Philosophy

Prologue

The round marble room was cold. The woman knelt on the floor, naked, knife in hand. She was shivering; tears were running uncontrollably down her face. The tears dripped to the floor, where the acoustics made each impact as loud as a gunshot. The man standing over her had an amused expression on his face.

“I pray you know how you have harmed yourself and your society,” he said after long, agonizing minutes of silence.

“I did not harm myself,” she replied in a low, wavering whisper, “I acted on my passion and human instincts.”

“And these passions are what made you so vulnerable.”

“You may kill me,” she said, her voice raising, “But you will never find your other ‘disgraces’. They are long gone.”

“He is dead,” the man said blatantly. Her eyes widened in horror, “And we will find the crossbreed, don’t you worry.”

“You will not find him,” she said, “I guarantee it.”

“This shall determine that,” he laughed, “But my dear Marina--”

“You lost the right to call me that long ago!” she shouted.

“I have the right to call the traitor anything I want. But if you insist, you know that we are here for me to kill you, slut.”

Marina’s hand, now out of her control, moved at the will of her executioner. He raised her own knife toward her neck. The hand quivered all the way up; she was fighting him for control.

Marina shrieked, and threw the knife down. “Die, William!” she screamed. William, the executioner, went rigid. His eyes rolled back, his body vibrated rapidly, until blood trickled from between his lips, and he collapsed. William Stonecrest was dead.

Marina snatched the knife and ran. She fled out of the Marble Room, into the next room. This room, the Emerald Room, was circular as well, with shimmering green pillars and a giant emerald in the centre. The room after that had red pillars and a ruby set in the floor. Footsteps reached her ears, making her run faster.

The door to the Sapphire Room was shut. She tried to open it. It was locked. The footsteps were louder now. Marina spun to see six white-robed Philosophers in a circle. In the centre of their ring was a tall, black-robed man.

“Marina Nightrunner,” said the black-robed man, shaking his head slowly.

“Master Grimm…” Marina moaned. She was a dead man.

“You have damaged the Nightrunner name immensely. Lady Harta was very upset.”

“You are going to kill me…?” she whispered.

“But of course,” Grimm laughed.

“I would rather die by mine own hand than yours,” Marina cried, raising the knife to her breast.

The large bloodstain still stains the Ruby Room’s floor.