𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 | ❝Monsters don't get happy endings.❞
Rennen of Skellige was a cold-blooded killer, an assassin from the mysterious Dark Brotherhood. She liked to think that a life of blood and bruises was what she was made for, a life that was...
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A COLD SETTLED IN her bones as her eyes shifted away from the shadows that danced around the Listener to the statue that stood tall behind him, right against the wall. Tall and proud, the Dread Mother stared back at her with arms outstretched, a child's skull in one hand and a golden chalice full to the brim with red on the other. The red liquid fell from the edge of the chalice and down her arm, down her naked side to pool around her white feet and stain them red like copper.
The Listener had told her the red was all the blood the members of the Dark Brotherhood had spilt for the Dread Mother. Each time it flowed, each time the basin around her feed was full, the blood would disappear. The Dread Mother would take it to her realm, create another being or change it into something for her followers. All tales that were spoken in the depths of the night in front of warm fires to the new initiates of the Brotherhood, but they all knew it was true. The basin never overflowed and the white statue was the only thin unmarred by time in the Sanctuary.
Perfect and pristine, a statue that could have just been created.
Rennen's eyes moved to those of the statue. Pristine, white like boned picked-clean by vultures. No pupils. No sign that the statue was alive or if a hint of the Dread Mother's powers was in it. But, there had to be.
There needed to be a signal—something, anything—that told her the Dread Mother was there, watching her in return.
Whilst the rest of the Continent had their gods, those of Skellige worshipped Freyja. Statues of the goddess rested in corners of homes, her name in prayers on the mouths of those that walked between sea and land and snow. In the back of her mind, where a young Rennen coward in a darkened corner, there were fragments of a memory where the goddess was included. A tall statue with arms outstretched, something brilliant and blinding on the necklace that was etched around her neck and words that she did not remember but as low murmurs with the overwhelming scent of moleyarrow and almonds.
A small memory where she thought that perhaps the Modron had chosen her all because a cat had rubbed against her leg while she stared at the statue.
Rennen inhaled deeply and focused on the statue of the Dread Mother. Freyja was considered the Great Mother, a patron of love and beauty and soothsayers, whilst the Dread Mother had no name except the one given by those who worshipped her beneath the red hand of the Dark Brotherhood.
If Freyja commanded life and love, did the Dread Mother command over death?
"You are to leave as soon as we are finished," the Listener commanded.
Her eyes left the statue and laid on the Listener. "What?"
The Listener did not waver, he stood still behind the fire with his arms tucked behind his back and head held high. His shadow danced behind him, towering over the Dread Mother and darkening her pristine marble. And for a moment, she thought the statue blinked.
