Of Flowers and Serpents - Version 1

I double over, gasping for breath that wad wrongfully taken from me. Arms around my waist, hands clamping over my mouth, effectively stopping the scream rising from my throat, begging to be freed. The sound of blood rushing in my ears, the sudden increase of my heart rate, all tell tale signs of the danger I was unable to sense. My struggling and writhing became more erratic as each second passes with my captor showing no signs of releasing me. Another pair of arms bind my flailing legs. I know someone is talking, but I can't for the life of me hear anything over the harsh sound of my shallow breathing and the ringing in my ears.

I hate being held against my will, the knowledge that I can't escape constantly at the forefront of my mind. My mind races, eyes darting wildly around the room, barely taking in the tense atmosphere as guards surround me. I finally notice the exorcist and his chanting, and it was in that moment I realised it was directed at me. I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, my body shaking violently, my eyes screwing shut, the guards' grip on me loosening dramatically. It's hardly my fault they mistook my rage as the effects of being dispossessed.

I look the innocent flower, I am the serpent under it, striking those that disturb my rest. I cannot be blamed for the exorcist's stupidity. I take the opportunity that presents itself and lunge for his throat. I hate to have to kill, but I know I will not shy away from what must be done., and this act cannot go unpunished. I barely had time to process the look of astonishment on the faces of those in the room before I was face to face with my victim, hands latched onto his neck so tightly my knuckles were white and his face instantly turning blue.

I felt satisfaction bleed into my expression before all air was stolen from me again. I look down in fascination, a dagger protruding from my chest. Numbness attacks my body with a viciousness one would associate with battle. My arms loosen their hold on the neck they so desperately clung to only moments ago. Muscles relaxing, body slumping, vision clouding, and the finality of my death crashes down upon me full force, leaving em blind, deaf, mute, and without thought.

The first thing I am aware of is the constant tingling sensation spreading through me. With as much caution as I can muster, I open my eyes. I expected many things upon my death, ways I envisioned both heaven and hell, but what I did not expect was to be face to face with the very same reason I was in that castle in the first place: witches. Closing my eyes, I attempt to remember why I would be in a situation where I would be in a room with these hags yet again, but none come to mind.

Opening my eyes again, I reach the conclusion that this must be hell. I do a quick mental check of my body, attempting to search for any injuries, but feel nothing. My eyebrows furrow, lips turn down tightly, and eyelids squeeze tightly together, attempting to rack my brain for answers. Opening my eyes abruptly, I look down, only to notice my body missing. I snap my head back up, glaring accusingly at the witch in front of me. Preparing to interrogate the hag, and the two behind her muttering over a cauldron, I finally notice I am in a prison, more specifically a glass jar with the lid screwed on tightly.

Sometime while I was investigating my new prison, the other witches came over to join their sister.

"Do you remember the deal you made with us, Mortal?" the witches asked simultaneously.

I began to shake my head no, but then it all came flooding back in remarkable detail. My father dying, me being put into my uncle's care, my uncle attempting to marry me off tot he highest bidder, me running away from my fate. I was only 11. I remember the three weird sisters finding me and offering me freedom from he life I live, a life of poverty and fear of the unknown. They offered me a life where I could live happily for a timed for a price that would be determined at a later date. I was young and foolish and agreed, asking no questions, just glad to leave my life behind. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

I was happily married, and to a future king no less. I knew about the prophecy, but I never told my husband as that was part of the bargain. I was instructed that when Macbeth, my darling husband, received the prophecy, I was to assist him in reaching his rightful position as king. I knew it would lead to his demise, but I ignored all the signs pointing to mine. I was to let Macbeth be killed by the one that was not born of a woman when Birnam Wood reaches the castle, leaving me to be queen. I was quiet in my association with the murders and kept my guilt quiet, but I was not quiet enough it seems.

I was to repay the witches after my beloved husband was dead, but those plans were ruined. The only questions I have are: do I have to repay my debt now that I am dead, and if so, what is the price I must pay? As if reading my thoughts, and it is entirely possible, my questions are answered.

"Just because you are dead does not mean you escape your debt." utters Agatha, the youngest of the three.

"It is still unpaid and we intend to collect." continues Athena, the middle witch.

"Your soul will be torn apart slowly and used in our potions to keep us looking young and beautiful forever." Azara, the eldest, finishes.

If I had shoulders, they would be slump and my head would hang in defeat as I accept my fate. I wasn't quick enough to strike this time. I looked the innocent flower, but my serpent slumbered under it.