*It wakes me from the silence of dark solitude, this…tittering outside the walls of my temple. None dared move me from my sequestered position though I am rendered incapable of performing such duties, they leave me be, sitting awhile at my door on days free from prayer. Chosen caretakers worried for my sanity in a world gone dark. They knew. All of them, how much I had taken pleasure in writing, in watching the world we had no place in, and they fear what the removal of such an…obsession…will make of me. Not unfounded concerns. Alone in the darkness, seeds of hatred spread into vines that wrapped the temple of my heart in a thick canvas of thorned branches, stabbing vengeance deep, the urge to ahvenge what was done to me an overpowering, thought consuming force determined to drag me into its hellish shadows. Lifting steadily from the barren cot, silk falls back into place around healing curves, broken bones repaired, only the bluish bloom of bruises marring my flesh with the memories of that day. That and the permanent reminder of the shrouded darkness that is now my sight. Finding the door with unerring precision, I crack the heavy wood ajar, the soft creak silencing the whispered chatter coming from the direction of the Scribe Virgin’s tree*
Sisters? Is there something amiss? *Is the Primale hurt? I’d heard him return, sensed his presence on this side like one of the human bombs, an explosion inside me that triggered a mess of emotions I was not ready to untangle. I could not allow affection and tender love to cloud my vengeance. A delicate hand folds at my elbow, gently leading me forwards. I am grateful. Being in the Sanctuary unnerves me without my sight. I fear objects I have no control over the positioning of. Fear falling. She guides me, one who smells of daisies and ritual incense…Janyra*<<Sister, we meant not to disturb your repose. You must rest to heal. *She pauses, her voice uncertain as we stop and my sisters surround me, a comfort for them to be close to me. You cannot fear what you cannot see, and I am calm with curiosity* We are not certain on how to proceed. There is no training for such an occasion and we find reluctance in removing the offending object…>> I know not what you are referring to, Sister. Pray, tell me. What is going on? *Their robes rustle as they fidget, such still doves, such grace usually, such agitation is strange on them, the air moves with their nervous motions, casting their scents in my direction: Daisies and incense, lilies, the fresh water and jasmine soaps of the baths, lilacs and honeysuckle…a garden of gentle beauty bringing their faces to my mind, their images…the brutal scent of death, blood on metal, distorting the fragrance of their elegant lives like a tear in a petal. Not his, not theirs….*
<<A blade, Serhenity. There is a blade of lifesblood embedded into the heart of our Mother’s tree. And she has not shown herself to heal it. If we take it from its wound, will it bleed?>>*The Primale stabbed a tree? Trees do not bleed. There is no doubt in any mind of the attacker. Only one with the strength to wield it with such precision.* Take it out. The tree is not bleeding, but someone else has. <<Verily, Sister, we would, but ‘tis the small matter of disrupting the sanctuary with its violence. We cannot remove it>>*My aggravation is hidden barely by a soothing smile, a hand brushing at the chopped silk curls of my hair as they tumble into my eyes and tickle excruciatingly sensitive eyelids*
Place my hand upon the hilt, and I shall remove it myself. No punishment done can ruin me anymore and to leave it here is surely a disgrace to our Highness. You may leave me once I have it. You need not witness it. I will place it where it belongs. *Back with its owner…They move to obey, seeing no other course of action, free will taken from them in their confusion. How easily they follow, submitting merely because they can see no other way out. Gentle fingers taking my hand, reaching out my arm with hesitant trembles, her nerves shivering over my skin like a chill until my fingertips brush the carved hilt and my palm can curve a fist around the cold metal. A purr follows the hastening retreat of my sisters, a weapon in my hands and they blindly gave it to me, doves on the wind fluttering silk in their wake as I am left alone. Buried deep, the blade’s reluctance to leave its tree-wood core is an annoyance to my weakness, tugging at the hilt, seizing it in a tight grip and whispering it from its depths with a hiss of relief. My plans had never included a weapon. Until now. The Primale would get his dagger back. After all, it is my duty to return what is rightfully his*
