A raucous, throaty tone erupted from the violin that was poised so delicately in
the girl's fingers. Waves of ankle-length hair, the color of blood, swirled
around her shadowy-skinned frame in a sensual dance. She whirled across the
stage in a visceral and entrancing dervish of motion, the folds of her evening
dress flipping into the air as she cavorted with wild abandon. The bow snapped
and screamed across the strings of her violin causing the instrument to emit
such a strange melody. She swayed with fervor, building to an awe-inspiring
crescendo, until finally, with one last pull of the bow, the violin belted out
a shrill noise that faded into a muted echo.

The young star collapsed to her knees in an inelegant slump. The deafening roar
of cheering and clapping rang in her ears, replacing the cacophonous melody in a
burst of adulation. She laughed, exhausted, hair matted to her forehead in a
sweaty tangled mess. She soaked in the noise of her fans.

Slowly, the applause melted away with a hiss, and the look of exuberant joy on
the face of the young virtuosa faded as well. She hung her head in dejection as
the image of the beautiful steel stage shimmered and popped, fizzling away in a
shower of silent sparks. The young girl watched as the violin flickered to
non-existence, and then she was surrounded in motes of light as well. When it
was all over, nothing remained of the stage and audience. A grimy, soot-covered
abandoned warehouse stood in its stead. Even the girl had seemingly vanished. In
place of the beautiful ruby-haired, dusky toned viscanti girl stood a
pale-skinned viscanti boy, wrapping his frail arms about himself as he shook
and cried. Dreams could have such pretty faces, but the truth always had a
vicious bite.

* * *

The boy stared at the front door of his home before summoning the courage to
enter. He knew what was to come. His father despised the boy for what he was,
and the boy had come to accept the price of glimpsing what he wished his life
was like. He pushed the door open and the foyer he entered was a flurry of
activity. It was all a blur, like usual. The malicious words flowed over him as
his father screamed in a semi-drunken rage. The child stood there, seemingly
oblivious, caught so deep within his own inner turmoil that he barely
registered the first punch.

The beatings were bcoming more and more brutal as he grew older, and this one
was no different. He crumpled to the ground like a rag doll as his father
bludgeoned him with burly fists. The child made no move, just lay there and
stared blankly. He finally fell into unconciousness, seeing his mother's cold
dead eyes staring back at him before the world faded away.

* * *

Life continued as such for the boy, day after day, week after week, month after
month. Any moment he could steal away from his family he spent honing his
illusionary skills or indulged in his dreams where he was she and she was a
brilliant violinist. Wanderlust nagged at his soul, and rumours of some
creation known as the Portal of Fate consumed him. He had heard fantastic tales
of the stalwart (and perhaps foolhardy) braving the Portal in an attempt to grow
into something else. He toyed with the idea of travelling to Avechna's Peak and
plunging himself into the Portal to be reborn. His reasoning, quite simply, was
that anything was better than this, and it really couldn't get much worse.

On the child's 16th birthday, the boy treated himself to a jarring performance
on the way home from his schooling. Time slipped from his grasp, and he found
it nearly nightfall before he scurried home in a panicked rush. He slipped in
the front door as silently as possible only to be greeted by his father's
screaming accusations once again. Inexplicably, the words bit hard tonight.
Perhaps he expected some semblance of kindness on his birthday, perhaps he just
hit a breaking point, but the words stung.

"You're nothing but a worthless mutant!" his father bellowed. It was just
enough.

"Why blame me for who I am?! I can't help how I feel! Blame yourself for being
part of my conception you miserable drunkard." The boy belted out his response
and the father was shocked. His eyes went wide and he hesitated before his face
shifted from alabaster to crimson. He crushed the child with a massive right
hook that sent the boy spinning into the air and toppling to the ground.

The boy lay there, unable to move his body, as his father descended on him once
more. But this time, each punch made him angrier. Each strike pushed him farther
and farther into an angry, wounded rage. The boy wrenched himself around and
flung a hand in front of his father's face, letting a burst of color explode in
the man's eyes. He shrieked in agony and stumbled back, clutching his bloodied
fists in front of him. The boy stumbled to his feet and let a banshee's scream
rip into the room. The man now stumbled and wavered, blind, deaf, and in pain.
The boy grabbed at his father's dagger and waved a hand in front of the blinded
man's eyes. His pupils fixated on the boy's cold features just as the blade
plunged into the man's chest.

The man gasped and wheezed, thrashing to get away from the boy, but the boy
pressed on and twisted the blade back and forth in the man's lung, inching it
closer to his heart. With a final scream, he ripped the blade to the side and
out in a fountain of blood as the man collapsed to the ground. Now the boy felt
nothing but relief.

* * *

It only took moments for reality to push through the adrenaline, and the boy
had quickly grabbed a loaf of bread and a skin of water on the way out the
door. He spit on the floor in front of his mother, who had taken to shrieking
and gibbering at the cooling corpse of his tormentor.

The boy walked for days, living off of plants along the highways after the
bread was gone. He struggled, malnourished and still bruised, up towards the
fabled location of this Portal of Fate. And finally, he stood in front of the
swirling smear of color.

Even the weariness from malnourishment and little sleep couldn't subdue the
fear he felt entirely. He eyed the rift, not knowing how he had come to this
idea in the first place. Insanity, that must be it, he mused. He stood for
hours, parched and starving, before delirium started to take hold. With a final
stumbling step, the boy fell into the Portal.

The child was never seen again.

* * *

The words were fuzzy, and there was nothing but pure blackness all around. The
words started to sharpen and take form.

"I am Clotho, who will weave your fate. Now, how much of yourself do you
remember? Do you even remember your gender, young one?" The voice was feminine,
and seemed to envelop all in the inky darkness.

"I...I'm a woman." Shock. She felt surprised, but she didn't know why. Her mind
seemed blank, but SOMETHING made her feel surprised at her response, even at the
sound of her own voice. She ran her hands over her face and body in the
darkness, and she started to laugh in relief and excitement.

Clotho, wrapped in that same darkness, merely smirked knowingly.