Milked of her Power
By Draconicon
Milked of her Power For ArrowQuivershaft By Draconicon
The power of the light, the sun, and the sky were great powers, ones that had burned through the darkness time and time again. Faenya, Thoradan goddess, had wielded them time and time again against her great rivals and those that sought to harm her flock. She had beaten back the darkness for years, and then held it at bay with a will that could not be extinguished. Yet, there was a way for the darkness to strike back, a way that she had not expected, a way against which she had no defense. In her sleep, the Thoradan goddess was guarded by the light of her spear, glowing at her side in the dimness that was all that she allowed of darkness in her presence. However, other darknesses were spawned, shadows that burned at the edge of the few other objects in her bedchamber, burning and growing longer with the presence of light. The gods and devils of the darkness took control of them, using the formerly benign shadows to deliver what would be their vengeance upon the feathered goddess that had defeated them so many times. Inch by inch, the shadows turned and lengthened, following the unnatural wills of the powers of darkness to approach their ancient enemy. They were slow, steady, but relentless, unable to be stopped even by the power of the spear. They crept over the edge of the bed, and then, they struck. Snake-like, they sunk their intangible fangs into Faenya, dispensing the power of the curse. The goddess awake, striking out with her spear, but it was too late. The curse was already in her blood, burning away with the hatred of the powers of darkness. Her beak opened wide and she shrieked her pain and anger, throwing herself to the sky in hopes of finding a cure for it before it could overtake her. The speed of the goddess was great, but the curse had already been made with that in mind. It struck her from the sky, her wings fading from her back and sending her crashing into a nearby field. The fading sunlight threw her shadow before her, letting her see the edges of her wings disappearing before they were claimed for good by the curse inside of her. She winced, shaking her head in disbelief, but there was no denying what had happened. She was wingless. Desperately, she grasped for her spear, hoping that the power of the ancient artifact would delay the continuation of the curse, but even as she gripped at it, she could feel her hands stiffening, refusing to bend properly. She hissed, trying to force her fingers to wrap about the edge of the spear, to get a grip on part of it, anything, but her body refused to do what she told it. All it did was lay atop it. Before her eyes, her fingers flexed, and then stilled, pointing straight out. The taloned fingers refused to obey her, even as she begged them to bend, but all they did was point out, point out...and darken. No, this is impossible. Yet, it was all too possible, as the golden scales of her fingers were turned black, the claws pulling back into her digits and then fading away, leaving her with blackened fingers that were slowly growing together. She strained to stop it, harnessing her will to fight the curse, but it was too strong. There was no way that it would fade. She could only stare as her fingers linked together little by little, her hand becoming nothing more than a dark black hoof, and a big one, at that. Fall, Faenya, she heard the voices of darkness whisper to her. Fall into the form of a beast. Nothing more than an animal to be found in the field, nothing but prey for the beasts of the night. The laughter in her skull nearly drove her mad. The eagle-like Thoradan struggled to pull herself to her feet, but every part of her had been stricken with the curse. Even as her other hand went stiff, following the path of her other hand, her legs bent, shifting so that she could not put them under her. Her arms lengthened to match her legs, keeping her from rising off of all fours, and her back ached as she swore that she was growing longer. Not taller, with her inability to stand, but longer. The curse rid her of her feathers, soft bundles of them falling in droves to the ground. She wept at their loss, unable to believe the horror that her long-time opponents had delivered upon her. Faenya struggled, fighting against the fire of the curse in her blood, but it was impossible to hold back. As her feathers fell out, patchy skin grew in to replace it, black and white in the colors of the cow. She shivered as she felt the power of the goddess fading, the curse speeding up as time went on. Trundling forward, she kicked her spear upright, letting it fall on her back. The goddess had to try; she had to try and make it to someone that would help her. Onwards she ran, feeling the last of her feathers fade, her tailfeathers long gone, and