Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
I can hear the sea.
“Ooh, is it whooshy or crumbly today?” Maybe I should have gotten some stones to wash them while the waves were here? Nobody liked a dirty stone...
I ran my fingers through my purple hair, arching my back like a cat and almost remembering the touch of someone else’s flesh against mine as I woke.
But it was only the echo of a memory, and as I brushed my fingers down my body and willed away the clothes which shrouded me, I knew I’d lost my grasp on the sensation once again.
I ached for the touch of another in the dark of my dreams all too often, but always awoke to find I couldn’t recall how that truly felt.
Perhaps that was the worst of my curse. But then again, the list of things I hated about this curse was endless, so I wasn’t sure I could pick one which was worse than the others.
I straightened and willed a hazy orange glow to fill the space so that I could see the rest of my jail, my eyes trailing over the endless golden walls which surrounded me as I tried to decide if it was better in the dark where I could try to imagine some other surroundings.
With a sigh full of self-pity, I stepped into the pool of tears, the glimmering water washing over my toes and growing deeper as I waded out into it.
My nipples peaked and goosebumps rushed along my skin as the water bit at me, but I embraced the sensation, just pleased to feel that much against my needy flesh.
I sometimes wondered if I might fade away one day, when my mind cracked so completely that I was nothing but a vessel as empty as the one I was trapped within.
It’s not empty; you’re in it.
I accepted that fact with a heavy heart, but it didn’t feel like the truth. It was empty here. So very, very empty. And I didn’t count because I wasn’t anyone or anything anymore.
I turned my focus back to the pool of tears as I began to wash in the evidence of my own sorrow, cleaning my flesh with the years of pain I’d suffered through during my incarceration in this hell.
It was certainly handy for washing in though.
I guessed I could have created my own water if my tears didn’t linger here, but I never saw the point.
The pool always glistened and sparkled like it was imbued with my magic, never darkening or seeming to hold even the slightest imperfection.
And as much as my body shivered when I immersed myself in it, I always emerged feeling a little sharper, a little more like myself.
As if the memories of all the things that had caused me to cry these tears sank back into my soul while I bathed in them and helped me grasp hold of the girl I’d once been.
Just a little. A tiny fragment of a person I could almost remember.
But that was so much more than I usually had so I welcomed it with all my heart.
It would have been better if it wasn’t so salty though.
I summoned some stones into existence and started scrubbing them, giving myself over to the task and polishing them with such vigour that my fingernails started to split and blood coloured the water around me.
It took me a few hours to realise they hadn’t even been dirty to begin with and I sighed as I dropped them, watching them sink into the water before fading out of existence as I willed them away again.
I clicked my fingers and the sun appeared above me.
It was darkest black with wriggling tentacles which reached out to skim my shoulders.
I groaned as I tipped my head back to it, closing my eyes and bathing in the feeling of the tentacles against my skin.
Oh, how I missed the touch of another. This was the closest I could ever really get, but using my magic was only a small step away from using my own hands, so it still wasn’t enough.
Wrong. So, so wrong, I can’t even bear to look at the mess of it.
I frowned at the black sun and realised I was right. The tentacles should have been purple like my hair. Silly. Rookie mistake. I blinked at it and the tentacles turned purple.
“Much better,” I said aloud and my voice bounced back to me, but it sounded mocking instead of admiring.
If we can’t kill your body, then can’t I die at least? Chop me up, bake me in a pie, set me on fire and dance on the pieces. Just let me not exist anymore!
“Would you like a pie then?” I asked, pouncing on the single thing in that request that I might actually be able to give myself.
I clapped my hands and a huge seashell appeared full of pinecones.
I frowned. Even I knew that was wrong. I was losing my grip on reality more and more each day and I knew it only had to be a matter of time before I was broken beyond repair.
And some days I couldn’t decide whether I should be terrified of that or embracing the idea, hoping for it to come sooner rather than later just so that I could be free of this eternal nothingness.
I don’t want a pie or any terrible estimation of one. I want to die. Cut my throat. Set me on fire. Stab, stab, stab me. Feed me to a horse-
“Now who’s being ridiculous? You know horses only eat melons,” I said, rolling my eyes.
That’s dogs.
“Oh yeah. Dogs eat melons and yeast.”
At least you remember something real for once.
I smiled at the almost praise and clasped my hands together as I closed my eyes. If I really concentrated then it almost felt like I was holding someone else’s hand instead of my own. Kind of. If I was remembering it right. Which I probably wasn’t.
I sighed heavily again and opened my arms wide before allowing myself to fall backwards into the pool of tears with a splash that sent water flying up to cover every golden surface around me.
I floated there for a few minutes, or hours, or days – never could be certain anymore – then let my purple hair grow and grow around me as it absorbed all of the water until I lay on a mound of saturated hair.
I took a deep breath. Then another. Either this prison of mine wasn’t fully sealed, or I didn’t need to breathe anymore.
I must have used up the oxygen ten thousand years ago.
Or twenty minutes ago. I was probably just breathing nothing.
Maybe there was nothing in here to breathe except sunlight.
I didn’t seem to be able to die in any way that I should have, so I guessed I couldn’t suffocate either.
Was it night outside? Or day? Sometimes I thought I could see light shimmering through the wall of the eternal enclosure, and convinced myself it was real, but then I realised that I couldn’t.
The only light in here was the light I created.
Orbs of every colour hanging all around the roof which locked me in.
Sometimes I turned them off and sat in the dark for a few years.
There were monsters in the dark. Sure, I’d created them myself and even when they ate me, I didn’t actually die, but they were still terrifying, and it was still all kinds of agony to feel them ripping me apart as they devoured me.
Sometimes I wondered why I did that. Why did I create things with the sole purpose of terrifying myself?
Because fear is the only thing that reminds us we’re still alive after all this time.
“Oh yes. You always did have a better memory than me,” I admitted, shivering a little as I lay there on all of my soaking hair, my naked skin peppered with more goosebumps than I could ever count.
I knew because I’d tried it once or twice.
I always lost count around my arse or my ears or even my toes.
And you always were a batshit crazy psychotic bitch. It was just that no one noticed until you killed the emperor.
That was perfectly plausible. Why couldn’t I remember my sister’s eyes, but the memory of plunging that knife into his back was just as fresh as if it were yesterday?
Maybe it was yesterday. I’d lost count again anyway, so it was a definite possibility.
But whatever way, even though I’d forgotten most things or muddled them up with my imaginings, I’d never forgotten that.
The perfect timbre of his scream when my blade cut into him.
The amount of strength I’d had to use to force the blade between his ribs and how good it had felt to do it.
The warm splatter of his dark red blood painting my skin, coating my face, dripping in my hair and colouring my lips.
I’d licked those lips and tasted his death on them, and it had been so fucking sweet.
I remembered how his screams got louder then softer as I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.
Until they were so soft that they were whimpers and he was begging.
Begging me to stop. But he didn’t stop when he killed my sister.
Killed her because she wouldn’t go to his bed willingly.
So I went to his bed instead. With a knife and a promise.
And I stabbed him while he slept. Before he even knew I was there.
I’d been willing to go further if I had to, I would have even let him desecrate my body if that was what it took.
He could have fucked me like a whore and the moment he was done, so very pleased with himself for his conquest, I would have cut his throat and watched him bleed out.
But I hadn’t had to do any such thing. It had been so beautifully easy.
I’d just prayed to Herdat, the goddess of death and destruction to aid me in my quest and I had felt the touch of her power within me as she helped me tread the path of evil, helped lead me into his chambers and had given me all I needed to set me on the path of blood and carnage.