Sisters? Is there something amiss? *Is the Primale hurt? I’d heard him return, sensed his presence on this side like one of the human bombs, an explosion inside me that triggered a mess of emotions I was not ready to untangle. I could not allow affection and tender love to cloud my vengeance. A delicate hand folds at my elbow, gently leading me forwards. I am grateful. Being in the Sanctuary unnerves me without my sight. I fear objects I have no control over the positioning of. Fear falling. She guides me, one who smells of daisies and ritual incense…Janyra*<<Sister, we meant not to disturb your repose. You must rest to heal. *She pauses, her voice uncertain as we stop and my sisters surround me, a comfort for them to be close to me. You cannot fear what you cannot see, and I am calm with curiosity* We are not certain on how to proceed. There is no training for such an occasion and we find reluctance in removing the offending object…>> I know not what you are referring to, Sister. Pray, tell me. What is going on? *Their robes rustle as they fidget, such still doves, such grace usually, such agitation is strange on them, the air moves with their nervous motions, casting their scents in my direction: Daisies and incense, lilies, the fresh water and jasmine soaps of the baths, lilacs and honeysuckle…a garden of gentle beauty bringing their faces to my mind, their images…the brutal scent of death, blood on metal, distorting the fragrance of their elegant lives like a tear in a petal. Not his, not theirs….*
<<A blade, Serhenity. There is a blade of lifesblood embedded into the heart of our Mother’s tree. And she has not shown herself to heal it. If we take it from its wound, will it bleed?>>*The Primale stabbed a tree? Trees do not bleed. There is no doubt in any mind of the attacker. Only one with the strength to wield it with such precision.* Take it out. The tree is not bleeding, but someone else has. <<Verily, Sister, we would, but ‘tis the small matter of disrupting the sanctuary with its violence. We cannot remove it>>*My aggravation is hidden barely by a soothing smile, a hand brushing at the chopped silk curls of my hair as they tumble into my eyes and tickle excruciatingly sensitive eyelids*
Place my hand upon the hilt, and I shall remove it myself. No punishment done can ruin me anymore and to leave it here is surely a disgrace to our Highness. You may leave me once I have it. You need not witness it. I will place it where it belongs. *Back with its owner…They move to obey, seeing no other course of action, free will taken from them in their confusion. How easily they follow, submitting merely because they can see no other way out. Gentle fingers taking my hand, reaching out my arm with hesitant trembles, her nerves shivering over my skin like a chill until my fingertips brush the carved hilt and my palm can curve a fist around the cold metal. A purr follows the hastening retreat of my sisters, a weapon in my hands and they blindly gave it to me, doves on the wind fluttering silk in their wake as I am left alone. Buried deep, the blade’s reluctance to leave its tree-wood core is an annoyance to my weakness, tugging at the hilt, seizing it in a tight grip and whispering it from its depths with a hiss of relief. My plans had never included a weapon. Until now. The Primale would get his dagger back. After all, it is my duty to return what is rightfully his*
***
*It is frustrating, how a simple walk to the baths could be so trying. Avoiding columns that seemed to change position each time I made my way towards them, taking the steps that seemed a different width than usual…exhausting, but I find I crave the heat now, the presence of my sisters ignorable if I really try, I can melt into liquid warmth and just be. Memories are troublesome things, when your mind relaxes as your body unknots, swarming in my minds eye the passionate explosion that had taken my soul the first time I encountered the Primale. That rage of fire set ablaze inside me and burning bright with the conflict of emotion my tortured hatred brought to light. I can shed the wrath here, let myself live in the memory before switching back to vengeance. The water washes it all away, only to clothe me in it once more when my feet hit dry ground. Shedding my robes, a pictured rush of white silk to pale marble, porcelain curves are submerged in the lapping tongues of the hot pools, the pound of the waterfall a drumbeat in my ears, demanding my heart follow its heavy pace. Voices, the tinkle of sweet lilting conversation settles an undertone to the melodic water, and my ears prick in blatant curiosity at the sound of the Primale’s name*
<<I do not think I can do it. He wanted me not, he did not desire me enough to finish within me, he…left. How will my appearance persuade him to resume his duties? I am more in a position to incite him to remain alone. He has locked us out. I think none will be able to breach the walls>>*a tremulous voice…Ophelia. The female he had taken when I had come upon them. My growl is a low rumble that ripples across the surface of the water, a throb in my fangs signalling their feral lengthening hidden as I submerge in the crystal clear depths. They think to lure the Primale from his fortress? Offering themselves on naked platters to his hungers? He will not fall for it. Or mayhap he will, and he will take them all over and over and over again, starved of what he has denied himself, too gorged on the satisfaction of ridding me of my life to venture from his palace within our hell. My face breaks the surface in a gasp of air, curls plastered to my head, the darkness as deep on the surface as it was at the bottom of the pools. Unchanging even with the light. But their chatter is a constant, the worry in their voices innocent but naively optimistic as they run through their mission plan. It’s laughable, as bad as some of my first attempts at vengeance, but they have something to aid their seduction, that my plans never had…the key. The Directrix medallion is being fawned over by a gaggle of them, their presence in the water causes ripples and waves, alerting me to their locations and helping me move into their conversations, hands reached out to brush a slender shoulder, the wet fall of hair*
<<Serhenity…>> Forgive me, Sisters, I was merely curious…and…I find I do not care to be alone…*A lie. The Directrix’ departure had unleashed a wave of rule breaking. No longer caring, I bathed where I wanted, said what I pleased. Lied.*<<You are ne’er alone, sister mine. We seek ways to pull the Primale from his depression. He will attend to none of us and meet with no one. We have the key, but will only find ourselves dismissed, we fear.>> *different voices all vying to inform me* <<And I do not want to enter again.>> Why must it be you who enters? *She falls silent, none speak for a few dull rushing beats of the waterfall, and then…* <<We all have come upon him before. He knows us by scent now, but with Ophelia, he did not complete the ritual. We believe he will be more open to one he has not fully claimed.>> He has not claimed me. I have no beauty to praise him with, nor sight with which to appreciate his Grace, but he has not had me. And the sacred hooding will conceal my disfigurement from his vision…if Ophelia truly fears being beneath him, I will take her place. I will take his brutality.
*A buzz of warring lyrical voices, protesting my spoken vision of myself with compliments I do not deserve, some defending his ‘brutality’, some affirming it. But not one speaks the words that would refuse me from taking the place of a beloved sister. They all fear his mood now, I sense it, it is a darkness that hangs over the Primale’s Temple, a tension that makes them nervous and afraid, and unwilling to submit themselves to the violence they know him capable of. They had the key, and I needed to get close to him, the blade, concealed in the folds of my robes never left my side. I’d need it when they delivered me to him. And they would. They needed only my consent. I offer it again, lips wetted with a stroke of my tongue* I will go unto him, and bring him back to you, Sisters…*I will go unto him, and the Primale will fall before me*
<<I do not think I can do it. He wanted me not, he did not desire me enough to finish within me, he…left. How will my appearance persuade him to resume his duties? I am more in a position to incite him to remain alone. He has locked us out. I think none will be able to breach the walls>>*a tremulous voice…Ophelia. The female he had taken when I had come upon them. My growl is a low rumble that ripples across the surface of the water, a throb in my fangs signalling their feral lengthening hidden as I submerge in the crystal clear depths. They think to lure the Primale from his fortress? Offering themselves on naked platters to his hungers? He will not fall for it. Or mayhap he will, and he will take them all over and over and over again, starved of what he has denied himself, too gorged on the satisfaction of ridding me of my life to venture from his palace within our hell. My face breaks the surface in a gasp of air, curls plastered to my head, the darkness as deep on the surface as it was at the bottom of the pools. Unchanging even with the light. But their chatter is a constant, the worry in their voices innocent but naively optimistic as they run through their mission plan. It’s laughable, as bad as some of my first attempts at vengeance, but they have something to aid their seduction, that my plans never had…the key. The Directrix medallion is being fawned over by a gaggle of them, their presence in the water causes ripples and waves, alerting me to their locations and helping me move into their conversations, hands reached out to brush a slender shoulder, the wet fall of hair*
<<Serhenity…>> Forgive me, Sisters, I was merely curious…and…I find I do not care to be alone…*A lie. The Directrix’ departure had unleashed a wave of rule breaking. No longer caring, I bathed where I wanted, said what I pleased. Lied.*<<You are ne’er alone, sister mine. We seek ways to pull the Primale from his depression. He will attend to none of us and meet with no one. We have the key, but will only find ourselves dismissed, we fear.>> *different voices all vying to inform me* <<And I do not want to enter again.>> Why must it be you who enters? *She falls silent, none speak for a few dull rushing beats of the waterfall, and then…* <<We all have come upon him before. He knows us by scent now, but with Ophelia, he did not complete the ritual. We believe he will be more open to one he has not fully claimed.>> He has not claimed me. I have no beauty to praise him with, nor sight with which to appreciate his Grace, but he has not had me. And the sacred hooding will conceal my disfigurement from his vision…if Ophelia truly fears being beneath him, I will take her place. I will take his brutality.
