67th of Frost, 4592
At first, there was nothing. An empty void, devoid of all its darkness. Nothing. No sounds, no smells, no feeling, no sight. She remembered nothing different. That was her world... Or lack thereof. Time itself even escaped her in that state, there was no concept of what was to come, or how much longer she might expect to be suspended in animation. An eternal purgatory was all she could recall of those few hours; the eternity that eventually ended.
First, there was pain. Her fresh skin reacted to the dryness of the air, the cold, the strike against her. Her lungs drew breath for the first time, and her fresh lungs screamed bloody murder. They stretched and dried aginst her first breath, and brought to life all the other parts inside her. Her beating heart distributed its first bounty of oxygen to the rest of her body, and her brain awoke in a stark flash of nothing but blue pain.
She was alive, but at what cost? Tremors overcame her as her undeveloped muscles awoke, and her fingers clenched fists for the first time. It hurt in a fashion that was snapping muscle fibers with every movement, ripping at her newly awoken senses with fresh stimuli.
In the few seconds that spanned her first breath, she already wished it to end. But she could not, there was no choice to end the suffering or escape the pain. She had to bear it. Her body willed itself to suffer against her will. What more could she do but exert all the force she could muster? If she couldn't end the suffering, she could fight it?
Just a moment after that flash of pain, she let out that first breath in a scream, a wailing cry of agony. It strained her throat and pulled on her unused vocal cords so intensely that her face curled in anguish. Had her eyes the strength to open, she would have bled water from them.
Her lungs drew another breath of their own accord; she couldn't stop them; they did as they wished. Again, that ripping white pain tore through her, filled her consciousness with that blinding red.
It was wrong. Why had this happened to her? Why did her eternity end?
The wetness returned, but it was cold. It poured all over her, awakening every skin cell at once. She cried out again, and did her best to flail her arms in protest, but they were tired and heavy, she could not. her tiny wings were pulled out straight, stretching those muscles for the first time, and her lifeline was cut, severing her from that place forever.
Her cries continued to ring against the cathedral walls, rattling the stained glass oh-so subtly. Ulen's eye was upon her from every direction, ready to behold if she had the strength to serve him. The slave that birthed her oversized form passed somewhere far above below, lost to the fresh light that poured through those tall windows. The new Velsign saw none of it, she knew none of it. Her progenitor was gone from the world, her long pain was over. She hadn't the mind to care, she feared for herself, for what would become of her. Her long pain had only just begun.
Time. That still escaped her, she knew not how long she'd been forced from her eternal purgatory, but it was less than ten minutes that the world had known her as an individual, and not her mother's bloated stomach. Her cries continued as she was brought to lay on her back. Some sort of... soft thing touched her, so alien and purple against her untested skin. She hated it. It had to go, she couldn't suffer any more stimulation.
Her arms stretched outward, tiny fingers clawing at the sky while she kicked her legs against that vile fabric. Exhaustion overcame her, green in its cumbersome grief. She couldn't fight anymore, it just made her lungs work harder, and they were already alight with blazing, yellow despair.
All those colors, all those sensations. She wanted them all to end.
And just like that, they did.
The moment the mark of Mentalism was placed on her stomach, every feeling disappeared. Her fear and despair were gone, she hadn't the capacity to care for the ache in her limbs. Her crying ceased, and her arms fell limp against her body. At long last, the eternity of pain was over.
The emptiness, her void, it had returned. That safe space where she could exist without trials or tribulations surrounded her and ate her from the inside out. Once again, she was whole, and just like last time, she hadn't the capacity or the recognition to even become aware of what that void truly signified.
Colors offered themselves to her, various wisps and sensations that she did not want to endure. She wanted none of them, though she was made to sample the things they had to offer, she took not the unending well of colors they promised. Had she the choice, she would not have sampled those colors at all.
It was much more bearable, to only experience those things, one by one instead of all at once. If anything, it was enjoyable. She did feel crushed or overwhelmed, she was given a trial of those five things, those colors. As muted and individual as they were, they weren't as terrible. Part of her almost wished to sample more of those colors, but she feared the intensity. She did not wish to experience that strain again, and so she clung to her core, and defensively held herself from the depths of the reverie's storm.
And then, it was over.
The mark of Mentalism set permanently on the skin of her stomach, and her eyes opened for the first time. Whiteness, bright white light strained her fresh pupils and narrowed them to pinpricks in reaction to the sun, the shine, the colors. Steadily, the world adjusted around her, and she began to move her eyes. Everywhere she moved them, more things came into color. Everything was so out of focus, but she stared in awe of all the things that surrounded her, everything that permeated her void and was made real by her sight.
She did not cry again, but stared in wonder, enthralled by the sight of the world she'd been dragged into. People, she instinctually recognized. People came in so many sizes and shapes. They wore so many different things. Some wore metal, others wore cloth. Some had wings, others did not.
Hands seized her where she laid and lifted her from the softness of the fabric. Her back and core hadn't the strength to hold themselves up, so she arched a little as the person lifted her into the light. She was high, far from the ground. Reflexively, her wings stretched to catch herself, and she pushed against the wrist that suspended her. Instinct told her not to touch the ground, not to fall. That alone was proof enough that the initiation was successful, she had not shattered her mural, she was not a husk.
Sounds of rejoicing surrounded her as she was lowered, and placed in some sort of cocoon of cloth. She was utterly wrapped in the fabric, held warm, and cradled in her compressed state. She knew not what the muffled boom of voices spoke, but they sounded pink, which she thought was good, at least better than blue.
She did not know that they rejoiced because she had lived... because she had been tested and survived. No, all she knew was that the colors weren't so bad in small doses and that her eternal void was no more. In its place was an eternity of color, no longer a purgatory or any sort of lifelessness, but life itself.
She looked about the room as she was carried away, then exhaled deeply through her dry mouth. Her eyes closed, and she was given a sample of her void once more. She did not need it anymore, for she enjoyed the comfort of purple. Even so, she didn't mind sampling it for a spell.
On her way out, another person passed her, carrying another who was fresh from the void. The other was screaming, crying for the pain to end, just as she was. Sabriel smiled, for she knew their eternity of pain would cease, sooner or later.
It is often wondered, from those outside the inquisition, how so many Velsign can be initiated in Mentalism minutes after birth and come out with their murals intact. The initiation is speculated to require months, even years of disciplinary training, to save one's self from the temptation that the reveries brought.
The answer to such queries was simple. newborns knew not the joys of living, only its pain, and terror. Everything they experienced; offered to them by the reveries, when they were fresh from the womb, was only an extension of the terror and confusion that was coming to life. For that reason, Velsign more commonly survived the initiation minutes after birth. It was only when they'd matured and came to understand that there was more to the world than suffering that the reveries might have stood a chance at claiming them.
Of course, many newborns still perished to the mark, but Sabriel was one of the lucky ones, born with the sense not to place her hand in the pyre. For that, she survived.
