The Last Goddess of Darkness

By Atoussa Fathollah

At the age of five, Prudence Turner discovers her extraordinary gifts; little does she know that it will bring her and her entire family in danger. With her best friend Nadege, she decides to find out about her powers. One by one she loses everything that she lovesher father leaves and her mom dies. Nine years later, a mysterious stranger, sent from her father, comes in her life and tells her, she is in danger and she has to run.
They are now after her, they want her powers, and if she dies, the entire magical world dies with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504993869

Atoussa Fathollah

Atoussa Fathollah Zadeh Dizadj is the author of the fantasy book “The Last Goddess of the Darkness.” Born on 1995 in Iran, she arrives with her parents at the age of two in Belgium. She finished her secondary school in Brussels and studies now at the Free University of Brussels (VUB).

Book preview

Prologue

You should know that a story is just an event that has already occurred, with perhaps a joke, occasionally a puzzle with a mystery to be solved or not, and a tragedy to start. People consider that life is difficult, because their life is not perfect, however, I think differently.

When I was a little girl, my mom used to read me bedtime stories. Every story she ever read, had a happy ending. I thought life was like those stories. It begins and ends happily. I also thought that every girl would find her prince charming that he would come with his white horse and take her to his kingdom. Now I'm no longer a little girl. I learned all fairy tales are lies and have an ending. Maybe these stories are all fiction, but at least people know their lives will have an end. Who would have thought that mine will never end? Death is a part of life. It forces people to live and move on with it. But when the only reason has been taken from you, is your life worth it?

You make choices over the years and they decide your future and what kind of person you will become. Some of them are not so important; others change your whole life. Now I'm standing on the edge of the most important choice of my life. This time no one can tell me what to do, no one can stop me. I can just be who I am or take it and end it...

But who am I right now? It is the question that might never be answered.

Chapter one

Everyone has a past. For some, it is a part of their lives, and for others, it is hidden behind a door that must remain closed forever. I ran from mine for a long time, but trying to escape is like running until death. Some are brave enough to survive, for others, it is just a matter of time... I always knew that life was made with secrets often covered with deceits. Secrets lead to lies, which lead to bigger ones, and so on. Until one day, you can't do anything but telling the truth. At some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant, except for the fact that you kept it, and it will hurt more than protect anyone.

Once when I was nine, I was wondering in a library filled with unread stories. Stories that join you to someone's past and help you discover their future. To discover them late at night. What kind of secrets they are keeping, and who will ever unmask them? Every single book had a title, except one. I was intrigued. I opened it; oddly enough only one sentence was written: Happiness is a choice. Of course, it didn't mean much to me at that time. After all, there was no choice or happiness left in my life. You can still be happy by accepting everything that has ever happened, and move on, but how can you do that when you are still holding on, to what you've got left: memories. Those hunting memories, especially when they become your biggest nightmare. Retentions that I can't move on from, because they are the only things that will never change, when everything else does.

The beauty of the world in the eyes of a child is to take pleasure of small things, to feel the warmth of memorable days. As we grew up the joy of those moments dies inside us. At the time, I had the certainty that even the wildest cloud would eventually pass, and for a while, it did. If happiness is a choice, why am I sad, then?

The day my destiny toggled, began like any other days. I could smell the rain that had fallen all night long. The trees were greening up, while the flowers began to bloom. Finally, after months of cold days and whiteness of the snow, the sun had shown his face. It was a Monday morning around eight; and like every Monday morning, school was a torture, especially when you have to walk there -- even if it was only two blocks away from the Grams' house. I can say that the school wasn't really my thing. I was the kind of girl who would get herself into trouble, but not at the point of being expelled. Skipping classes, making fun of some teachers and some of the students, and spending most of my free time in the principal's office with my usual partner in crime, my best friend, Nadege, explaining the scandal of our actions, were all part of my daily life. Saying all the things I've ever done -- or better we've done -- it would take me more than a book, and believe me, you don't want to know.

However, this Monday morning was different from the others, for sure. I was being followed! I had no doubt. Who else would walk that long behind me? Like, no I'm not paranoid! Waiting for someone after an unexpected stop for a breakfast, is not usual. I guessed my follower was a man. This person was walking a little less subtle than I would expect. Nevertheless, who am I to judge? I could clearly hear his footsteps against the old pavement. I had caught a glance of his face. My guess was right. It was a man. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't run. It would be too obvious, but still...

I had no idea how to react, so I just walked further, faster.

