A Rage of Darkness

*The new world of darkness is disorienting, my shadowed sight an inky black veil on reality, disconnecting me from my surroundings and opening me up to a plethora of discomfort. The ripping agony has long subsided to just a dull throbbing headache behind my eyes, my injuries carefully tended by a gaggle of Chosen who had poured into the Temple to a chatter of concerned distress and the swoosh of rushing robes. The breaks were fixed with healing salves and splints, the fractures bound tight to give them chance. I’d been forced into the healing waters of the baths, the warm liquid scalding my raw skin, stinging open lacerations, my shorn hair washed of blood and carefully brushed into ragged curls and random silk strands that brushed my cheek with every movement. This darkness, keeps my heart in a perpetual state of hyperbeating, surging my veins with awareness. I needed it, to navigate the Sanctuary without bruising my face on its marble floors…To conceal myself back into the sequestered temple, though it no longer was mine. I have no place, no duty, no life of any sort, but this darkness of my own mind, this complete lack of ability to see anything. Not the pure white, not my sisters as they flutter around, not HIM….I will never see the Primale again. Will never look upon his face, never drown in diamond power. And I have no idea why I care so much. This male tore from me my life. He ripped my purpose from me with my sight merely because he could. He commanded the Directrix in her sadistic glee to take from me any semblance of confidence and leave me with nothing. No beauty to commend me. No vision to do the Scribe Virgin’s bidding. I am useless, and hatred boils over the desire, the…love…that had so quickly set up place in an empty heart to darken my rage into a violent wrath. How dare he? He has all the power, and yet it is my gaze upon him that he deems necessary to destroy? No, he cannot change the rules, gift us more freedom from the bondage of our vows, he must only refuse my gaze upon him and sentence me to a prison of shadowed isolation. I may have o’erstepped my bounds, but ruining me so completely was a disgusting flex of power I ne’er would have dreamed him capable of. I had been wrong. My fingers twitch, crinkling into a fist that stabs at the marble floors from my latest trip and crumple, my lower body aching from the collision, soft curves not nearly enough cushion to lessen the impact. I’ll sit awhile, fingers splaying out as fist turns to slap, frustration at my own uncertainty tumbling through my veins in a black rage as dark as my sight, furious violence welling out of nowhere as the Primale's image crosses my mind….the dreams I had ever present, tearing me between vengeance and molten desire, my body a betrayer that my mind cannot entertain. No notion of forgiveness, my vows are long broken with my heart, any thoughts of sacred rite and duties bypassed for a mission of blind hatred. It darkens my path, rides inky flames through my blood and turns any heat to glacial fury. For hours, days, I’d sat, a million different scenarios running my head to blissed out lethal satisfaction, all resulting in one thing. The Primale’s blood colouring white marble in rivers of crimson. Vile hostility is creeping through the peace of my nature, animosity channelled by primal surges of revenge curling claws under my skin and taking me in a grasp as strong as that of desire. A war in my core, one of animal malevolence, fangs and blades and talons, and one of lust, that longed to bleed him to a different result. They used the same weapons, would consume him as equals, but he tore me apart without laying a hand upon me. The venom would torture the ecstasy down until it ruled and he was no more. I need not my sight. My body will find him, my senses will guide me, hopefully they will have learnt enough to avoid marble columns, and my navigated vengeance will finally colour the Sanctuary in something other than white. The Primale will bleed for me. And he will never command agony upon me again.*