Blind Fury

{She. Came. Back...and I fucked it up. Royally. There were times you had to curse the creators of this universe for neglecting to add an erase and rewind button. A chance at a do-over. Did time stand still...or did I? Rooted to the spot, a statue, limbs heavy as the shadowy marble collonade through which the Chosen just bolted, a Cinderella flutter of silk and raven hair billowing in her wake, whatever piece of clothing she left behind fluttering to the ground in a quiet rustle...blinking...staring intently at the robe spilling onto cold marble and feeling my heart sink, like a stone. Me. She left me behind when she fled..fuck, that look on her face, hurt and betrayal etched deep, tears brimming over in those bewitching emerald eyes, a haunting imprint, a brand on my soul that shrivels up my insides and tightens skin to bone like shrink wrap, my hands tumble to my sides, head sagging off hunched shoulders, breath sawing hard in my lungs, the echoes of swift retreating footfalls drowned out by the great, hitching sobs coming from the restrained Chosen I had abandoned on the bedding platform, wrists straining frantically at the ties that bind her, vulnerable and exposed} Fuck... {a string of profanities muttered under growled breaths, the bindings loosened with long-practiced efficiency, jerking the hood off the female's face...a mistake, true...she is gaping at me, in all my naked, scars and ink glory, like we're stuck in some godfuckingawful B-movie and I'm the creature, scuttling back up the bed to get away from me and any moment the screaming is gonna kick off. Snatching down one of the billowing silk curtains suspended from the ceiling, tentatively approaching to drape it over the Chosen's naked, trembling body, left palm held up in a gesture of truce} I'm not going to hurt you, Chosen {but the edge in my voice is too hard and the Chosen flinches when I go to put my hands on her upper arms, a frustrated growl slipping from my throat...I don't do this shit...consoling females is not my fucking thing...eyes darting around the temple, a low growl rising in my throat...where is that fucking Directrix bitch when you actually need her?} Just...Stay here, true. I'll send one of your sisters... 
*The vicious jolting advance up the steps is nothing to what awaits me when the solid close a tight thud behind me. Captured into the Temple’s stronghold, I am bouncing from marble, my bones are a shatter of pain and bruises, splintered, stabbing skin from the inside, her heavy handed throws, crashing me around the temple before I can find feet enough to even try to defend myself....not that it would do much good. I am not a fighter. I cannot attack as a warrior would against her strength. My body moves only to obey, to pray and scribe, it knows nothing of the means of war, and she is stronger. Her form less graceful, older, she carries her power and fragments me in bursts of agony as my spine strikes a marble column for the…I know not how many times. I am bruises and pain, my skin black and blue, cracked and bleeding from the spikes of bone spearing outwards. I am young again, helpless, too weak to deny the punishments laid viciously upon me, I’d grown into strength but nothing powerful enough to block out the hurt that pounds my body in sharp kicking circuits of throbbing agony. I think I’m broken, even my breath hurting in my lungs, every heartbeat an agonising wrench in my chest, my limbs uncooperative as I claw across the marble floor. To accept my punishment was one thing. To die at the hands of one of my sisters....I do not believe my insubordination accounted for such an ending. It is a pitiful escape, what a dying animal does to leave the threat of a a road after it is hit, I’d seen them, clambering for their lives only to bleed out and die elsewhere. I am simply moving to get away. To escape the ripping hands in my hair, feminine fists wrenching my head up and slamming me into the nearest colonnade as though I am naught more than a feather to be destroyed, pulled apart by her fury and snatching, nail raking hands*<<You would kneel for him, would you not? You would give yourself to him, release yourself from your vows of your own accord? You think I have no power, Chosen? I may release you. I may gift you mercy. I may forgive. But you tarried too long watching his images in the bowls. You think to claim him with your beauty? To captivate him to one cause? He must serve us ALL, Chosen. Selfish, greedy, dirty female. Vanity is a luxury, a sin, those as we cannot partake in>>*the smack comes from nowhere, backhanded knuckles striking across my face to a crunch of screaming pain. But my silence screams louder, goading the repetitive slaps as she fights to draw words from my lips. For truth, I cannot speak. My throat is choking on air knocked too many times from starving lungs, body a balled curve of agony, trying to shield. But her other hand is iron at my throat, holding me like a collar of fingers up into the slashing crack of palm to face.* <<Speak, Chosen. I command you. Or would you rather take orders from HIM? The Primale is all you obey now? Cannot even the Scribe Virgin have your ear?