Pretty Spelled by K.A Knight
Lilith
How long was I gone this time?
It’s like waking from a long sleep. I open my eyes, only to find myself curled up in the darkness. