Black and White

Chapter 39

Power is white.

White. The color of a cloud set against an early morning sky of a fresh summer's day. A bowl of whipped cream or the filling of an oreo, a bolt of lightning from a thrashing storm of passion and pain, the color of perfectly deadly teeth, the color of a blizzard's wrath. It's nighttime now, no morning clouds in sight, but the point still stands.

Power numbs the pain, distracting long enough that you don't recognize it.

Exhaling a long, drawn-out sigh, I worm my way into the creature's head. It's somewhat empty. Void of surface level thoughts or emotions, he doesn't even recognize that I'm here until his body freezes. his hands falling to his sides.

"You needn't worry," I whisper, feeling his confusion seep into every corner of his being. He moves to untie my hands, a bewildered look still dancing along his face. When he steps back, I give him the control of his mouth, but monitor his volume greatly, noticing the sounds of life spilling from the palace.

"What's going on?" His voice is tiny, pathetic, weak. The creature bowing to one below it. The mountain bowing to the ants.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His body is my rag doll, grabbing my hands as I lace them, once again, behind my back. "But we are going to the palace, I'm sure you know where the creatures are right now," I drop my head back, feeling my neck strain as I look into the creature's eyes, which have lost the misshapen iris's, reverting back to their void-ness.

"Where did they want you to take me?" I rock back and forth on my toes, getting a quick burst of energy as I feel my grip on him tighten.

"They wanted me to take you back to the palace." He spits at me, blood dripping slowly down his face as he does. His skin hangs awkwardly, the lines the razor left still evident.

"Well then you shall, and they shouldn't have a clue what's happening." He begins placing one foot in front of the other, clumsy, but mirroring my own movements. It brings a light smile to my face as I stare at the ground in front of me.

I am the puppet-master now, the controller of my own fate. Every time I feel myself losing my hold, it comes back with a tantalizing rush. Somehow this grip comes easily, all of this, even though it's been two weeks since my last feat.

It had been two weeks. So short, yet so long. I squandered most of it, either with arguments or with sleeping even when I was awake.

And now I am here. In the place mama hated the most.

She said it would be torture.

I don't agree.

Not completely, for, as I enter the palace I feel even more of the liquid white power flow through my body, the thoughts of a crowd. The guards we pass had very active, interesting imaginations, but they are not who I focus on. I don't even focus completely on the creature walking me to what they think is my doom.

Because, though it is faint, I can make out broken parts of some individual sounds. Sounds that come from a crowd, sounds that come from the throne room. Most of which appear very displeased with whatever the royal family may be doing at the moment.

Ripples of unknowing agreement spread throughout the group as we get closer, nearly all in the crowd bored, even angry with those on the throne.

Those in power.

Power I want. Power I need. Power I can take if I try. When I try.

A power that will be mine.

The creature opens the door, one hand still left on my wrists. The crowd quiets, at least externally, as we walk forward, parting the crowd like the red sea. One creature rings out above the noise, the King's own thoughts. Hands grab at me, but none touch me, finding themselves unable to move if they get too close. They are not allowed to touch someone this powerful, the Gods forbid it,