The Witch

Now her only focus is on the next victim.

The Witch

Blood overflows from the vessel that is placed in front of her.

She sits alone at her table; a mahogany table designed to seat 20 in a castle built for a dynasty.

The banquet room in her castle can fit two hundred easily but that was years before when she was social.

Now her only focus is on the next victim.

She pays her henchmen well to complete this duty; to bring her souls lost deep in her woods.

She only asks that they be men and brought to her alive.

Women to the witch are to weak, she hates to hear them cry, but to hear a man cry, on the other hand, turns her on in so many ways.

She laughs out loud at the thought of the man below scared like a small, weak animal.

She grits her teeth and they shine like polished weapons ready for battle.

She closes her eyes and reminds herself to focus on the task at hand.

She inhales taking in the fresh blood that fills the vessel.

"It's fresh," she tells her servant.

He nods in agreement as if on que, no one wanting to disappoint the witch.

"Tonight I feed, prepare the prisoner," she announces.

Her prey paces nervously, almost anxiously, in the concubine that has become his home.

Slowly her eyes open upon her servant staring at the floor, awaiting his dismissal.

"Go now!" She bellows, she is heard throughout the castle.

She nods to him and he scrambles off, but only after thanking his Mistress.

"Where do these people come from?" She thought.

She gently shakes her head and the evening plans assemble themselves in front of her.

The Hunt.

With her vessel in hand, she begins to hum her Warrior Song.

Yes, tonight she will feed.

The prey below locked up like an animal hears her warrior hum.

To her it's a ritual, to him it means he's closer to death.

He knows the game.

She will have him beaten bloody and released in the castle's forest.

He will be her prey.

The hunt will be for him.

He knows no man to ever make it out of the witch's forest alive.

Cannibalism has taken over this small city, he's heard the stories for miles around.

He listens for the witch knowing she's seated above him and wondering what else she has in store for him.

He regrets getting caught, letting his guard down while he camped.

He's heard stories of her henchmen, but thought he was far away enough not to fall victim to them.

He thought wrong.

And in the middle of the night, they beat him and dragged him to the castle.

That had to be weeks ago.

Lately, they have been fattening him up for the kill.

Lavishing him with steaks and potatoes, chickens roasted to perfection.

He realized what the witch was doing when the guards chuckled at his excitement when they dropped off his meal.

"Stupid man, deserves to be the victim. Enjoy, just a few more left," laughed the guards a few days ago.

And now with her upstairs, right above his head, he hears her singing about drinking the blood of man.

He knows it will be this man for sure.

Quiet fills her dungeon, he listens and thinks he can almost hear her breathing.

Blood stained lips touch the rim of her glass and the first taste sends sparks down her spine.

Patience.

The thickness of the blood fills her mouth and drenches her fangs.

She tilts her head back and she swallows.

The lovely fluid runs through her body.

Satisfying all her innate cravings.

The hunt will soon begin.

Her excitement begins to show, as she takes her second drink.

Wildly, she looks around the room and grabs the glass and this time devours it's entire contents.

Her pupils dilate, her veins popping at her temples, sweat forms beneath her breasts, the purple velvet gown is almost too much for today's hunt.

Her prey senses her desires and begins to whimper relentlessly.

"Any time now," her servant mumbles to himself, not taking his eyes off his Mistress.

She stands and pushes the table from her so forcefully it turns over.

The vessel shatters to the floor above the concubine.

This sends her prey into shock and he screams out into the dark night.

The castle fills with riotous laughter indicating that the hunt will soon begin.

The henchmen turn the keys to the prisoner's cell.

They begin to beat him until he bleeds, often warning each other not to kill him, reminding each other that the Mistress wants him alive.

She smells the air and rushes to the castle's open window, she can hear his cries below.

She stands at the open window and commands, "Release the prisoner!"

The guards drag him up the castle steps to the lawn then to the woods and set him free.

He can barely walk let alone run and he drags himself to cover to rest before he knows he will have to run.

The witch standing at the window now lets her eyes roam the forest, searching for traces of human kind.

Sniffing the air like a dog would, smiling at the freshness of blood in the air.

Her innate talent of seeing the heat radiate from a human was one she developed early in life.

Her smile is penetrating and simply evil.

Yes, she feeds tonight.

Her long black hair whips around her face.

Blood has dripped down her neck to the lace trim of her purse velvet dress.

With the back of her hand she wipes her mouth.

Blood.

Her fangs dripping lust, she sets out in search of her prey.

The Mistress begins her hunt.

fiction
Read next: Run Necromancer
Natalie Marie Stefani-Rice

I believe in fairy tales with a twist. 

I always thought you would be a success. It’s imbedded in you. Release it. Mark A. Valdez

It's nice when you read something that actually paints a picture in your mind, more than words. Roxie Tate

See all posts by Natalie Marie Stefani-Rice