Work Text:
sac·ri·fice
/ˈsakrəˌfīs/
noun
an act of slaughtering an animal or person or surrendering a possession as an offering to God or to a divine or supernatural figure.
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bride
/brīd/
noun
a woman on her wedding day or just before and after the event.
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I brushed the missive in my hand, the rough black parchment with copper ink and seal, appeared crimson as I read my fate of death over again. My very own, handwritten death sentence.
My eyes were used to the words as if they were engraved in my mind but my heart felt a fresh pain every time I grace the words again.
It was deprived of pity, an appropriate approach to announce the hangman's noose draped on me. The overcompensating initials looked clunky compared to the rest of the writing. LA, Leónidas the third of Altair. The king's name, as if his sorry attempt at a personally sent letter would send these flurrying feelings of dread away.
Sending the pronouncements to the flames of the hearth, the black paper crumbled up and tried to fly. The bits that got away were soon pulled back into the inferno, never to resurface. Any trace of it is gone, just a lasting memory. I tried to grow tolerable to the rising heat of the fire, imagining the flames of Rahasin consuming the kingdom Altair.
"You will not grow accustomed to the heat just by the feeling of that puny fire." A firm voice spoke from the back of my room, the familiar lack of comfort did not ease my pain.
"I assume you have the dress." I sighed as I turned to face my grandmother. She, unsurprisingly, wore the same clothing she always had. Her mourning clothes were well worn, the color dulling out and wild strands sticking out on the shoulders.
She grunted in response. I forced my limbs of rock, to pick me up and walk me to look at the dress in which I would take my final breaths. I could feel my stomach churn as I beholded my wedding dress. "Oh god... it's hideous." We both sighed as the painful outdated white dress.
It looked more stained yellow than white, looked like it had been made with knotted fur and matted feathers than the silkworms' webs. “I’m already going to die a horrid mess, why cast more filth upon me?” “This was the dress your mother dreamed of marrying in,” She reached out her hand to brush the side of the dress, “this was before she had your bastard self.”
She looked me in the eyes, no accusation or pain beheld her eyes.“Blame her, or better yet yourself. You were the one who raised her. I, bastard and all, had not instructed her to lay with a married man.” Giving a hollow chuckle retort, as I sat myself near the fire again. Waiting for her sharp and vehement response, it was shocking when I heard tears.
Seeing her stern and imposing stature, tremble and crumble like a child was unnerving. Rising from my chair, my legs hesitated to walk to her. The words caught in my throat. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have.” It wasn’t a true apology, but the knife in my heart kept turning as she grabbed tightly around the dress as if it might turn to dust. Hoarse gasping words filled the room, as she threw the dress to the ground. “I wasn’t supposed to outlive either of you!”
She cried out as she turned to face me her eyes filled to the brim with love and fear. My body stiffened and pulled away as she reached out and caressed my face.
I started to panic as she sobbed in anger. “When she was taken, becoming a dead among the living and living among the dead, I raved like a mad woman convinced I die. When I didn’t and she left you as a gift, I couldn’t stand it.”
“I tried to push you away with my might but the love I had for your mother had nurtured itself off of you. And now the dead have come to make you their new bride and a new martyr to us!” She wrapped herself around my body. This was unexpected, I felt my brain changing as she begged for them not to take me away from her. Our relationship, the hate I built off of longing for her love had, for the first time, begun to crumble. Why is she doing this?
My death is imminent with no escape so what is the point of thinking of me? "Stop it," I couldn't even finish my sentences.A burning ball in my throat trapped my words, the tears in my eyes surprised me as they fell.
Why am I crying?
I don't want to die. I was unnerved by my thoughts. There was no point in thinking like that I should just make peace with my fate. She held me tighter in her arms. My eyes couldn't hold back my tears, I couldn't hold my breath as we both came to understand what would happen to our mortal souls. Gently lifting my head the red-shot eyes and tear stain made her look more furious than I had ever seen. She pushed my hair back and softly wiped my tears away.
I couldn't tell what she was thinking but I recognized that face of resolve. It was a face all should fear cause the hell that follow after is only something Rahasin could dream about. She got up and grabbed the dress. She threw it into the fire, she turned away as the flames rose behind her.
“Listen to what I'm about to say, and listen well.” I stood beside her as she grabbed a dagger from her satchel. “This is the distraction, and that,” she pointed to the hearth, “that is your weapon.” I looked at her confused, she put the handle of the dagger in my hand.
“In my 78 years of witnessing women being sacrificed, you are the only one I truly believe will have a chance to escape.”I looked at the dagger it was heavy in my hand. This is my distraction? Looking at the roaring fire eating the dress, growing in heat. I reaffirmed her words in my mind.
That is my weapon.