*A buzz of warring lyrical voices, protesting my spoken vision of myself with compliments I do not deserve, some defending his ‘brutality’, some affirming it. But not one speaks the words that would refuse me from taking the place of a beloved sister. They all fear his mood now, I sense it, it is a darkness that hangs over the Primale’s Temple, a tension that makes them nervous and afraid, and unwilling to submit themselves to the violence they know him capable of. They had the key, and I needed to get close to him, the blade, concealed in the folds of my robes never left my side. I’d need it when they delivered me to him. And they would. They needed only my consent. I offer it again, lips wetted with a stroke of my tongue* I will go unto him, and bring him back to you, Sisters…*I will go unto him, and the Primale will fall before me*
***
*Now I am the one shifting nervously in the drape of diaphanous robes. I had asked for a moment alone. Partly to compose myself and prepare myself for what I was about to do…but mainly so I could fasten the blade to my skin in a bind of silk without my sisters coming upon the weapon. They could not suspect anything was amiss or I will lose my chance at this. They had fluttered about me for an age, washing me once all were in accord that I would represent them in their mission to release the Primale from his seclusion, preparing me with buffing salts and scented soaps, until I felt shiny and smooth and smelled like the gardens. I did not feel like me as they fussed, brushing out my curls until they dried in a cluster on my head, spirals and waves of silk a haphazard mop…that would eventually be covered with the hood, so I knew not why they bothered. But every inch of me is cleansed and purified and anointed for his use…The Primale. A small part of me hoped I would be used, that he would touch me…but it was stamped upon by a fierce raging sense of betrayal and hatred that stemmed from the dark recesses of a soul unloved. It does not make sense. How intensely I feel anything in regards to the Primale, but the emotions are undeniable in their strength and drive me onwards, to sit through the pampering rituals of purification, and now…to wait. The darkness closes in on me, a blacker night than has ever been in my blindness, the very air encasing me in the chill radiating its glacial fury from the Primale’s temple. It is no wonder none dare step foot within it, the very space around it freezes upon contact and the silken sweeps of my robes can do nothing to fend off the cold*
<<Sister, are you ready?>>*the hand on my elbow guides me forwards as I dip my now hooded head, the material stifling, encasing, terrifying, in a nod, bare feet melting the layer of ice on the marble as I take the steps necessary to ease me through the crack they had opened in the door. Once inside….I will be alone. Only the dagger to my skin to aid me in my mission of revenge. My doubts trouble me, they skip a stumble into my step, a falter in my reserve, a hitch in my breath and have my hand stroking the hilt of the blade through my robes*<<Be not afraid, sister mine. You do the Chosen a great service in your sacrifice. The rewards will be bountiful for you think only of the Race. You think only for your sisters….>>*I cannot see her smile, but I feel it, the warmth on my cheek…soon disappearing as I gather icy air into my lungs and step through into glacial darkness. The door clicks closed, a snick to my hearing and my senses flare wide. Something in me cowers, the submissive inclination drilled into us from birth recognising the danger of a warrior male in a lethal mood. Instinct senses the predator and as I take a step, fighting to keep my hands from feeling the way, I can only cling to the wrath coiling my gut into a knot of growls and wait for the perfect moment to strike*
<<Sister, are you ready?>>*the hand on my elbow guides me forwards as I dip my now hooded head, the material stifling, encasing, terrifying, in a nod, bare feet melting the layer of ice on the marble as I take the steps necessary to ease me through the crack they had opened in the door. Once inside….I will be alone. Only the dagger to my skin to aid me in my mission of revenge. My doubts trouble me, they skip a stumble into my step, a falter in my reserve, a hitch in my breath and have my hand stroking the hilt of the blade through my robes*<<Be not afraid, sister mine. You do the Chosen a great service in your sacrifice. The rewards will be bountiful for you think only of the Race. You think only for your sisters….>>*I cannot see her smile, but I feel it, the warmth on my cheek…soon disappearing as I gather icy air into my lungs and step through into glacial darkness. The door clicks closed, a snick to my hearing and my senses flare wide. Something in me cowers, the submissive inclination drilled into us from birth recognising the danger of a warrior male in a lethal mood. Instinct senses the predator and as I take a step, fighting to keep my hands from feeling the way, I can only cling to the wrath coiling my gut into a knot of growls and wait for the perfect moment to strike*
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