Together
“Yura? It’s time to go now.” A familiar voice rang through Yura’s head, yet she was having a hard time responding. She was exhausted, unwilling to leave the comfort of the warmth that enveloped her sleepy body. The voice continued to prod at her, yet Yura was unwilling to respond. She was dreaming. Thinking of the happy times she had had with her dearest friend, the owner of the voice, Vetelle. They were raised in wildly different perspectives within the same reclusive walls. Vetelle and Yura, the lady and the spitfire.
“Yura? Pay attention dear. It’s your move” Yura felt a soft hand upon her own, pulling her from her daydreams. “It’s a wonder how you’ve managed to come this far in your career as a warrior, with an attention span like that.’ The taller woman joked, showing her friend a light smile. A kind and polite woman of twenty-eight, Vetelle was a refined woman of fine taste, raised to be the perfect daughter. Her tall figure fit the image as well by most standards. Her near white skin showed little sign of wear from labor, her face perfectly made up, not even a bag to be seen under the woman’s kind eyes. Her proud figure and fine posture were the perfect examples of her years of education, her face radiating in a way that showed her intelligence without having to even open her mouth. One would never know just how exhausted she really was. From the beginning, everything she would ever have need of had been promised to her. Her comfort was all guaranteed to her. She would have a home, a husband, a full belly. She was a doll, the perfect example of a refined society. And yet, was that really a good thing? Sometimes, she wondered if her comfort was really worth the cost of her free will.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Yura muttered, seeming rather disinterested in the game, but doing her best to indulge her friend. On the other side of the scale stood Yura, a balance to Vetelle’s perfect world. Yura was a spitfire of a girl. A seventeen year old raging ball of fury standing at an astounding four foot nine, Yura, unlike her friend, was more than a bit rough around the edges. Her calloused hands showed the measure of her work, the scars that covered her pale body reminders of her life as a warrior. Yura’s face was a feared one, despite her age. It was not hard to tell that the young woman was fierce in body and in mind. Her temper matched only by her prowess in battle, and her posture that of an exhausted adventurer who was ever unsure if this would be her last stand. But people don’t get this was for no reason. Yura lived a difficult childhood. From a young age, the girl was motherless, abandoned for unknown reasons. Despite her father’s love, her life was fully of uncertainty. She never knew what was around the corner. Yura was a representation of the suffering of the uncertain. But it never stopped her from fighting.
“We don’t have to do this, you know. I know games of intellectual pursuit don’t always interest you.” Vetelle gave the younger girl an inquisitive stare, fully aware of just how bored the young woman was judging by her tired eyes and the lazy position with which she sat, staring off into space. Yura was many things, but subtle in her actions wasn’t one of them.
“Yeah, well, running people through isn’t exactly a hobby I like to advise other people to take up, and it’s really one of the only hobbies I have outside like… patrol. Or getting into midnight fights at local tavern.” Yura let out a sizeable groan before letting her head hit the arm of her chair, her legs thrown over the other arm.
“Yura… you aren’t even old enough to drink. What are you doing hanging around at the taverns so late?” Vetelle tried her best to sound concerned, but it was, in a way, funny to her. She had always admired Yura’s drive, even for how unusual it might have been. In fact, she had almost envied it.
“Who said you had to drink to have fun at these places? You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff these drunk fools say and leave just lying around!” Yura shot up in an excited manner as if to ad emphasis to her statement. ‘Besides, it’s not like I always knew where I was gonna sleep every night.” Yura shrugged at her friend before wandering off towards the closest window, looking out at the snowfall as it covered the streets below.
The inside of Vetelle’s home was cozy and somewhat familiar. And Yura hated it. She envied the idea that her friend was guaranteed her comfort, but was never aware of just how much it had cost.
“Well, it’s no bar fight, but perhaps it would be fun to at least try to find something to eat?” Vetelle joined her slouching friend at the window, back straight as she toyed with the ring in her finger.
Yura glanced up at her friend, who was a bit more than a foot taller than her, and pushed herself away from the window, shifting her weight onto her left leg. “Alright. But I get to pick what we eat this time. No more of that fancy garbage I can’t pronounce you guys eat every day.” Vetelle laugh, nodding to her friend in agreement. They both made their way to the door, content for a moment in their lives.
Indeed, these two women could not have come from more different worlds. And yet, they had so much in common. Their suffering came in two different proportions. But they were both screaming on the inside. Vetelle’s constant fight for her own will was reflected by Yura’s desperate need for some kind of understanding in her life. But it was okay. Both were fighters. They had always fought beside one another. And it was here that they would keep fighting. Because unlike what Yura might have believed, this was no dream.
“Yura, please! You have to get up now!.” Vetelle shouted to the limp girl which she held in her arms. The gaol had not been a kind place to the once strong young girl, whose scars had once again split open due to her unusual need to remain silent during interrogation after interrogation. Her fire had been extinguished, as proven by the unwilling state her body was in. no one would have ever thought she was the same aggressive young spitfire who had fought her way into the hearts of so many. But she was not the only one who had suffered.
Vetelle’s once pristine mannerisms had given way to a more hysterical state as she fervently begged her friend to come back round to consciousness. Her pale skin stained by dirt and bruises, her once pristine hands calloused and cold. The bags under her eyes had finally come out, as she composure had more than disappeared. She was begging her dearest friend to come back to her. “Please don’t go!”
Both had faced their demons, but never thought about the consequences. Vetelle had fought for her freedom. But at what cost? The life of her dearest friend? And Yura, so desperate for certainty, had finally landed herself in a place where nothing but death was all but guaranteed.
But it wasn’t her time, Yura thought, her eyes finally beginning to see through the blood, sweat, and tears that covered her face. She took Vetelle’s hand, muttering weakly, “I’m not going anywhere, we fight. And we fight together, remember?”