>>*I cannot utter a word, my lips soundlessly moving, begging, not for her to stop, but for him…the Primale…. He held power over her, could cease this torturous punishment that made no sense and stunned my body into terrified wracking quakes*<<You want him? Let us see how receptive he is to your beauty...*The word spat in vile hatred is the first signal* once I rid you of it...*the ceremonial blade in her hand is the other, my body thrashing wildly for freedom, animal mewls the only sound my released throat can muster as her grip transfers...violently clasping the ebony waterfall of my hair...and lacing the blade through the thick gathered ponytail to tumble midnight curls to the floor like a spill of ink. Marble bleeds raven strands, the pooling length of my hair sheared in a few quick short sawing hacks of her bladed hand, my one claim to anything beautiful knifed from my ownership. He would never look at me again*<<See Chosen? He does not want you, will not ever want you. *bowing closer, her whisper rips my heart to shreds of emotion* He wants all of them….but never you…>> 
{snatching up my discarded robe, arms punching into the sleeves, hard-knotting the sash and striding purposefully through the temple, halted momentarily in my tracks by the puddle of silk on the floor, knees flexing, gloved hand reaching down to retrieve what  the Chosen dropped, fisting the fabric...so this is why she came, to return the robe I offered her at the baths? She could have sent  one of her sisters, true...lifting the thing on impulse, burying my face in the satin softness, stubbled jaw roughly abrading the delicate fabric, inhaling deep...Oh sweet fuck, it smells of her, laced with her scent, interwoven with my own, permeating every fibre, something about her scent and mine mixed, an alchemy of twin passions that trips all kinds of fucking internal switches. Did she wear this? Did she wear my scent next to her skin? Fuck, the snarling beast inside uncoils and licks down bladed fangs, purring growled satisfaction at the thought, fires of arousal and hope kindling in equal measure...I could go to her, true, explain my aggressive reaction ... Could I? Really? How could I explain the intensity of an emotional connection I could barely begin to grasp myself? Fuck it. I had to try to make things right. Doubts crushed to diamond dust in the iron fist of bonded male instinct, feet carrying me through the temple doors with renewed purpose in my step, gaze sweeping the collonades for any sign of her and all but colliding with the Chosen Layla as I stride from the shadows, chameleon that she is, camouflaged in the ethereal white on whiteness of the surreal landscape a request for her to care for her sister dying in my throat as I register the tears streaking cheeks blanched white as the virginal robes she wears, the despair apparent in her voice and demeanor} <<Your Grace. I beg you. It is within your authority to command the Directrix I o'erstep my position, your Grace>> {if the female bowed any lower, her forehead would scrape marble, tear-swollen eyes cast down, delicate hands wringing silk, her voice is shaky but laden with conviction} <<gladly shall I bear such consequences as thou wouldst deem proper, but verily, I beseech thee, have mercy on my sister Serhenity, for she meant no true harm...>> {Brows dropping low on storm clouds of diamond confusion, the Chosen's jaw jerked up in my gloved hand, forcing her gaze to mine} What the fuck are you talking about? What has the Directrix done? {Breath hitching as words dissolve into an anguished cry} <<Your Grace, the Directrix has taken my sister to the Temple of Atonement, where she is to be punished for the breach of her sacred vows>> Oh NO. FUCKING. WAY. {The snarl curling my lips is pure, unadulterated, seething aggression from which Layla recoils visibly, but my legs are already powering me across the cropped white grass of the Sanctuary, a blur of rabid fury fueled by the unmistakable coppery scent of fresh blood and the dark red smears that sully the white marble perfection of the steps leading up to the Temple of Atonement. Pulling up short in front of the mammoth, ornately carved doors, every ounce of brute strength and rage heaved into shifting their immense weight, but the bastard things are rock fucking solid, unyielding, locked down tight, the temple windowless and impervious to my molecules. Locked...only two hold the key, the Directrix and the Primale..the key! The Primale medallion...hope rising like a bubble of logical thought breaking through the red haze of my anger, gloved hand shooting up to the Primale pendant around my neck, but snatching at only thin air...a bubble burst, all semblance of sanity evaporating with it} SON OF A BITCH!!! I THREW THE KEY IN THE FUCKING TOILET!!!! {a warrior roar of unspeakable frustration bellowed to the fucking heavens, lead lined fist slamming into the doors, barely mustering a vibration through the solid slabs barring me from Serhenity and whatever sick revenge that bitch is taking out on her because I wanted the Chosen over her...a muffled scream from within hammering home the worst of my fears} OPEN THE FUCKING DOORS!!! 