slowly getting replaced by a meager little meat tail. She felt the beginnings of her udders forming under her belly, adding to the weight that her arms and her legs - no, her forelegs and hind legs - had to carry, but she did her best to ignore it, focusing instead on the path before her. There was a chance, if she could but reach the place of worship dedicated to her. It was just past the farm ahead. Yet, the powers of darkness had known this, it seemed. In the fading light, they summoned wolves. They summoned bats. They summoned every creature that hunted in the night, every beast that would see her brought low at the command of their masters. She stared down the path at the wall of teeth and fangs and claws, and knew that there was no way that she could pass through. She turned to the farm, and the beasts followed. She escaped, but not without loss; her spear was left behind, clasped in the jaws of a lucky wolf that ran off with it like a dog with a stick. Her body was almost entirely gone, only a hint of gold along her head and the crown that she had worn in her sleep upon her ear. It was all that remained of her former godly self, and she knew that the former would fade shortly. Faenya struggled forward, holding tight to what she remembered of herself, of her obligations towards the world, and stumbled into the house of the farmer. For a moment, she held out hope that he would recognize the crown, if nothing else. She approached him in the single-room farmhouse, lowing at him as he turned in his bed. He leaped up, staring at her, and then slowly shook his head. "What are you doing out here?" She tried to speak, but he grabbed her by the muzzle. "No, don't talk. You're too loud." He got up, barely pausing to put clothes on before pulling her by the neck and the ear. She had no choice but to follow, lest he drag at her and pull her painfully. His grip was sure, and his strength was fearsome as he dragged her back into the fields, and then towards the other cows. "I don't know who you belong to, but you ain't getting in the house. Stay with the rest of the herd til morning, and if nobody comes for you, we'll deal with you then." Faenya tried to complain, tried to say something, to point out her crown to the farmer, but some imp of shadow appeared and plucked it from her head. He danced about, grinning, and then disappeared. She was left among the cows barely a moment later, and the farmer yawned before walking off, leaving her alone. The other cows lowed and milled about her, making many sounds that she didn't understand. Yet, she feared she would, in the morning.
The sun rose on a woman that barely remembered her own name, let alone her own history. Faenya. Faenya. Faenya, she kept telling herself. There were few things that hung around in the back of her mind, few things that stood as bastions against the curse that burned through her mind as hot as it had gone through her body, but her name was one that she refused to let go of. Even as the farmer returned, pulling her free, she kept mouthing it, whispering it to herself in her head. Even as she was taken to the barn, put into a pen and had her udders pulled on, she kept whispering her name. The feeling of pressure down there was finally released, but with it went many more of her memories. What had been lost in the forest, why she had run this far in the first place, what her name meant. All of it was gone, milked out in the bucket and taken away from her. Even when she was taken to another pen, her flanks exposed, she whispered her name to herself. Faenya. Faenya. Faenya. I will remember this. If I forget all else, I am Faenya. Not a cow, but...not a cow. Just not a cow. Faenya the not-cow. It was hard to think of anything else, and the burning brand that was pressed to her side didn't help. She nearly screamed her head off at that, feeling her skin burn and blacken beneath her fur, and she couldn't even try to run and escape it. The farmer walked up to stand beside her head, the burning metal still in his hand. He took his other hand, patted her on the neck. "Good girl. Looks like nobody's coming for you, so you'll just have to start working as a milking cow." Milking Cow...I am not...I am Faenya...I am the not-cow... It didn't help. Her protests, bestial and low and weak as they were, meant nothing to the experienced farmer. He dragged her back out of the barn and down to the field. Slapping her flank, he sent her running into the grassy lands. She went without further complaint, following her stomach as she did. Even as she whispered her name one more time - Faenya! - she looked out at the woods. Great red eyes peered at her through the shadows, red eyes and white fangs that were turned up in demonic grins. They were happy for her. And if they were happy, then she had every reason to be afraid.
The End