There is a photograph nestled right under my dress, right above my heart, of a woman I have never met in my life.
She poses stiffly for the camera, hands folded over a grey-scaled dress, her lips pursed. Her glassy stare evokes a sense of distance from the camera.
It wasn't my fault, she seems to say.
But if it wasn't her fault, where did the rifts come from? Why did the rifts come, and take Quentin? The revolution? Where am I?
There are too many questions.
Quentin is gone. I must find her, this woman. She is my only hope.
The revolution happened a long, long time ago, when Queen Fyora first took the throne. Neither the bourgeois nor the lower class could go on like this. The crippling taxes. The segregated social classes. The lack of justice, or even a voice in the government. The nobility and the monarchy, all faeries, were exempt from the taxes, continuing to gorge themselves while those below them starved.
The flame of revolution started slowly, gently. A few anonymous essays here and there, not quite criticizing the government, but pointing out more appealing methods of governing. When the King--the last male faerie--censored all literature against the crown, the authors went underground. They published seemingly nonsensical works about Terror Mountain, when in reality they were addressing Faerieland. They whipped up satirical novels, plays, and short stories. As other bourgeois read them, they nodded their heads in agreement. Something must be done.The peasants, though illiterate, too began to feel the rising heat, and took up their own torches and pitchforks.
Celestine, a writer for the revolution took part in drafting essays.
She liked working late into the night, writing until her candle reached a waxy stub, and then stuffing the composition into her desk's hidden compartment. Between her writing frenzies, she went down to Quentin's flat, right below her's, where they had tea and talked about the current crisis on their hands.
It didn't take long for her to notice the fissure in her bedroom floor. She ignored it. There were more important things to finish. But then the guards swept into her flat one late night. They toppled tables, overturned papers, shouting, Treason. Disloyalty to the crown. You will have the guillotine tomorrow.
Celestine stuffed the papers into the linings of her coat, when a guard grabbed her from behind.
You little rat. He snarled.
She rammed her elbow into the guard's throat and he sprawled backwards, gasping for air. But she too, stumbled backwards, momentum pushing her back, back, into that glowing crevice on her bedroom floor. Then, a burst of light, and then, darkness.
When she awoke, she found herself 140 years into the future. Queen Fyora had become a figurehead, and the revolution was over. Gone.
Why was she still here, then?
Name: Celestine
Age: 18
Gender: FemaleHeight : 5'5"
Occupation: Writer
Residence: 1910's Neopia
Reptiles
Arguing
Writing pamphlets for the revolution
Quentin
Studying antiquity
The monarchy
Angst-filled romantic plays
Injustice
Time-travelling
Asking for money
There's something quite unsettling about this monster of a petpet. A few days after Celestine had been around Neovia, it turned up. She tolerates it, but she can't shake off a weird feeling about it.
There are an infinite number of parallel universes. A parallel universe is a universe that coexists side by side with another universe, and contains similarities with the universe next to it. However, each universe has its own unique characteristics. Such as, one universe may hold Neopets and Neopia, and another universe may have humans in a modern world but with domesticated dinosaurs, while yet another may contain an ordinary world like ours...but with little missing pieces here and there: The lightbulb was never invented, some famous people were never born, etc. Obviously, the world would be a very different place. Each universe thinks it's the only universe in existence and doesn't know about other universes existing alongside it.
However, someone or something out there produced a spell that took energy from multiple universes. The sheer amount of energy taken in such a short span of time caused fissures to form in the universe. These fissures caused the wrong people to fall into the wrong worlds, and all sort of paradoxes occurred.
Han is busy writing out her latest pamphlet, when an ominous fissure appears on her bedroom floor...
When dictatorship is a fact, revolution becomes a right.
~Victor Hugo
One moment her parents were there, and then they were gone. Two days stretched to two weeks, and then to two years as Celestine and her sister waited for their parents to come home from a nighttime excursion. Her face pressed to the huge window at the front of the castle, waiting for the familiar faces to appear while the rain made a steady rat tat tat against the pane. She knew the State had taken them, barely leaving a trace—just two heartbroken girls.
With trembling hands, she ripped the paper to shreds, and threw the pieces out the window, down into the city streets. As they floated away, a few tears dripped down her cheeks. She missed her whimsical yet humble parents, their light attitude yet strong moral standards, their smiles. Yes. Her sister sat in her own room, missing her father's laugh. The trees were still, remembering and missing their kindness. Yes. Missing is all around this grieving city today.
When Celestine attended her first meeting, the older citizens bowed to her.
Oui, he's quite lovely, really. That brain of his really is something special, too. He had quite good taste in tea, too. Although I never really understood those things he called atomos. Or his obsession with dissecting all those petpets. But we did have the loveliest talks together. I'll find him. I know I will.
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I will continue until I find her. It is all I have left. I, a symbol of a time long ago.
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