Tw // blood gore s/h I pursed my lips as I dug the knife into my skin, drawing blood into a bowl. I whimpered and screamed as I forced myself to go further, as far as possible. With a final wail of pain, I let the blade go and wrapped my arm in a rag.
Twirling my finger in my own blood, I whispered a few words. My eyes became white, pale, and I felt rays of light emit from them. To be blinded by your own sight is frightening. But I knew what would come. So I disappeared, not to be seen for years.
Would you like to hear a tale?
Of course you do. But, my story is not the one that needs to be told. Perhaps one day you’ll learn about the wicked witch, the one who wished only to save two children from the burdens of royalty and the shackles of society. Maybe you’ll learn about the mage, who in a desperate attempt to survive planted one of three seeds, that which only bloom a singular day, invisible to those who are unaware of its existence. Or maybe, you’ll see the story that's unfolding all around us, in an empire that's shattered in half and dangling on a thread.
This tale has not yet started. But it’s beginning. It surrounds us, it watches us, it kills us. Our stories our our beginnings and our ends. There can be no tale without death, and if anyone insists otherwise, a liar they are.
My dear Gloriana, I know I have wronged you. But I can make this right. Your children will not be alone. Til we meet again, in Heaven.