Most of these shindigs went down without a hitch, but one particular night sticks out in my mind. The town was Southam; the time was late. I was 20 that summer; Serin had just turned 17. We ate with the townspeople, then when the dancing started, we took advantage of the new focus of attention to sneak out to work off the meal (can’t tumble on a full stomach, ya know).

We changed into our show outfits and went over the routine, then rejoined the party just after sundown. So far, it was a good night, turned to a really good night, fixin’ to be a great night. Serin was absolutely scintillating in her yellow flares and royal blue vest. We made our way to the centre of the crowd at the bonfire, and opened with a local folk dance we’d been practicing, amazingly similar to a tango, except instead of a rose, juniper. Oh, those yokels…Anyhow, this was the tamest thing we’d done or would be doing all night; that served two purposes. First, the crowd would really warm up with this salute to the local culture, and second, it wouldn’t outshine any of our own material.

I dipped my little sister low to the ground right on in with the final cadences from Rald and Xœna, our oldest brothers, then I spun her hard and she disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The applause was thunderous, with a certain clbum of individual indicating that Serin’s disappearance had better not be permanent, or even prolonged. I used to get annoyed with those types, but I know my sister, and we have nothing to worry about from them. Of course, they needn’t worry about her disappearance either; she was merely flirting through the throng, collecting “tips”, wearing for the occasion a more subdued earth-tone shawl. Partner or no partner, the show must go on, and so I danced. I danced the dance of…2 knives. I’m working on it. I’ve always enjoyed dancing, and I love knives. It was my older sister Crystal’s idea for me to combine the two.

The music pounded to a climax, and with a triumphant flourish, I flung my left knife at the crowd. The young lady who happened to be in the direct line of fire shrieked as a cloud of smoke exploded before her, and there again was Serin, sans shawl, holding my knife. We juggled and tumbled, coming ever closer to the fire. The knives flashed, we stuck them in the ground, going to batons, now flaming, courtesy of the celebratory inferno. We threw to each other from opposite sides of the fire, the people always loved that part. Rald and Xœna broke in with a flamenco, and we came together for our finale, throwing the knives higher and higher, until in one fluid motion, the knives went higher than ever, and Serin jumped up on my shoulders, caught the knives, and continued juggling. After several flashes up there, I catapulted her up, and she landed beside me while I caught the knives. At least, that’s what was supposed to happen. I don’t know how it happened, I can’t remember that moment. Maybe I was off-centre, maybe I hesitated, but she went up, up, up, and then into the fire. I caught the knives and heard her scream.

My mental shock lifted with the dawn. Xœna was laying on his bed across the caravan.

“Where’s Serin? Is she alright?” I asked my brother groggily.

Xœna replied quietly, “She is badly burned. She’s in the medvan.”

I threw on a robe and rushed over. Great Auntie Em, Mama and Papa were there, along with all our siblings. Xœna came in behind me. Mama was at her left side, holding her hand. I came up to her on the right.

“Serin, Serin, I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I love you…” I sobbed.

Serin, fainter than faint, murmured, “It’s not your fault. I love you Avinash…”

I clasped her hand gently and kissed her. Then I started to sing. I poured my years of training into this one moment. My song was stronger than I’d ever felt before. I could almost see it surround her. At first there was no change, but then her face seemed more relaxed, like her pain was dimming. She smiled at me, but then cried out in pain. Then she died. My heart slowly ripped in half as my dear sister’s eyes glazed over. It was too little, too late.

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Second submission Log in to see images!

This is (I hope) the saddest scene from my D&D character’s background story.

Huzzah for BP!