Would you trust these guys?
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She – by Morgan
I sat on my throne, mindlessly rearranging the layers of my heavy silk gown. The inky black of the material blended well with the dark granite seat. The dress, throne, and the overwhelming amount of shadows in the room were designed to keep my figure obscured as I sat in the dark room. This seemed to cause the people who would come before me to be increasingly nervous as time went on and they could not clearly see whom they were speaking to. Nervous is good because it is brought about by fear, and fear feeds the shadows keeping my identity secure.
My ears pricked as a barely audible click then a cautious footstep sounded softly in the corner of the room, right near where the secret door lay. Then, a steady plink, plink, plink began, rising in harmony with the shuffle of stealthy footsteps. I searched the corner, looking for any sign of movement, but the room was too dimly lit and the blasted moon had not yet risen.
“Show yourself,” I commanded. A grunt came from the corner as my voice echoed off the bare walls of the chamber. A man came out of the deep shadows into a better lit spot in the room. When I saw who it was, my gut wrenched with an odd mix of dread and elation. He was back.
I beckoned him forward with a slight wave of my hand. He slowly walked forward, that odd snapping sound still blending with the now loud clap of his boots against the polished marble floor.
“Is it done?” I asked, this time more quietly and with less confidence than my statement before. I slowly rose from my chair as he stepped before my throne.
Dripping with water, the man began to drop to his knees in front of me. As gravity pulled him toward the floor, it seemed as though I was seeing him in slow motion. The steel weapons on his belt clanged together, the soaking wet clothes ballooned and sprayed water in a circle around him. As the smack of his knees sounded upon the cold marble, time seemed to go back to its normal pace. The dark, stringy hair swooped down to cover his eyes as he bowed his head and whispered slowly, “I have done all that you have asked.”
His pitch black eyes stared up at me through the curtain of hair, watching, calculating. A drop of water beaded up on the end of a lock and slowly succumbed to gravity. More drops came from his chin, but these were streaked with red from a deep cut on his cheek. A cut I had caused. A cut I had inflicted. Pain that my problems and desires had provoked. More places on the man’s body bore the deep red stains, though not all of it was his own. Yet it all soiled my soul.
I grabbed the ornate knife handle hanging on my belt and swiftly pulled the shining blade from its sheath. I stared at the sharp edge and wondered at the power that it held, holding it up against the faint light.
This would be my last. One last human, and I would finally be free from the wretched curse that held me captive. Though, those chains would only be replaced with irons of guilt. They already have. And yet, what did I have to lose?
Time once again slowed as I made my decision and watched the cold, heartless piece of metal come down for one last stroke.
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