Estimated reading time: 2 – 4 minutes
The love she had once, liquid and warm like honey, hardened into something malignant. Her beautiful world was gone. Beloved friends, disciples, and supplicants were dead by her hand. She looked down at it, seeing the puffy skin attempting to swallow the knife whole.
Memories burst all at once.
The faces dropping back like broken flower stems, necks exposed to her with precious trust and devotion. The skin so soft, so trusting, so pure for her silver death. The children cried. Their screaming terror, wordless pleads for a bit more life, drove into her ears. She remembered how the weeping mothers and fathers held them still. Their taut shoulders and liquid eyes pleading for quick, flutterless death.
Her hand, her rotted, deviant hand, had struck true. Their precious baby skin had parted the easiest. Severed cries morphed into pitiful gurgles.
She swayed before the white demon. She watched him watch her. He was pristine, clean in the middle of all that precious death. His white hair, braided back high on his head, shimmered like dying starlight.
His lips moved. Their fullness a tribute to crimson, clotted gluttony.
Her arm rose. There was no more reason for one such as her to exist. Goddesses could only live if someone believed in them. Her believers all lay dead. It was time for her drop among the sickly-sweet blossoms.
For a young goddess, she had become ever so wise to what awaited her. None would remember her. None would mourn for their beloved deity. She might very well have killed the mother who had birthed her and the father who had carried her to this temple the very night of her birth.
Eyes dropping, sewing themselves shut with blood, couldn’t see him approach. The world switched to black. Fingers tightened, nails digging into the sticky handle, needing to ensure her strength for one more slash.
Wrist locked, will immobile, she created the violently beautiful move to end her reign.
Liquid agony wrapped her hand. She screamed a tiny, pitiful sound. Lashes struggled to release their bloody hold. He stood before her. Gloved fist possessed hers. He shook his head once.
Rage. Unfamiliar, poisonous rage turned her into a paper monster. She roared at him. Her eyes became steel. They promised terrible suffering for thwarting her precious, pure will.
He squeezed his fist.
She keened. Her head snapped back. She slumped away from him.
He dragged her to him with restrained, careful movements. The stench of blood didn’t offend. It was familiar, if not always desired. He knew what he wanted from this child-woman. His burning stare flicked at the ebony men pacing about the perimeter.
Their base desire meant nothing. He would crush them like the flowers beneath his heel.
Let their fucking be assuaged when they returned to camp. Their followers were many. The conquered trinkets would be plenty to assure a pleasing romp and gentle hand for these hardened warriors.
He looked at the unconscious creature cradled like sin against his fighting arm. She pleased his need for likeness. She could’ve been his dearest sister. Instead, she would become his slave.
I’ve missed Julian & Lily as well. I’m...