Cursed

The great Bastilian war. A 14-year-old conflict that scarred the world for good. Billions of lives hanging from a thread.  Humanity was left only with rubble and ashes. Their fate had already been decided and hope had already been lost.

Beneath the rubble emerged a new era. A united earth came together under the banner of a new reality, the nation known as Bastilia. The flags fluttered proudly within the hearts of the people. Bastilia rose as a beacon of hope, representing a new beginning for a fractured world.

Yet, beneath its façade of hope, a dangerous shadow lurked. Bringing forth corruption and terror. It left an important question behind, was this truly the promised era of peace? 

Amidst the turbulent times, a new story unfolds—the story about a young orphaned girl, Liria Lime.

Math class just ended, Anne slumped back in her seat. She let out a loud sigh followed by a long yawn. "What's up next?” she mumbled. She idly ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. She took out a mirror to check if her cheap make-up was still the same as when she applied it in the morning. She stretched out her arms again, suffering from boredom.

"I think we got history next,” I replied to her in a bored tone. I too was not thrilled to be here either.

"Ugh, not Mr. Cedrickson again!" Anne groaned. "His lessons are like watching paint dry.”

I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. 

“You know I’m right!” She added in a jesting tone.

"It’s not that, I’m still surprised you haven’t memorized your schedule yet. It's almost the end of the year." I informed teasingly. 

Anne slammed her head on the table, letting out another sigh. “History's important and all," She replied with a hint of sarcasm, "but I’m just not up for Cedrickson’s lullaby. I'll probably doze off again." 

As we bantered, the classroom door swung open, and slowly strolling out was Mr. Cedrickson himself. A tall man, maybe in his 50s or 60s, I couldn’t tell. He had a big moustache that covered his entire mouth. We could never tell when he smiled or if he ever did. Anne leaned forward, resting her head on her desk letting out a silent “ugh”, ready to take a nap. 

After an hour of what seemed to be a never-ending brag about the war, the day drew to a close. The school bell rang, saving us from eternal sleep. Anne let out another yawn as she stretched her hands in the air. “It’s finally over” she added with a cheery tone.

“So, doing anything special today?” She asked me. I didn’t sense any curiosity in that question, only small talk. “We have college entrance exams soon right?” I answered to her boredom. 

“Ugh, you’re so boring, Lili. Don’t you ever have fun? Why not look for a boyfriend or something?” she rolled her eyes. Her smug expression annoyed me greatly. 

“I don’t need a boyfriend, mind your own business. Last time I remembered, things weren’t going all too well with you and your boyfriend.” I fired back with a hint of anger “Also, you know I don’t like being called Lili. I’ve told you to stop already.” 

Anne was almost done packing her handbag until she burst out laughing. "Life is short, Lili," She replied in the middle of her laughter. "You've got to enjoy it while you've still got it."

I looked at her with an angry gaze, she caught on instantly.

"Oh c’mon, ‘Lili’ is cute, it got a charm to it," Anne responded. "Way cuter than Liria.”

"I guess so," I conceded, too tired too argue. "But it's still embarrassing in public."

"You're cute when you're mad, Lili," Anne teased. My cheeks turned bright red out of annoyance, but also embarrassment. I hated that nickname, it belittled me. I knew Anne didn’t mean any harm, it’s just the way she is.

"Alright, ‘Liria’ it is then. Just so you know, when no one else is around, you're ‘Lili’." 

"Ugh, bye, Anne," I muttered, a mix of frustration and amusement.

"Bye-bye, Lili," Anne said with a playful grin. 

After my classes wrapped up, I headed straight home. I didn't live that far from my school and I had a cozy spot that I’d come to appreciate over the years. For as long as I remember I grew up in the Lime Family Orphanage, and even now, I still live there. I help out with basic chores and looking after the kids. In exchange I get a room of my own and a family I can call my own.

As soon as I stepped through the door, I was greeted by a chorus of excited voices, "BIG SIS LIRIA IS HOME!" they yelled.

After walking in, I got swarmed by a group of children, each one fighting for my attention. “Liria, you promised we’d play today!” one of the girls shouted. Quickly interrupted by another kid. “Not fair, I want to play with big sis today!”. I tried my best to calm them down, with little to no luck. 

Suddenly, the director entered the room, the owner of the orphanage. His name is Marx Lime. He named the orphanage after himself. He had a spooky expression that froze everyone in the room. His cold eyes could immobilize everyone. He walked around the room, with his hands behind his back. No one dared to move a muscle.

He stood still for a moment and focused his stare at one of the kids. After the long awkward silence, the kid burst out laughing. “Not fair, Marx, you targeted me!” He claimed.

"A loss is a loss, Gin. You’re doing the dishes tonight.” Marx replied.

