The runaway to change it all

The population of Tullan had grown.

Some were kidnapped and some were lost, but each had a story. It started with the eldest of the colony.
He was not kidnapped, nor was he lost or taken. He was offered immortality, in exchange for kidnapping, stealing and taking others from their families, homes and universes. These people would share one thing: a single, same genetic coding which held the knowledge a single group wanted to possess. This group was the one who offered him immortality, and out of selfishness he agreed. His name was Karl.
As the years passed the population grew, as did the fear, the hate, the guards Karl employed, the slavery. Others came and went, stories were told, lives were lost. Hate was formed and yet the slaves on Tullan stayed strong in the vain hope that one day they would escape and return to their homes and awaiting families.
The ‘group’ provided food for their slaves as well as tools and shelter in the form of Haven. Haven was named directly for what it was – it sheltered the slaves from the heat of the twin suns that graced the forever purple sky, and from the bleak coldness of night as one sun set allowing the chills and rain to beat upon the golden ground and pure red sea.
Haven was unique.
There were five towers woven into each other, resembling termite hills with large gothic windows gracing the dark golden exterior. The Haven would hold up to ten thousand people, though as luck would have it, only two hundred as of yet lived there.
After six hundred years of depression, death, hate and fear Karl was approached the ‘group’ – the beings who granted him forever life.

Karl, in his selfishness, listened to the seven allowing their knowledge to taint his soul further. He happily agreed to take one more soul to subject an innocent being to the slavery of Tullan; he did not frown when he was told it was a mere child, he did not shiver upon knowing said child would be ripped from their family and home, he did not look on with horror as he heard this child would be trained to do the bidding of the ‘group’.
With a shiver of anticipation Karl set to work. It had been a long time since he had taken another from their home, their family, their life, their very existence.

A cold chill ran through the young body, not the kind that made you cringe but the kind that made your bones freeze, your internal organs shudder and teeth clench. Being thrown to the hard stone floor stung the palms as the body retched sicking up what food was left in the small stomach, tears streamed from hazel eyes as dizziness swum around like a fish in a pond.
Amused silver eyes watched as the young child was thrown from the wormhole-type portal glass before it snapped shut, locking the mere child from its home, history, family and time.
“Are you finished?” Karl found himself asking coldly, as he wondered if the others had taken as
long to recover as this child had.

A small hand wiped its lips as the small frame sat on its haunches. Karl found he was forcing himself to recover as the realisation hit that this child was not a boy but a girl, younger then the ‘group’ had explained to him.
Karl found himself studying the small child. She resembled a mere nine years old, with hazel eyes that appeared to enter your very soul, though the red around the irises seemed to disconcert Karl to his very core.

She was so slim that a strong wind could knock her over, and dark brown hair with flecks of red ended at her shoulders. Her clothing was typical for her age group and species: a black hoodie with a long-sleeved red t-shirt underneath and navy jeans with black trainers.  A backpack, full to the brim, laid at her feet.

Karl couldn’t help but wonder why it was there.
The child, in turn, studied the man: his slim, lamp post frame with limp greying hair shadowing his face, silver eyes seemed glazed with something unknown, yet puzzling.  He stood, towering over her, his voice grave as though unused. His clothing was a robe of silver yet the underneath seemed to be all black, as though wanting to blend into the shadows of the room they currently occupied.
“My name is Karl. I am your master as you are now a slave of Tullan. You will do as you are told to do. Not following instructions will result in punishment.

You will be provided with a room and food, and for both these  you will work.”  With that, Karl turned to his two guards who the child hadn’t even noticed, instructing them to take her to her chambers.
The child just blinked as Karl rattled on about her now being a slave.   A frown graced her young features as she huffed under breath; it seemed the prospect of freedom was well and truly screwed.

The irony was not lost upon the child, for here she was, running away from home only to find she was now on some planet (yes, she had glanced at the window and spotted the twin suns) and had well and truly lost  the very freedom she seeked.

The family she wished to escape from was also well and truly gone. Irony was not her friend!

Haven was known as what was called a gossip mill. Rumours spread  like weeds in the garden in the summer, and like Chinese whispers it soon grew out of control. All it took was for one set of eyes to spot something – anything – that could start the gossip mill!
At this moment, seeing a young child being practically frog marched down passage ways and stairs towards the east wing of Haven was, in fact, the start of the rumour mill.
Beady eyes of black slunk back into the shadows of Haven as the two guards passed, a small, smug smile graced this beady eyed man as he darted for the nearest staircase leading to the hub of all gossip – the kitchens.

Stumbling head first into the backside of a six-foot guard seemed to be the signal to stop to the child.  With an undignified huff she glanced around the body to see a wooden oak framed door that was pushed to reveal a large, adequate, bright room. “Yours,” muttered one guard as he stumped off, followed by the other, leaving the child puzzling if these guards were in fact zombies or just plain stupid and gormless. She voted for the latter.
The room was large, with three, gothic styled bay windows.  Wooden shutters seemed to be the protection against the winds as she could see the hinges, The floor was clay based with a  light brown pattern,  which seemed to blend with the walls that arched towards the ceiling.  A simple oak table and chair stood by one window, and two, well padded chairs well padded.  Stood to the east wall was a large fireplace, allowing company to warm themselves against the chills of night.  A door was to the north which lead to the bedroom.  A large – almost huge –wooden, four-poster bed stood in the centre. At least she’d be comfortable. O so she thought.
An adjoining room to the side was revealed to be the bathroom with running water and a shower. It was good that she didn’t have to share. Slumping against the wall as she slid down to sit upon the unsurprisingly cold floor, the child studied the apartment once again. It seemed that only now was everything hitting all at once. She was a slave, alone with no family, only a backpack of things she had taken in an attempt to run away.Well now it seemed it was official. She was screwed and was going to die a slave to some crack pot who was four fries short of a happy meal “Diabolique you’re doomed” she thought.

From that moment on, the child called herself Diabolique, for Diabolique seemed fitting. She felt like her birth name had never fitted, and why not rename yourself if no one knew your name to begin with?

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