A Tale That Never Known

"What am I, Al?" Lu's voice cracked, the words desperate but barely held together. Her gaze was no longer the fierce, determined look of someone who knew their place in the world. Now, it was hollow, drifting in a space where certainty didn't exist. Her eyes searched Al, but the longer she stared, the more lost she seemed to become. The emptiness in her eyes was vast, a chasm that threatened to swallow her whole. The question hung in the air like a dark storm, swirling between them with an unspoken fear.

Al fluttered nervously, his pages quivering as if responding to the rawness of her pain. His usual calm, always so steady, now felt fragile, crumbling in the face of her need.

"There has to be a name for something like me!" Lu cried, her voice barely audible but still edged with anguish. "Is there a word for this?" Her hands trembled at her sides, clenching and unclenching as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. "Am I… the world of white? The void? Am I that emptiness? Is that what I am?"

Al felt the weight of her gaze, and for a long moment, he couldn't find the words. The emptiness between them deepened, suffocating the space around them. His mind raced, searching for something, anything, to anchor her.

"Tell me, Al!" she shouted, the force of her words snapping the stillness in half. The pain in her voice was unbearable, like the cry of a wounded creature who had lost everything. Her hands shot up to clutch her chest, as though she could hold in the agony that was threatening to consume her. "Tell me! Please, just tell me what I am!"

The sound of her voice felt like a blow. Al's heart, if he had one, would have shattered in that moment. She was unraveling before him, and he couldn't stop it.

"Am I… something that should never have existed? Like those you said were abandoned by gods? Am I… a mistake? A void in the shape of a person?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, each word sinking deeper into the abyss inside her. "Who am I, Al?"

The silence that followed felt endless. The pressure in the air was unbearable, and Al found himself powerless, unsure of how to fix the fracture in her soul. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Lu…" he finally whispered, his voice a soft, shaky breath in the storm. "I—I can't tell you everything, but I can tell you a story."

She didn't respond, her eyes hollow and vacant as she waited, as if she was beyond any further despair and open to anything that might offer her a sliver of hope.

Al took a deep, steadying breath. "There was once a little girl. She was born into a world that loved her more than anything. Not because she was powerful or beautiful, but simply because of who she was."

Lu's tear-soaked face lifted, just the faintest flicker of curiosity stirring in her eyes. Her voice cracked as she asked, "Why was she so special?"

Al's voice grew softer, almost reverent. "She was special because of her heart. It was boundless. It shone like a star, burning with the kind of love that could fill any void. And the god who created her saw that heart and cherished it, more than anything else. They gave her a world, a life full of beauty and light, and they loved her with everything they had."

"But," Lu interrupted, her voice bitter, "if she was so loved, why would she suffer?"

Al's pages fluttered, the rustling sound a quiet acknowledgment of the complexity in her words. "The world they created for her was beautiful, yes, but it was also flawed. Imperfect. And the god couldn't protect her from the imperfections in that world. They could not stop the pain that would come with living in it."

Lu's body trembled, her hands gripping her sides as if she were holding in the flood of emotions that threatened to overtake her. "So they let her suffer?"

"No," Al replied, his voice gentle but firm. "They couldn't protect her in the way you think. If they had intervened—if they had taken away the suffering—it would have meant taking away her freedom, the very thing that made her who she was. The god loved her too much to cage her, even if it meant watching her suffer."

Lu's eyes glistened, tears pouring freely now. "But… that's cruel," she whispered, the words barely leaving her lips. "That's not love. That's—"

"I know," Al said softly, his voice thick with sorrow. "I know it's hard to understand. But that love was complicated. The god didn't want her to suffer, but they couldn't shield her from the pain without taking away her essence. And so, she suffered. She walked a path full of thorns, a path that broke her piece by piece."

Her breath hitched as she asked, "What did she do?"

Al hesitated, the weight of the story pressing on him. "She started questioning. She asked, Why? Why was she made, only to endure such pain? Why was she allowed to feel so lost, so broken? And when the answers didn't come, she began to break."

Lu's hands were shaking, her lips trembling as she whispered, "What did the god do?"

"The god…" Al paused, his voice faltering, "they couldn't do anything. They could only watch. And though the girl cried out to them, screamed in pain, nothing happened. No answers came. No comfort. The god could only love her, silently, as she fell apart."

A sob escaped from Lu as she sank to her knees, her head falling into her hands as the weight of the story settled into her chest. "What happened to her?"

Al's voice grew quieter, heavier. "She became something else. Not human, not divine. She became emptiness. A hollow shell. Her heart, once full of love, was now a void, filled only with echoes of the pain she had suffered. She wandered, aimlessly, looking for something—anything—to fill the emptiness, but there was nothing left. She was lost in a world that could never understand her."

Lu's tears fell freely now, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "So she was alone. Forever."

"No," Al said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "She wasn't alone. Not truly. She was never alone. But she couldn't see it. Not then."

The words hung in the air, thick with sorrow and longing. Lu's voice cracked as she asked, "Why are you telling me this, Al?"

"Because," Al said gently, "the girl wasn't a mistake. She wasn't abandoned. She was loved. And she was never truly lost, though she felt that way. She wasn't broken. She was… still becoming. And so are you."

Lu lifted her tear-soaked face, her eyes searching his. "I don't feel like I'm becoming anything. I feel like I'm already nothing."

To avoid sounding overly sentimental or "cringe," let's focus on making the dialogue and narrative more natural and understated while keeping the emotional core. Here's a refined version:

Al's pages shifted faintly, the soft rustle like a hesitant breath. "I can't claim to have all the answers, Lu. But… I think you're still figuring it out. Being lost and being nothing aren't the same. You're still here. That means something."

Lu wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand, her shoulders still trembling from the aftershocks of her tears. A faint, wry curve tugged at her lips. "You're really bad at this, you know."

Al made a sound somewhere between a flutter and a sigh. "I'm aware. Storytelling was never my strong suit."

Her hand reached out, resting lightly on his cover. The gesture was small, almost instinctive, but it grounded them both in the quiet expanse. "Still," she murmured, her voice soft but steady, "thanks for trying."

Al didn't respond. He didn't need to. The simple warmth of her touch was enough to anchor the moment.

The stillness returned, quieter this time, but the silence wasn't empty. Somewhere in the distance, the questions remained—unanswered and unreachable. Yet, for now, they could stay where they were.

To be CONTINUE....