Rings of Twisted Ice

Hello. . .! I got inspiration for this when I was playing and went to the Eidolon Wall to read about the past and stuff like that. I found out Dagger's real name but anyway! I got inspired by the writings about Shiva, and how there were debates about how eidolons gave birth to legends or did legends give birth to eidolons? So I hope you enjoy reading my meager peice of fanfiction. It'll be multi-chapter so it isn't one shot. And there's a plot too! Ooh. . .It's such a big step for me! ^-^; Only Caroline is writing this fic, just so you know.

Enjoy!

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Mother told me to run as far as I could away from our house. I asked her where. She told me to just run, run as far away from them as I could.

But not to Esto Gaza. She whispered that they would find me too easily if I went there.

But I liked Esto Gaza, it wasn't too far from our home either, just a little east from that giant volcano some who have passed by have called the Fire Shrine.

Her voice had became hushed as she urged me out the door. Back then, when I was a mere child, I was selfish enough to think she just wanted rid of me. So preoccupied with insolent thoughts and shock I forgot to ask . . .

Who are "they?"

Now I believe I'll never know, for when I returned, years later, I found my mother's corpse, beaten to death and our quaint house in shambles. I don't think I'll ever go again, no matter how strong the emotional ties.

She always said my father named me. Named me after someone who did great things, and he wanted his daughter to grow up and do the same.

He named me Shiva. It's a very pretty name, though when I looked in the mirror I never really thought it suited me the way a name should.

That was decades ago.

Whatever happened to the man I call my father? Whenever I asked my mother, she pursed her lips and quickly changed the subject. I have no memories, no haunting dreams of twisted memoirs like books often boast. It's as if . . .

Impossible. Everyone has a father. Though, as days, weeks, months, and even the years crawl by, I begin to wonder if I ever had a father. Someone to hug and call daddy.

Mother never let me hug her.

I shake that off and get up slowly off a block of ice. I've never figured why, but I seem to have lived for decades. I've noticed that as I peer longingly into the lives of the normal people, I can watch a baby be born, the child mature, and then grow old, frail, and finally die, after their meager life span is up.

Yet I remain unchanging. I women with a wizened and cold heart stuck in a young girl's body.

My skin turned blue one day. All those nights of sleeping on ice, not caring if I froze, changed my skin a soft, glowing blue. It suits me better than the pale peach skin I once possessed. It matches my hair and my black eyes some have said where unnerving, like the ice that is my friend.

Yet I still live. I've lost all will for it. My existence seems useless, worthless. Filled to the brim with questions and loneliness. So why?

Why am I like this? Why do I never grow old? Why is my skin blue instead of freezing and killing me?

If my friend, Kaeler, was still alive, I'd ask her. She'd laugh and reply with some smart ass remark.

"I want the gift of death," I whisper to the shimmering stars. They all seem to laugh at me. What is my purpose?

I sighed heavily and walked back into my Ice Cavern. Tomorrow I'd sculpt another flower into the ice, and it would remain there forever, for a traveler to pass by when I leave and awe at its beauty.

I'd forgotten how good sleep felt.

I could sleep forever . . .

I woke to a warm sensation. At first I didn't realize how odd this was until a boy with large wings and horns greeted me with a grin.

I raised one eyebrow. Not very much startled me anymore. I calmly asked him who and what he was.

He looked confused. He must not be too bright. "I don't really have a name. I'm an ifrit though, that's the tribe I'm from. Everyone else was wiped out by some big eye thingy. I've been wondering around for a while since its obliteration."

Obliteration. Oh, what a big word. It might have caused some brain damage in the boy's head.

"So I guess my name'll be Ifrit! What's yours?" He asked as he sat, uncomfortably I noticed, on the nearest block of ice to mine.

Ifrit from the tribe of ifrits. Boy, was THAT original.

"My name is Shiva," I replied. "How old are you, er, Ifrit?"

He squinted his black, beady eyes in thought, and counted on his fingers that were more like claws. Must be a thinking cramp. After a few minutes of silence, he said he was around, oh, 204 years old.

Funny, he's only two years older than I. He looks my age too. Maybe I'm not the only one . . . ?

"Want to be my friend?" He asked happily. At least he was to the point.

"Why not?" I shrugged my shoulders. I could use a friend. Even if it was an ifrit that apparently had little thought process going on in his brain, with horns, and melted all of my beautiful ice in the cavern.