He was still behind me, and I was running out of patience. I had in mind to turn around, and ask him what he wanted. When suddenly he stopped and asked: Excuse me, are you Prudence Turner?

It depends. I answered.

On what? He asked with a bemused smile.

On what you want. I had to admit; he was good -- looking. He was staring at me through his crystal blue eyes, wearing jeans, dark like his hair, with a navy T--shirt and a black coat. He laughed and said with his British accent: So you really are Prudence Turner?

I didn't know what he meant by 'really', anyway, I responded: Yes, but that doesn't answer my question.

I personally don't want anything. I'm just the messenger.

The messenger?

Yes, I have a message for you. He was older than me, perhaps twenty or more.

From whom? I asked, tossing my long black hair.

Your father.

These two words... It was like my entire world had crashed. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. It has been said that grief occurs in five stages. At last comes the acceptance of the unbearable sorrow. However, grief is a ruthless monster. Just when you took hold of the freedom, you long craved for; it pulls you back in the game.

After a few seconds, I was finally able to answer: I haven't seen my father for nine years. I chocked on the word. Why on earth would you have now a message for me?

I don't know, like I said I'm just the messenger. He replied.

My heart started to beat quicker and quicker. Why would my father send a messenger? It just didn't make any sense. Maybe he was wrong. The message wasn't for me, nor from my father. I once chose to live in a world of consoling delusion. I had allowed myself to be misled by unfounded realities. One day, the deception ended and the veracity took over, by giving up on him. Now, I won't let myself have false hope again. He had abandoned his family and left without looking back, not even once he had given any sign of his presence. It took me years to move on, and find happiness again. For me, my father was gone, and he wasn't coming back; however, I was curious to know what possible reason he could have to leave me, the moment I needed him the most.

So, what's the message, messenger?

He told me to give you this. He took something out of his pocket, and handed it to me.

A letter! I said, surprised.

An envelope. He corrected me.

The envelope felt light, like there could have only been a paper, nothing more, and it was also closed with a red seal. Except for my name, nothing else was written, not even a sign. So he wasn't wrong the message was addressed to me, but if it was from my father, still a mystery.

What's in it?

It is up to you to discover. He gave me the envelope.

Have a nice day. He said, before turning around.

That's it? I exclaimed.

Yes, I just had to make sure that the envelope was delivered to the right person.

Where is he?

He knew who I was talking about, but he still asked: Who?

My father. I replied briefly.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I stood there waiting for the answer; with no other words, he turned around and walked away.

Hey! Wait! Wait! I screamed. I tried to catch him, but he was nowhere to find.

It was ironic, that it happened now. Almost when I accepted my life just the way it was. After nine years, I had no expectations, none at all. Before, I held on to the hope that not today, but someday, he would come. He would hold me again. That the pain lingered inside my chest, almost burning my heart, will end, just by the sight of his face. All I desired was his return. The times passed and he never showed up. The wound didn't heal. It kept boiling and turned the hope into desperation. They say when you think you've lost everything, there is still a small hope inside you. However, sometimes you need a proof to follow your heart. In my case, my proof was delivered by a handsome man and an envelope.

It had been quite some time that I was getting familiar with strange incidents. Since I was little, I knew that my life wasn't like anyone else's. I had grown up in the dark, without information why or how, but I was capable of dealing with it. I got the knowledge about my powers, understood that it had to come from my bloodline, but nothing further. After sixteen years, finally I knew how to control them, but still wondering how such things can be possible.

My school was older than my parents. My mom had graduated here and finished her studies at Berkeley University. It had ancient style architecture, with small gardens and a huge incoming door. It appeared more like a college than a high school. It had four floors. Most of our classes were held on the fourth floor, except for gym. School was chaotic these couple of months - too much homework and tests. The building was crowded with students, laughing, talking, arguing, but mostly texting with their last model cell phones, while teachers ordering kids to settle down and to put away their phones.

Where have you been? Asked a voice behind me. I was so confused about what just happened. I didn't even recognize her voice.

So... you are still alive here? Asked Nadege.

I didn't know what to say; it was a hard question, so much had happened in a very short time. I had lost my focus.

Hello? Is there anyone? She kept asking.

Hum... what?

What's up with you?

What do you mean? She gave me one of those shocking looks and yelled at me: What I mean? Well, I had to ask you three times to get finally your attention. So what the hell happened to you?

The friendship between Nad and I was unbreakable. We were best friends, since kindergarten. Nad was playing with a puzzle, trying to find the right pieces to put them in the correct places. She needed my help, since then we were inseparable.

Nothing, nothing at all. I finally