Never before did I crave for the succulent taste of thick, silver blood as much as today. An anticipating sweep of my tongue over my dry lips savouring the opaque reminiscence of the latest throat I've ripped open. Euphoric cries for help shroud my mind as I keep my claws from suffocating the life out of the malicious old woman standing before me, her glare ebbing away all thoughts of reconciliation.
"And what do you say when he asks you to lay with him?"
"Yes, My Lord."
Had I known that today would ever come, I would've pierced the poison-dipped dagger an inch deeper in my chest. Not that it would've helped in the slightest, since my mana would remain trapped in the in-betweens of this Realm by chains that run far beyond mortal comprehension.
But still, I would've tried. At least a bit more persistently than I did.
Would've stabbed myself deeper.
Would've let my head float in the frosting water just a tad bit longer.
Would've, but didn't.
"Even when you're tired?"
"Yes, Madam."
That's why I now have to feel the condemning stares of all those bidding us farewell to the Feather Clan burning holes in my back. That's why I'll have to abide by yet another dictionary of unnerving restrictions. And that's why, for the rest of my nights, I'll curse the Heavens for this miserable existence of mine.
To kill or to be killed.
We've been taught, generation after the other, that our fates are at the mercy of our Gods, who've written them in the Stars long before the first of us was even born. I'm fully aware that it's far too childish for me to be pointing fingers at Deities - immortal creatures whose rule extend far beyond what we consider as our world. It's just that it's the safer option for any sane person. Because, if not the Deities, I'll have no other person but him to blame for my agony. And unlike the Deities he is very much alive and capable of having my neck the second I dare to utter the words I've lived by for the years my wounds sutured to ragged scars.
I will kill you. May it be in this life, or the next.
"You will never go against his wishes?"
"No, Madam."
If he had been more of a King than a lethargic tyrant, I would've never have to serve as rebound for his mistakes. Had he been a ruler, beings like me would've never been born. Creatures who've never had the fortune of being blessed by the Holy Temple.
But he wasn't. So, here we are.
"Even when you're on your Blood Moon Cycle?"
"Yes, Madam."
"Good. Now go, and my Lady. What did the Holy Priest teach us?"
"In the eyes of the Moon, only an unworthy woman denies the will of her husband, for she rejects the will of the Stars with him."
"Are you unworthy?"
Yes. If it means escaping this hell on my own two feet, I'm prepared to denounce myself in front of this so-called Priest everyone follows the words of without any second thoughts. As if the mere mortal can speak for the constellations tied above us. The idea itself should be a joke, but it seems that no one else here gets my sense of humour.
"No, Madam, I am not."
The wrinkles on my old teacher's forehead crease, and her old eyes, who've watched my mother and grandmother growing up, look at me in skepticism. We both stay silent as everyone around us continues to hastily prepare for our departure. The normally voiceless Travel Room now booms with hurried shouts from all bricked sides. The fetid stench of blood and decay coming from the cells nearby overshadowed by the sweat soaking the servants' rags. My words may sound obedient, but unlike my mother and her ancestors, I don't buy any of this nonsense. Meaning that I have spoken a lie. Either of us knows well enough what lying would normally bring me. My poor stomach still recalls the saltwater I've had to force down my throat the many times I was caught in the act of something considered insolent for a high born such as myself. Nevertheless, unlike anything else, I savour them. These precious memories of my otherwise tedious childhood. Because it's that pain, grave enough to ache yet not damaging enough to awaken numbness, that brings me back to life every time death's fingers graze over mine.
"Be careful, Your Grace. Remain this stubborn, and your end will come much sooner than later."
"We both know that my early end is already written in the Stars, no matter how well I behave." I reassure her with a cold smile that would make any one uncomfortable. Who in their right mind would talk about their death with such sinister affection?
Me. I do.
Without any last words to one another, we bid each other farewell and I turn my back towards one of the many demons I've had to encounter for the painful years I've spent in this Palace. Years in which I was polished to worrisome excellence and yet, my steps still falter when I spot him. I strive to walk out of his sight, but his old ears have years of experience, and he most likely sensed my presence as soon as I stepped foot in this humid place. Like whenever I catch sight of him, my brain seems to lose all capabilities of functioning correctly, and the erratic beating of my heart speeds up dangerously. All too soon, his hungry gaze traps me in these disturbingly profound russet eyes, as he walks towards me like the predator he is. Cornering his prey.
Only he has already devoured me long ago.
Rasped screams cry for appeasement between my ears, and the ghost pain in my lower abdomen sends jolts of electricity through my fingertips and toes. The body he knows the map of by heart uncontrollably freezes under the spell of his confining grip on my shoulder, and I fight the urge to slice his arm off. To anyone around us, who cares enough to so much as glance my way, his gesture may seem affectionate. A caring uncle bidding goodbye to his niece, but by Sol do I know better. It took me almost five years to realise that the affection he feels for me is nothing but a toxic obsession. Nothing more than the need for a man to control a woman too vulnerable to cause any trouble.
"My little dove, you be careful, alright?"
"Yes, Uncle."
I flinch when he forces me in a dreadful hug, and the warmth of his moist breath fans against my ear when he whispers with carnal desire:
"Be a good girl, and I'll give you enough love to make up for our time lost when you the Lord throws you away."
I remain immobile, but clench my firsts to hold myself back from letting her take over, and finally rip his rancid heart out of his chiseled chest.