*For hours I sat there, looking at the broken pieces of my beauty scattered against the white of the marble, stark, bold, a slash of silk colouring the expanse of nothing....not really hours, seconds, however long a reprieve I was allowed before her hand smacked back up a double edged strike, hardened by the core of the dagger hilt she had wrapped in her pounding fist. She really is aiming to disfigure me. Weapons are not our way, the blades purely for ceremony, and her hand is the only thing that will mar my flesh...that and the taint of marble still imprinted into the broken fractures of every single bone in my body. I'm near boneless, the fragments drifting in my bloodstream, sloshing through their circuits to stab shards into my heart with every pulsing beat. No she had no weapons. But she is well versed in punishment, in pain, and she is laying everything she has on the table to destroy me in inches*<<Will you cry now, Chosen? Weep for your lost perfection? No beauty as yours, Chosen, none look as you do, but the Primale wants not your eyes upon him. He cares not for your gaze or your desire. Pathetic female. You think I am so cruel to punish you? I did not order this. I did not bid you hie from his temple. Verily, I only obey the will of the Primale>>*Said so sweetly, those last words command my soul to scream. He commanded this torment? This...disfiguration? She has left me alone by a lone column, huddled into my broken self with silent pain wracked sobs that hurt more than what caused them, her body turned from me to order at a wheeled table, almost clinical, the small vial, the ivory implement...just a glimpse, but my abhorrence is roaring from my centre, a horrified revulsion rising bile in my throat and demanding my shattered self to move and move quick, a scrabble of agony shifting me a foot before manacles snap my limbs to a length of chain, dragged upright with pained protests that sing my sorrow, my frantic howling distress pinned to the marble of the column by strong arms. The Directrix is back, wrenching my arms to seal me around the white stone, spine crushed to it, curved out in a strain of useless muscle and thrashing denial. I am pleading, openly screaming now, anything, anything but that. I could not live, would not survive without him in my sights, unable to stroke him with my eyes...it's what my dreams lived for and my soul longed to caress* <<His command Chosen, his. Not mine. He does not want you to. Ever. See. Him. Again.>>*that abhorrent implement, so dainty and delicate, so pretty lifted up in her hand, its elongated point already wielding a mercurial droplet from a vial of shimmering punishment. My eyes fly wide. It's the scent, the one that controls your movements, paralyses you with a single aromatic inhale, all from a tiny bead of silver. I cannot move, cannot blink as she descends with the tapered tip. A single drop falling to wide emerald and exploding over the iris, consuming the colour in a haze of moonlight, spreading, devouring, shading me into darkness as the liquid falls again, a rapid repeat of overwhelming, visceral torture, agony beyond compare ripping through my head with the sharp focussed pain of undiluted power. The very power that is harnessed in the sun unleashed and detonating in stabbing pierces of white hot agonised torment, a searing scorch of pain that spreads out in a shield to encompass me in a vortex of mind blowing suffering and ultimate darkness. Burning under a night without stars, I am consumed in it, the violent blasting triggers behind my eyes spearing through to drag torture down into every nerve ending, screaming my soul to the temple walls as the earth shatters all its pain to gather behind a sight gone dark, only shadows and black quilting my vision until not a pinprick of light breaks through. There is something else as the pain dims to throbbing strikes, some other scream hammering the dull pounding thud of something to wood, my tears streaming to pool a river on bare feet, falling in blinks, the paralysis lost in the blaze of agony and gifting me back my senses....all but one...Shorn, blinded, the Primale roaring for more at the doors, I am near to praying for an end. Useless now, I have no purpose. No beauty to lend me to aiding the race, no sight to record its histories, no future. No male, Primale or no, would look upon me with anything but disgust. Her punishment was fitting. I would never look upon the Primale again* 
{More screams bleed through the monolithic doors, blood curdling cries that open the wounds of bitter memories from my father's camp...institutionalised rape and sadistic punishments in the name of the greater good and the preservation of tradition, the whitewash of the Other Side was exactly that, a whitewash. This place was every bit as evil as the Bloodletter's Pit, rotten to its worm-eaten fucking core. Fists, feet, knees, every part of my body pounded bloody, a warrior battering ram against the ancient, unmoving doors, built to hold back gods and giants, the old language carvings praising the mother of the race cutting into my flesh. Yeah, where was the fucking Scribe Virgin when you needed a cocksucking intervention? Sulking in her goddamned temple...Heartless. Fucking. Bitch. The vitriol in my head punctuated by hard body slams to the monolithic wall of solid wood, nails ripped, tearing at the heavy iron locks, blistering anger my anaesthetic, I feel no pain, only the mounting frustration that keeps me from Serhenity spiralling out of control until my entire body begins to light up like the core of a nuclear fucking reactor, crazed diamond eyes glowing from within, ripping the glove from my hand, the energy flowing through me sparking blue lightning across my palms, the flat of my cursed hand slammed onto the steel locks, turning the metal from red to