STORY TRANSLATED USING CHAT GPT AI
Author’s Note:
This is not a new entry in the Sisters of Chaos cycle. I asked myself a question: what if I told a story through the eyes of the fanatical acolyte introduced in Volume II — the priestess Angel, who ultimately led to war? What if we saw how Screwball once encountered a filly so utterly devoted that, in time, that very devotion would come back to strike her?
Angel Shores’ tale reaches further back than Meluś’s, though it isn’t exactly a prequel to the whole series. Well… not quite a prequel, but not a full one either.
I’ll let you in on this much: it was Sister Angel who found the most susceptible foals. :)
Acolyte of the Spiral — Angel’s Tale. Part I: Sisters of Chaos
They called me Angel, before I learned to say “we” instead of “I.” Screwball found me in a room that smelled of raspberries and promises, and named that scent home. She gave me a mask, a catechism, and a simple law: the first image is truth, the name is a knot, and laughter is the seal.
I learned the touch that does not pull, and the whispers that close the door between memory and desire. I guided Pearl — a unicorn whose heart was smooth as the gem she was named for — until she passed through three circles: infatuation, acceptance, binding. Her mask never leaked.
I also saw Meluś and Jelly: graceful in dance, weaker in silence. Cracks, half-beats, fractures in their laughter. I had none. During the “Legacy of Chaos,” Screwball showed us Discord. I did not waver. I only felt the branch of the spiral growing inside me. When three wizards entered the Gallery, I sealed two dream-bubbles with Pearl, and closed the third with formula before it could twitch. I was not seeking good or evil. I marked the result: the task was clean. That was my world — mirrors where obedience reflects.
The fall did not come from outside, but from our master’s lips. Screwball said that once she acted under Discord’s command, and that she was leaving the old methods behind. Words meant to be light fell on me like a shadow. To me, it was betrayal — not only of the filly who had named me, but of the rule stretched above us. I felt orphaned, not by lack of a mother, but by the unraveling of the law.
So I left in silence, carrying the rituals in the state I called true. I folded names into laughter and carried them where her spirals could no longer reach.
