S3HKM3T‌

S3HKM3T

A haze of red. An echo of screams. A lust for blood. The memories are hazy. The pain in her head is a thumping hammer at the base of her brain.

"What have I done?" she asks herself out loud. Her head was swimming with memories and flashes of red. Always red..what did it mean?

She tries to pull herself up but the pounding in her head is too much so she resigns herself to lay there for a while. The metallic taste in her mouth mixed with acidity..the smell of beer and blood and incense…

She knows something happened.. she slowly tries to open her eyes...they feel crusted over and are burning..hard to focus with the light streaming through the window..is it noon? Had she been out that long?

The room is filled with light reflected in gold chalices, beautiful linens..with broken clay jars in shards around the room. The beautiful sand colored rugs stained with splotches of red..

She finally manages to pull herself upright and sits on the edge of the bed, adjusting her eyes to the light. All her muscles hurt. Her teeth hurt. She looks down at her hands.. there's blood on them..under her nails..as if she had been painting with blood. "Something has definitely happened" growling under her breath.

She tentatively stands up and feels the blood rush from her head. She swoons slightly then catches herself. Her stomach is turning..her bowels are bubbling. Unsteadily walking towards the mirror, she almost falls and catches herself by grabbing a chair. She looks down at her dress...fine linen with rubies on the borders..stained with red like the rugs. She can feel her anger rising.."What happened to me?" she whispers to herself...thinks on it a moment and wonders what she did.

Blood is not a stranger to her. Blood is her sister. Her companion. Her father set her on the path to blood long ago. He saw in her the usefulness of blood. When she first started on her path, her father was the guiding force of her energy.

She was always a warrior..from the day she took her first step. Her hazel eyes are always watching..always observing. Her reddish hair pulled back..her senses sharp. Her father knew early that he needed to control her.. Her focus...her dedication. Her drive...her will. Her father knew she would never be still and be passive. In fact, he counted on it.

He had not yet had his son..so his heir was solely her. Usually, this would make a father nervous and fearful of the future. A daughter? How could a daughter protect my realm? But she was different. There was no fear in her at all. At all. There was only blood.

She made her way to the tub where the water was hot and steaming, clean and sparkling...she usually uses water sparingly.. desert life taught her that...but she was so completely covered in blood she knew she needed to submerge herself.

She pulls the crusted clothing off of her slowly, wincing and shuddering as her muscles seize. She felt dehydrated and craved water to drink. Just water.

As she lowers herself into the warm bath and blobs of blood begin to rise to the surface as they detach from her skin. Staring at the steam rising from the bath, she begins to remember.

Her father told her of "guests" they were having and that she was to be ready for battle should the need arise. He told her that these guests seem to be friends but they are not. On his signal, she was to attack and leave no prisoners. She was confused..she understands the attack..but why friends? "Who are they, father?" she asked as she walked closer to her father to look him in the eye. "They are our enemies. They have corrupted justice and need to pay for their indiscretions. You are to show them no mercy. Use the full range of your power and defeat them". He pulled her closer to him by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes "I command you to show no mercy. Their blood is yours."

She felt a twinge of excitement and squashed it with a sense of duty. "I shall not let any injustice fall in my father's house." He told her to wait for his signal to enter the room.

As she waited outside the large doors, a familiar feeling came over her. The anticipation of war and the release of battle. It was an adrenaline rush for her. To be able to do justice for her father and protect the realm filled her with a sense of purpose and power. It was not hard to kill if it was for justice. So many wicked people in the world.. justice will be served to them all.

She heard her father call her name and she paused in front of the door. She tried to sense what was on the other side..to be ready to handle whatever was there. For a fleeting moment, she was anxious...but the excitement of battle and the smell of blood washed it away..

She pushes open the door and slowly walks into the room. Her steps are light, swift and barely anticipated by their "guests". She stands very still and observes the room. "There are more here than I thought..why did I not sense it?" The guests are all men. They all have weapons. She does not. She doesn't need weapons. She is the weapon.

She decides to keep her eyes on her father and wait for the signal. She doesn't look at anyone else. She does not break her gaze from her father. As he speaks, leading his guests into an ambush unbeknownst to them, she waits..all her muscles tensed and ready to spring.

Finally, her father looks at her, smiles, and says "my power is ab,solute" and points to guests..it was then that everything went red..

