody could hear me or touch me or even see me, but I was here the whole time! And everyone was gone…” Now her body was shaking violently, her hands covering her face. Her somehow neat hair draped over her face and hands as she cried. Daman pet her hair awkwardly but reassuringly, and whispered, “You’re not alone now, Iona. It’s alright. I’m here,”
A few minutes passed like this, no sound but Daman’s sympathetic whispers and the slowly fading chants of the monks. The gonging of the bell had tolled it’s last chime a while ago, but Daman could still feel it’s prescence towering overhead. Finally, Iona seemed to calm down a bit and take it all in.
“There, see. It’s really not that bad here, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Daman handed her the rose back, a warm expression on his pale freckled face.
Iona gave this a thought a moment before responding.
“You talk as if you do know where we are.” she twirled the stem of the thistle in between her fingers, trying not to show that she was still shaking.
“I know what happened to you. To us.” he reached down and plucked up the rose which Iona had forgotten beside her.”After all, Father told me everything just before it happened.”
Iona looked up sharply at this, glaring at him, “How dare you say such a thing! You know that I thought you all were dead!”
Daman looked taken aback; he had never expected her to react like this. Though, from what he could remember she did have a bit of a temper.

The king, her father, had other children as well, 4 of them in fact. But young Iona never got along with them too well, because they were much older than her anyways. She only likes Nimah, who was the oldest, but she liked to watch them play or steal them cakes from the kitchens.
But out of all her siblings, she never had a brother who was quite like Daman.
“Do you not believe me?”
Iona squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously. “Well I think I can change your mind.” She peeked one eye open to look at him, and yet again his hand was outstretched. This time she took it, and he helped pull her out of the coffin.