white hot, streaming molten channels down the face of the doors, a roar barrelling up from deep in my chest as the doors give way under the inexorable thrust of my heaving muscle...spilling into the echoey space, the glow in my body retreating into my inked hand even as I tug the glove back in place, feet falling on cool marble and something else...the white stone floor is littered with long black strands, irregular clumps, curling locks, hacked and irregular, bloody in places. Fuck. A thick silken lock gathered into my hands} She cut your hair? {spitting out the words with snarling menace...payback was a bitch and the Directrix was one sadistic bitch who was going to pay in fucking spades for what she'd done...not sensing her here, instinct telling me she fled as I broke down the doors. Hair would grow back, true, she would survive the degradation. Bracing myself for what other humiliating punishments the Directrix might have dreamed up, but nothing in three centuries of soldiering could prepare me for the pitiful sight that slams into vision as I round the pillars..NononononoNONONO!!!! Ahhhhh fuck, please no... wincing, hands dragged down my face in horror jaw clenched hard, she is bound and sagging from the carved stone column, body broken and bruised, her once beautiful hair hacked from her head, scalp bleeding profusely in patches, face lifting in the direction of my approach, once emerald eyes, jewels set in a face of intelligent beauty, staring, unseeing into an abyss of nothingness, rendered utterly opaque with the bluish grey film of blindness, blood red tears of anger and betrayal slipping from the corners of bruised lids... my stomach goes into freefall, the blood draining into my feet as I am paralysed by anger, a cyclone of unspeakable rage gathering momentum, rushing between my ears like a freight train, ragged exhales pluming from flared nostrils as my aura plummets the ambient temperature to a glacial frost...and for the second time this day, I find myself untying a female from her bindings, but where the first left my heart cold, this one shatters it in jagged shards of pain as she crumples before me, arms reaching out to catch her broken body as the supports of the bindings slacken, my words are growled out with rough anguish} This is MY fault...all my fucking doing 
*Sound assaults my ears, violent, brutal, the hammering increasing, a slam of muscle to wood leaving my body in a cower of torn flesh, the Primale fighting against the barricaded doors to exact his own form of pain upon me? I know not, but I am perfectly still dangling in the chains, head cocked, isolating every movement as the doors give way to the battering ram of male, every step heightened to a vibration through marble, pinpoint locations sent to my senses and setting bound curves to trembling expectation, braced for more, resigned to a future of pain for harbouring the secret obsession no Chosen should ever feed into. That the Primale would one day be solely theirs. He freezes me, his body no longer radiating heat, a glacial violence rippling through the air around me to caress me in blades of ice. It trembles me in quakes of terror as the jangle of chains clinks at my wrists, my ankles, releasing an iron hold on me only to hand me into the arms of someone much worse....I crave the Primale’s touch as much as I hate it, it kicks fear through my nerves and sets me on fire, blazing through the ice surrounding me and switching me into screaming fear....fetal in a second, broken and bruised curves fold into themselves like parchment before a flame, shrinking from him, as small as possible falling into a crumple on cold marble a determined shield against anything that may rain blows upon me...He did it. He admitted it. To me. My soul howls its denial as the mess in my chest where my heart used to be throbs a dull echo of a hopeful love betrayed. It darkens as my sight did, shadows on my soul a darkness creeping over my emotions, and sheltering me in the pitch black of my new world. A world alone. Because of HIM* Verily, Your Grace....*bitten out, the words are a shade of screams, reverting to propriety when nothing else will form* Please, I beg of you...no more, no more. I cannot..*choked, the Primale's scent tantalising me to sobbing cries of love laced horror* Just. Get. Away! Leave. Me. Be!! Get. Out!! Get. Out!! *I am clawing now, limp pushes all my strength can aid me with, halting any advances with the power of a cloud, whispering off the Primale's body with nary a breeze of a blow* Please by the Dear Scribe Virgin....No. More!!!!!!
{Flinching, your pleading cries cut deep, stumbling away from your crouched and trembling form as you scramble to put distance between us, palms outstretched, the pain of your rejection crashing in all around me, a cold slap of reality, you have every right to hate me, fear me, blame me, a bombardment of emotions... grief, rage, guilt... the crushing realization that this really is All. My. Fucking. Fault...A mantra that slices through me with agonising precision, carving the words deep and indelible into my soul, backing away, torn between wanting to hold you and the agonising fear that it will only hurt you more, staggering out onto the steps of the temple, insanity raging in eyes turned black as a starless night, barking an order at the gathered Chosen to go help their sister and to locate the fucking Directrix, fury tremoring surging waves through my tensed warrior frame, gloved fist cracking into marble with knuckle cracking force... I fucking failed her...I was too late for her...no erase and rewind, no do-overs... no act of vengeance that could restore her sight... my lips peel back in a nightmarish impression of an Edvard Munch painting and the screaming roar of my grief shakes the very foundations of the temple of atonement}