Tsumibito's P.O.V
It is only but a few minutes past six in the eve. The spearing rays of the setting sun cast and lengthen shadows in my chamber -both upon marble floors and upon walls. Yet she failed to show up for the evening's training sessions much as I'd sent multiple maid servants to call for her. Last I saw the lass had been when she'd brought tea up to the study some hours back.
The rage is there, I feel it combust my guts and set my body ablaze at her hard-headedness. But I know better than to act on my barbaric nature. I coerce my mind to return to reality, blink once, blink severally to discard all thoughts of she. For long minutes, I gaze upon the blueprint clutched in my palms, analyzing, memorizing and marking all key points.
Soon as I wind with my commissions, I set it cautiously inside one of the drawers of the bedside table before getting from atop the softness of bed. I pad over to the liquor cabinet, retrieve a bottle of scotch, pour myself a glass of the amber, place the bottle back.
I tread lightly in the direction of the balcony, glide the doors open, slip right through. I stand by the railings, clutch the dense steel to support myself, tip the glass, sip the liquor. It continues to burn as it trails lower and lower down my throat and oesophagus. And yet that is what makes it all the more pleasant.
From a grave distance, the horizon continues to paint and taint with a blend of hues -a baby blue, a distant lilac and a gentle pink. I look to the lands I call my home, glance upon the large pagodas that stand proudly in their flamboyance, look upon the little terrazzo corridors and the tarmac roads that lead to the large steel gates, gaze upon the cherry blossom trees that shed little flowery petals into small ponds that sit still like the waters of a swamp.
Yes, even monsters may ravish the pleasures of nature and all it entails. A gentle breeze sweeps, whispers in my ears in tongues unfamiliar. For a second, I let my eyes flutter shut. Peace, serenity, tranquility has never felt so tangible. I could almost taste it. Unfortunately, my calmness is only short-lived.
As I reopen my eyes, I finally take in the view of Obal who skirts around clutching a large laundry basket to her right side. She pads down terrazzo halls till she comes up to one of the pagodas. She knocks knuckles softly upon the mahogany-wood doors and as soon as they glide open, the buff figure of Joktan -my second in command- comes into view.
She bows curtly, smiles up at the lad, hands him his neatly-folded garment. Look at how she smiles so sweetly as though he were her lover. Or perhaps he may be. Have they known each other for a period of time? Of course they have, she's been delivering laundered clothes to each pagoda for months now.
Soon as she turns to take her leave, he grabs her by the upper arm, causes her to halt dead in her tracks, mouths something to her. She turns to face back at him, of course she does, and the man works to look from his left to his right suspiciously. He leans forward, whispers a thing, then draws back to scrutinize her features.
Again, I tip the glass, sip from it, swallow. My grip upon the railings tightens a tad bit, a new anger surges, it begins to wreck some kind of havoc in my mind. He speaks for long minutes and she hesitates in her steps as though contemplating on whether or not she should accept whatever proposal he offers with gladness.
If she proves as intelligent as I deem her, then strutting her way into the lad's home should be the last thing on her mind. He stands to the side, gestures that she come in -smirk clearly etched on his lips. Oh, and she does, she actually fucking does. The laughter bubbles up my throat, tumbles past my mouth as my head shakes from side to side.
My grip upon the glass proves far too firm, the glass shatters, the liquid spills onto marble floors instantaneously. Sparing my palm a few seconds worth a glance, I take notice of how the crimson begins to ooze from the little slits and tiny slashes. Yet my brain is only able to register the hurt in my heart.
My body operates as if on autopilot. I return to the inside, pad over to my drawers and retrieve a handkerchief, tying it carelessly around my weeping skin and exiting the chamber shortly after. One millisecond, three nanoseconds, five minutes, more minutes of me mounting down a fleet of steps and padding down halls.
Before I have the opportunity to ponder or process my actions, I am treading upon the outer corridors and causing the heads of those who still vehemently train to turn in my direction. I finally come up to my destination -Joktan's doors- and once the knobs refuse to give in, I kick the doors open.
And there upon the sofa, a sight so blood-boiling unfolds. The man hovers inches above Obal who is lain flat upon the cushions of the seat. His one palm firmly pins her wrists above her head while the other cups her chest.
Despite the little rivulets that dribble from the corners of her eyes and down her temples, the man still manages to forcibly press his lips down upon hers. Yes, all what I see is fucking red, there's only death in my mind. My body is no longer my own. I surrender fully to the blood-lust...
††††††††
From one pagoda to the next, I deliver laundered linen and cotton clothes. I tread down a little corridor that leads to the very last building -to the house of one of Tsumibito's right-hand men. Joktan should be his name. He's been friendly, cheerful and gleeful in the limited number of times I have delivered his clothes to him.
Upon reaching his doors, I rap knuckles against wood, patiently awaiting his response. Soon as he appears and his eyes land upon mine, he smiles softly. I take a bow, reciprocate his smile with my very own, reach for his folded garment and hand them over.
"How are you, Sephar."
"Can't complain. Well, I should take my leave now."
I turn away, but before I have the privilege to proceed any further, his palm wraps around my upper arm and I stop dead in my movements.
