Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
A motto my mother lives by, it is one I was forced to adopt at an early age. The taste of bitter resentment staining each morning and every night until there’s nothing but contempt.
Hatred.
Two things that fester and grow until the pieces you thought you knew turn into something unrecognizable. An infection that consumes you until there’s nothing but the ugliest, darkest slivers left inside.
My knife glides through dark skin, meticulously removing each layer of the man’s face. His tears disappear into the cavities of his cheekbones, his anguished cries lost to the trees standing guard around us.
After a while, the screaming stops.
But it doesn’t make a difference.
The mutilated body falls limp next to the others, the mass of bones and muscle tissue looking nothing like the group of men I found earlier tonight.
Five against one, the little girl didn’t stand a chance.
And neither did they.
The damp sponge of moss bleeds into my skin like the tears that were lost. Kneeling beside the wide-eyed child, I press two bloodstained fingers against her eyelids.
And slowly lower them closed.
“You’re safe now.”
I whisper the promise as I gently push her body into the nearby stream. Her stained dress billows out around her, carrying the lost princess to a kingdom far greater than this one.
Ronan waits patiently by the tree line, his head bowed as my sullen mood spills into the river and spreads across the forbidden forest. Trees tremble and creatures cower as they wait for the screaming to stop, for the diseased soul to finally return to her own territory.
An itchy layer coats my skin when I finally drag myself away from the riverside. Blood in its final form is dry and brittle, a callused reminder of what it once was.
I carry it with me, the final piece of the men who took something that wasn’t theirs to take. I let it sit along my cheekbones, across my chest and down my torso.
I let it feed the dragon etched in my skin so we don’t forget.
The past. The present.
The dismal future waiting for us.
There’s a tremble in my step when I start the long run home. A shake to my hands as I slip the knife back inside my sports bra.
Right foot. Left foot.
Ronan bounds through the trees, his massive form clearing the path so I don’t have to do anything but stumble forward, forcing my feet in the direction I want them to go.
The Drache Manor soars high into the sky, the sharp peeks and equally tapered arches serving as a knife to anyone who dares to pass. Designed to withstand the strongest army, each window is reinforced with bulletproof glass and guard towers are stationed at every entrance.
It's amusing to me that it's designed to keep thugs and thieves from breaking in.
No one ever stopped to ask whether there was a little girl who wanted to getout.
My phone rings as I’m approaching the front steps. Ronan hangs back, his eyes glued to the rodents disappearing through the trees. He looks back at me with pleading eyes, the desire to stay outside ringing loud and clear.
“Go on. Mama will catch up with you later.”
I watch him take off, galloping into the trees with a sense of freedom I never had.
Tasting the bitterness on my tongue, I force the thought aside and answer the call.
