There isn't much to say about this piece yet, other than that it's a rather rambling and perhaps a little different from the other pieces in the series, also that I may change it as I progress with the other pieces of the text so don't hate me if the prologue of the story is suddenly different; Apologies for that in advance!
Lola Fawn was a 22-year-old woman with no real connections to the magical world upon Terra. A rather basic, even mundane, land dweller who finds joy in Science Fiction and Fantasy books, and of course, the games that should fit the very same genres. A geek by definition, but certainly not the goddess-level sexy type of geek people want you to be. She looked just like any other girl in the city with her long red hair tied on a sporty ponytail and her pale complexion fitting of the climate. It was visible by the way her body was toned that she worked out, but unfortunately she had always had a boyish figure that had shielded her from unwanted passes well until her teens. But even her boyish looks couldn't have saved her from what awaited in the real world once you grew up. Remotely pretty often meant easy target and beautiful stopped sounding like a compliment. The world around her was, on all accounts, a rather sad one filled with slurs meant to make her as a woman feel less worthy to do certain things, and the man feel dumb and merely guided by his lust.
“You’re so lovely when you get mad!” kept ringing inside Lola’s head as she ran with music blasting through her headphones. The shame of it and not knowing if she should report what had happened to the authorities in order to have it dealt with. Even at her rather young age she had seen enough of that kind of behaviour to know that without her consent and acceptance of it, it was wrong to do towards her – or anyone uninvited for that matter. But she wasn’t a weak little girl like had been suggested. She didn’t go around crying to people about things someone had said or done to her – Especially not when others couldn’t find it in their hearts nor minds to believe her. She still remembered the first time she had complained. She’d been told to look at the way she was dressed. Had she not been asking for it? The second time it had been brushed of as a misunderstanding caused by her good nature – Had her smiles and careless comments not sent a different signal? After the third time of being questioned by people bringing up the fact of her prettiness (or more the lack there of) she had learned her lesson and stopped going to other people for help. She was her only saviour and no one else could (nor would) do for her what she had had to do for herself. Others had proven their lack of interest in the problem ages ago and she was simply done trying to make them care.
At first, she had attempted to puzzle out why people – mostly men – felt entitled to touch her and she had heard many different answers. She’d been told that it was the sunrise in her hair and the beautiful sway of her body as she walked. Some had claimed it was her rose red lips and others sworn on the power of her smile. She’d set out to weed those qualities out, one at a time. But nothing had helped, nothing had made it stop. She’d dressed badly for a while, but if just smiling could make a sober guy walk up to her uninvited and kiss her with a follow up of, “I just had to. Your smile was so beautiful”, she had no option but to hope for the best and surround herself with people she trusted. But often trust and avoiding those special situations just wasn’t enough. Time and time again her trust had been breached by the people closest to her breaking the rules of her personal space. And when they had, it had hurt the most.
But she had learned to deal with and to not be fully alone with those people – She had called it the “safety blanket person” –concept. It was what she had had to come up with after her female friends had settled down and stopped going to events with her. There had been no safety net that knew from her behaviour that she needed rescuing nor anyone to give her that excuse to run away on some call or emergency that didn’t exist. She had been on her own and had to deal because like so many others, she had received no help when something she clearly didn’t want was being done to her. Sure, there was the occasional someone who noticed and interfered but that could only take her so far, especially as the creep wouldn’t be thrown out and would only come to harass her some more as the Knight walked off. She wasn’t thankful for the knights anymore, not after all those years. They mostly just made it worse. If she found herself in a situation where she was the only one blamed for someone else’s actions towards her, she left the people behind. That was the kind of self-respect she had though it created a rather lonely road out of her life that she had despite all grown accustomed to. She would much rather be alone and happy than surrounded by people, abused and scared.
She wanted to be strong and she wanted the world to be just, but she knew “just” wasn’t always an option because everyone’s sense of justice was different. And she wasn’t certain if what she wanted was truly justice and not revenge. You see, Lola had never really had a clear moral code and in the years she’d been abused and harassed, she’d grown certain of only her doubt of the society around herself. Nothing ever really seemed right. Nothing ever really seemed just. Why did she pay a higher percentage of her wage in taxes than the people who hired her? Why did she get the blame for someone else’s actions? Why was it often uttered when someone was murdered that they shouldn’t’ve been walking there in the first place or shouldn’t’ve irritated their neighbour? She had all these questions and no answers. So she trained. Frustrations, anger, stress… Every negative feeling she ever had was dealt with through physical challenges. Today she would run faster than ever, tomorrow she’d box against a man three times her size and the day after that… Maybe she’d climb a mountain. She had grown strong and fast. She had trained long and hard, day in and day out. And every night, she’d gone for a run.
She’d grown a little reckless in her training, she knew that now. But that night, she had still thought she could outrun anyone, anywhere and anytime, which wouldn’t have been the way she saw things if she had known of the world underlying hers. She’d chosen to run the paths of the forest just outside her hotel. She’d longed to go back home to her seaside apartment and the small, but beautiful forest no more than fifty meters from it, but her current employment required that she stay in Nova, the capital of Terra. She’d grown restless in this landlocked city and her sleep was forever disturbed by the lack of the sounds she was used to. She needed the ocean, the birds, and the special kind of quiet of her own space but instead she had the endless sounds of the city from traffic to parties. She’d chosen the forest because at least there she might find some of that silence she required so that she might recharge before what she hoped to be her final week in Nova. She’d thought about things and once she realized the silence she so longed was out of her reach, she’d stopped to plug in her headphones and pull out something to listen to. Perhaps if she hadn’t stopped, things wouldn’t have gone quite the way they did.
She’d continued her run with thoughts plaguing her mind and tearing old wounds open and as each wound was ripped open once more, she’d gone faster and faster to outrun her own thoughts. But thoughts were not that easy outrun. They followed you, they plagued you, they stayed with you and they never ever left you. It’s useless to tell yourself that the memories would leave, the pain would end when you knew very well that it would not. She’d closed her eyes and ran, which perhaps was another reason why things went as they did that night. If her eyes had been open, perhaps she would’ve seen what was coming. If she hadn’t been listening to music, maybe she would’ve heard it coming. Maybe she would’ve ran the other way. But ifs are useless. They won’t change the past. Regardless of any ifs we may have today, the fact still remains that the next morning they buried Lola Fray in a grave far, far away from her dear ocean. It still remains that the police was baffled, that what happened that night stays between Lola and her attacker. And well, in their way of seeing the world asking Lola was out of question, since she’d been pronounced legally dead, deceased, gone. There had been no heartbeat.