"Goodbye, Uncle." I say as parting words, before groggily turning around, to the ones who failed to protect me from my inferno for all those years. The same people who I foolishly crave the affection of, even today. Almost everyone is already waiting at the portal surrounded by our Royal Mages. Only Father is still in his office with the Council, discussing methods to keep the rebels away from the borders during our absence.
He isn't new to the claws and bites of leading a weakened Clan. The path from bottom to top of the social pyramid is not one to underestimate. But this time is different. For he's about to lose the joker card he's hidden in his back pocket for the last decade, considering that after today, I won't be coming back here ever again. I'll be married by the next full moon, so the rigours Cat-Eye is about to experience at the presence of the Salavars roaming at the edge of our borders won't have anything to do with me anymore. I know he wanted to control me for longer, but the capricious relationship between the Dynastra Capital and us is what makes this strategic union so significant. The King has been demanding an increasing amount of male countrymen to be send to his capital for unsaid reasons, whereas our resources are coming dangerously close to their exhaustion. I suppose that a marriage with a neighbouring Clan, who's population is so dense that they're in dire need of land, was the best solution Father came up with.
When the topic of my marriage first came up, I senselessly blurted out that we should ask the King directly for his reasons behind recruiting inexperienced merchants and farmers who have to supply for their families at home. Let's just say that my displease towards a forced marriage with a man twice my age, who has seeded far too many bastard children all over the North of Tarak, didn't end well for me. The embarrassment of being publicly stripped in the presence of my Father's trusted commanders, each more perverted than the last, subsidised with time. Standing naked for all these starving gazes to feast on, even though all of them have at least fifteen women waiting patiently for them in their harem. With the tormenting heaviness of their eyes touching every inch of me. Being at the mercy of these men who turn hours into eons before letting me walk out with sore legs and abdomen. Hearing from those who were assigned to serve me how far my body is from it's supposed to be. All those injuries who torture me the same way they did when I bled from them for the first time ripped open each time again.
Achieving numbness towards corporal wounds is easy, but it seems that I'm still a child to the torture of words and gazes.
Silly, silly me.
Asking my father to rethink the marriage with Octavius Von Avem turned out to be as unavailing as blaming two knives sharpened with the same water stone for both being as dull as one another, and I'm antsy for the day where both finally wound me enough to retrieve me from this harrowing realm and bring me to the next.
Mother is too preoccupied with Jonathan's hair to notice me standing right beside to her. As the next Clan Lord, he's the image of our future, so his first convocation with the King is vital to us. Whether the Clan is fed or left to starve. Whether our people are respected or mocked. Whether our territory is protected or abandoned. All will be in his hands in less than a century. And that knowledge secretly woes me. My younger brother is practically an amalgam of greed and irresponsibility. Alas, I'm last in line to argue on this matter.
I've never seen Mother this energetic inside of the Palace walls before. She normally acts like an indoor cat wandering around, aimlessly. Not doing anything else than sitting on Father's lap all day, like the obedient wife she is. But again, it isn't every day that she'll be sitting in the presence of the reputed King of House Tarak. The one who practically founded our interrogation system to be faultless against those of any bloodline. He who will always stand as an everlasting totem of divine malice. Him and the Kings of House Aelfdene and House Asra are the only Originals still standing. The only mortals with a lifeline of that of celestial beings. Therefore I understand that for a power hungry person like Mother, meeting a man who plays 'Head or Tail' to decide a mortal's fate is nothing but the greatest form of elevation. Although it seems that his age has greatly affected his perception of life since he dallies with life like I used to play pranks on my maids when I was still a child, not yet robbed of her innocent mind.
It wasn't until the pain in her back became to much that she sat back in her chair, as empty-minded as always. Watching the beautiful couples having the time of their lives on the glaucous dance floor that, when illuminated, forged the illusion of shimmer. Their weightless steps following the complicated rhythm engraved in their muscles from the late night practices and early morning routines. The ball was supposed to celebrate the coming-age-ceremony of the Cat-Eye Princess, yet she wasn't acquaintances with any of the attending. Most of them she had never addressed before. It wasn't until she went over each gracious smile, each lighthearted gaze and clasped hands, that she felt it for the first time. As if a match had set aflame the candle wick of a sage forest, that she never knew ran so deep in her until it was too late to extinguish. Overseeing that permanent damage would be done, purple flames touched the skies in dust clouds. She tried to stop it desperately, tried to smile graciously like others, to dance breathlessly like others, to hold hands with someone who wasn't like others. However, her eyes couldn't handle them. The warm tears continuously tainting her cheeks, leaving grotesque patches of irritated skin to remind her of her shameful weaknesses. So, at last, she gave in to this suffocating world of hers, and silently stood in the centre of it. Slowly but surely, she witnessed her life burn, until she suffocated in her breathless forest of grey and ash. And when she straightened her back again, even the wolves in the South Forest felt her loss, and grieved with her to the full moon that shone silver streams through her curtains that night. Yet, this time she didn't look up, didn't bath in them like she usually would. No, from then on she would close the curtains, and let the darkness engulf her in a cold embrace of solace loneliness. Hope was no more than the far illusion of an oasis over the horizon.
"Is everyone ready," Father asks in a hurried voice, as if he's the one who's been waiting for us this entire time.
⤷ WORD COUNT: 2367