"I have a proposal," he speaks lowly and whilst I turn to look from his hand snaked around my arm to his face, my brows furrow in quiet questioning at how he looks from his left to his right.
He leans in, whispers words I'd never thought any would convey to me in this place.
"There's still a way for you to escape from here. I should be able to produce a fake passport and visa, change your identification card entirely, hand you some money."
He leans back, his eyes searching mine. I hesitate, I watch him watch me, I let his words engrave and sink in the deepest pits of my memory. No, there's definitely a catch, most certainly. This freedom does not come free.
"Come inside and I should explain myself better. Trust me, Sephar. You are not the only one seeking out liberty from this tyranny. Some of us are. I need to get back to my family and I'll need you as much as you'll need me."
Though I hesitate further, the desperation kicks in.
A new hope begins to flicker, and as he stands to the side and gestures that I come in, my feet move on their own accord. I place the basket upon carpet floors, sit myself by a leathery sofa, let my eyes wander. The man works in the pungent quietness, locks the doors, sits himself close -by the sofa adjacent- and glances in my direction. He toys with the silver ring of his middle finger idly.
"Do you need anything? Drinks?"
"None, thank you. As you had been saying?"
He smiles as if to dilute the tension, but this smile does not reach his eyes.
"Right. As I had been saying, I should be able to help you," as he speaks, he reaches out a hand, brushes a finger against my cheekbone.
The action sends me on edge and much as I work to conceal the disdain, I still flinch at the contact. The warnings blare so loudly in the back of my head. Trap, this is a trap.
"But first, I ought to confess something. I like you, Sephar. I have been watching you for quite some time now and..."
"Nope, no I cannot do this tonight."
I rise on my feet without another word, but before I can make it any further, the sharp sting of needle pierces right into the hollow of my neck.
"Fuck," I grit as I feel for the puncture with trembling fingers.
I stumble, I stagger, I fall into the waiting arms of foe. It deems then darkens then spins.
As he rests me by the cushions of seat facing up, the dizziness begins to poison my vision, all grows blurry then clear then blurry once more. The man climbs on top of me, his eyes glinting with malice, his smirk a clear testament to the evils he has in store. He reaches for the ring of his middle finger and slips it right off, resting it by the table. GBH ring.
His lips are on my jawline and on my cheeks and on the crook of my neck.
His one palm wraps around my wrists, pinning them firmly above my head. His other cups my bossom, fondles with my breast as if the man were some crazed beast. My limbs and muscles feel as weak as rubber yet as heavy as lead.
"You have no idea how much I have dreamt of this, Sephar."
His lips claim my own, his tongue slithers and tastes and tortures. I gaze upon ceiling as the tears begin to burn. Jesus, aid me now. Grace be my salvation, grace do not cast me out to this damnation. A tear slips, another tear follows suit until the cushion upon which my head rests dampens. Grace be my salvation, heavens do not cast me out to this damnation.
The helplessness consumes inside and out, the hope that flickered dies down, the agony of the inevitable rears its ugly head. I continue to look to the ceiling walls above -blurry then clear then blurry then clear again. I will myself to turn numb, to not feel. Then suddenly, the doors burst open.
At first, I cannot believe, cannot accept. The unholy rivulets flow furiously, they wet the strands on my head and the skin of my temples. He appears to be in a trance. And in the next few minutes, all what I can make out are the rivers of red that ooze and sip and leak and coat and lace the white carpet grounds.
The Tsumibito who works before my eyes is not human anymore, far from it even. His fists slam and ram and redden, the soles of his booted feet kick and crash bones till my assaulter is barely human himself. Then, Tsumibito grabs him by his fractured foot and painfully drags him past the front doors, leaving a trail of redness tainting the floors.
"Mahalal, strike the gong. Call all the men and the maidens to assemble!"
From a distance, a great distance, metal rod loudly bangs against metal disc in repetitive motions. Then, all falls eerily silent with the soft sound of footsteps being the only noise that infiltrates my ears. That is until Tsumibito's tone bellows.
"I thought I'd warned you, told you all that such acts will not be tolerated, will not be forgiven."
With every ounce of might, every shred of strength I still cling to, I let my body fall onto floor with a hefty thud, crawl and crawl my way to the exit where I peep with hazy vision.
Tsumibito grips harshly the hairs of Joktan who still bleeds and paints the earth red.
"Joktan, you have served as my second in command for well over a decade. Yet today, you deemed it fit to act in insubordination, chose outrightly to break this code of conduct."
He retrieves a pocket knife from his pockets, squats to level himself with the man, yanks on his locks of disheveled hairs forcefully and slits open the his throat without remorse. The blood spatters and spits onto Tsumibito's flesh. I cup my mouth with fingers that tremble, my eyes bulge so wide open they should roll out from their sockets.
"Mahalal, clean this up. Burn his body too."
And in that minute, as he winds with his speech, he immediately turns to face back at the doors only for his eyes to widen at the sight of me. His jaws tick, I see the venom that laces his vision. He still remains far detached from humanity. The dizziness on the other hand overwhelms, it drowns, it threatens to rob me of my consciousness.
Tsumibito treads in my direction, scoops me in his arms and carries my fragile self away from lady death herself. As the darkness consumes fully, my head leans into his chest -right where his heart palpitates mightily, where it pounds furiously...
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