As she wipes away the clotted blood from her body, flashes of memory...a low growl from inside of her, rising to her throat. The sound of flesh ripping, screams, the metallic taste of blood. Flesh in her teeth, warm blood coursing down her throat, bones cracking, her father's face...was that fear on his face? He yelled something at her but she couldn't hear it over the screams. All she felt and knew is that she wanted more blood. There were so many wicked souls to bring to justice...more than enough blood…

She remembers looking around the room and seeing her father stare at her in horror…"daughter... enough!" she saw his mouth move to say it but didn't hear him say it. All she remembers is blood. She suddenly feels the night air on her skin and hair and more screams and flesh ripping. Fire and smoke, but nothing stopped her from the blood.

She had no idea how long she was out there. It could have been hours or days. Once she tasted blood there was no time or space. Just blood.

She rises from the bath, her skin smooth and clean, and puts on a linen sheath. She looks at herself and doesn't recognize her own eyes anymore. She closed her eyes and tried hard to remember the last thing she saw. Her father... yelling her name.. begging her to stop. "It's for the realm" she screamed at him and he turned to her, with a glint in his eye, and said, "yes daughter..let us drink to the realm...here is all the blood you could ever want!" He motions over to the huge clay pots overflowing with red blood. She sees them and goes into a frenzy, picking up the pots and drinking every last drop. "This blood tastes different father" He walks over to her gorging herself and says " it is the blood of the wicked..have your fill of them"

She remembers draining every last pot, her head drowning in sensory overload... except this blood didn't make her feel like she usually did. It made her stumble and fall and she couldn't gain her footing. Her head felt fuzzy.

When she woke up, she remembered her father standing over her with a sheepish grin on his face. "Are you sick daughter?" with a benevolent lilt to his voice. "I feel sick". He smiled and told her to rest. It didn't make sense.

After drinking some water and gaining her senses she hears her father's voice coming down the hall. He has to explain what happened with his guests.

He bursts through the door yelling "There she is! She finally has awakened!". The sound of his booming voice ricocheted through her brain like broken glass in an explosion. She grabs her head as her father grabs her and hugs her, and yells "get our girl some breakfast!" in her ear.

"What happened last night?" she grunted as servants scurry around placing food in front of her and quickly begin picking up shards of broken clay.

"My dear..you were triumphant" but he said it strangely. Not like he was happy but...more like he was remembering an old battle. "You did what you were taught to do, and did not disappoint". He looked into her eyes but looked almost sad. "What was in the pots, father...what did I drink...that didn't feel like blood.."

Her father looked at the floor as a sadness befell him. "My child...I made you into what I felt I needed from you. A warrior. And you did not let me down. But I fear I pushed you too far. Asked too much of you. There was a time when you needed to stop...I asked you to stop...I begged you to stop..but you would not. And I knew then it was my fault."

She looked at her father confused...did he tell her to stop? Did she even hear him?

She moves closer to her father and asks in a low, sad voice: "Where did I go, father..when I left here?"

"You went out into the world and drained it of blood...so much so that there may have been nothing left unless…". His voice trailed off…

He turns to her and takes her face in his hands. "I gave you as much blood as you needed to satisfy yourself. You have vanquished our enemies and made me proud. You served your purpose, daughter..now rest."

She felt the anger rise in her again..what about justice?? The wicked? That's what she was trained for. Her father sensed this in her and said: " your qualities are yours alone daughter..but even a coin has 2 sides..your strength does not diminish, just the way you show it. You've waged war for so long..find the delicate side of love..beauty. Find peace in your agility and perception. Find a gentler form".

A gentler form? What even is that? "I'm a warrior..what else can I be?" looking in her father's reflection behind her in the mirror. Her body was conditioned for war and heat and fire and blood. What kind of gentler form can she take?

"Find the joy in stillness...nap in the sun, curl up with your mate. If I need you to fight, I will summon you..until then…" He spins her around, kisses her forehead, pops a grape in her mouth, and says "you cannot bleed the world of beauty, my love...leave some blood to fuel the future...the wicked will come to justice no matter what."

He strides out of the room, pleased with himself. She looks at her face in the mirror. Already she is changing..her sharp eyes become rounded and wide, clear green...her muscles relax, her demeanor quiet, graceful...her snarl becomes a smile and hands become soft instead of calloused, her nails smooth instead of sharp and ripping.

"I guess there is time enough to fight later" and she finds a soft linen sheet, wraps herself up in it, lays down and falls into the arms of sleep.

Her father later tiptoes into her room to watch her sleep...his faithful servant picking up the crusted blood filled clothes from the floor. "Will she be alright, master?" Her father watches his daughter sleep, lovingly. "Yes...you did well, my servant..she did not know it was the beer you brewed...you made it exactly to my specifications. She will be fine…". "I'm sure her need for blood has been fulfilled, master"

He looked out at the starry night sky and sighed: "Yes I believe it has...the world will never know how close to the end they came."