The entire room erupted in laughter. Every evening we played this little game, the goal was to stand still and don't say a word for as you can. Marx would look around the room, looking for the first person to move. If he caught you, it was your turn to do the dishes after dinner. The standoffs of silence sometimes last for a while.

After the commotion died down, Mr. Lime turned to me, "Welcome home Liria. How was school?" he asked.

"Boring as usual," I replied with a smile. "I had Mr. Cedrickson today."

"Well, I'm glad to have you home. I would like to talk with you if possible. Would you come to my office, please?" he asked.

His voice was steady, yet he piqued my curiosity and stirred a little bit of nervousness within me. What could he want to discuss? Did I do something wrong? I followed him into his office and took a seat across from his desk.  

His office radiated an old-fashioned charm, decorated with furniture crafted from rich cherry wood that lent a timeless elegance to the room. Director Lime's passion for traditional décor was evident in every detail, from the skilfully carved desk to the sturdy bookshelves lining the walls. There was an air of quiet authority that permeated the room. In a way, it fit his personality. 

He was always seen wearing a rich brown coat layered over a simple grey shirt, he fit right in with the surroundings of his office. He let out a silent growl as he sat down on his large chair.

Marx established the orphanage at the rise of the war. He was driven by a noble intention: to provide refuge for children who had tragically lost their parents in the conflict. His goal was to provide a family to those that desperately needed it. He gave all children his last name, 'Lime'.  I had always seen him as my grandfather, I too took the name Lime.

I still remember the day my parents left me at the orphanage's doorstep. I was only eight years old when I was left in this world of uncertainty. They had chosen to join an anti-government rebel faction. In the absence of my parents. Marx had become my pillar of strength and hope.

Marx was on the older side. I never asked his age but his hair was as white as snow, so was his beard. He had a natural grumpy face, perhaps the years had caught up with him. Despite this initial air of intimidation when meeting him, Marx possessed a heart of gold. He’s really sweet when you get to know him. 

"First of all, I'd like to thank you for your work all these years. The kids love you so much, and that makes me happy too," Director Marx expressed sincerely.

"Helping out with the kids happy makes me happy as well, sir," I replied. “no need to thank me.”

"So here’s the thing, I feel like I need to give you a choice," he continued, his tone thoughtful. "You're almost 18, and you've almost finished high school.” 

He leaned forward in his seat. "The orphanage will cover all your study costs, of course. There's a great apartment near your college. But I must ask you first, would you rather live there or stay here?" Director Marx asked. 

His offer caught me off guard. I had braced myself for a possible scolding, expecting to have made some mistake. However, his words presented an unexpected opportunity. But it was clear as day what my decision would be.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts before responding. "Thank you, sir, for your amazing offer, but I can’t abandon this place. Everyone here is like family to me. This is my home and I don't plan on going anywhere.” 

Marx leaned back, he loosened up from the tense situation. 

“It will be hard to focus on studies and look after the children at the same time.” He remarked.

“Nothing I can't manage,” I answered with a smile. “If it's okay with you, Mr. Marx, I would like to stay here with my family." 

A smile spread across Marx's face, genuine and reassuring. "That's what I wanted to hear," he said warmly. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. The offer will still stand if you ever change your mind."

With his words, a sense of peace settled within me. In choosing to remain at the orphanage, I reaffirmed my commitment to the children who had become my family, embracing the sense of belonging that had blossomed within these walls. 

As I looked to the future, I knew that whatever lay ahead, I would face it with the unwavering support of Director Lime.

Later that evening, after the children had all drifted off to sleep, I retreated to my room to bury myself in my books, preparing for the upcoming entrance exams. My dream was to enter a law school and fight for the rights of people who need a chance in life.

Suddenly, the tranquillity shattered as Tom burst into my room unannounced. Tom was one of the older kids at the orphanage. I sensed trouble from him appearing like he did.

I peered up from my books, concern etched into my face as I addressed him, "Shouldn't you be sleeping, Tom? You've got school tomorrow, right?"

He remained rooted to the spot, tears welling in his eyes, his distress palpable. Words barely came out of his mouth. With this struggle to speak, I sensed his turmoil. I pressed further, "Anything wrong, Tom?" 

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Tom dissolved into tears, his words tumbling out in a jumble of apologies. I moved closer, seeking to comfort him. “Tom, what’s wrong?”

Finally, amidst his sobs, he managed to choke out, "I'm sorry, sis. It wasn't my fault." A chill crept down my spine at his cryptic admission. "Sorry? Sorry for what, Tom?"

I pressed, my voice trembling with anxiety.   

And then, in a hushed tone, he spoke. His voice burdened with fear and uncertainty, he uttered words that pierced through the silence, leaving me frozen in disbelief.

"Sis, I think I'm cursed."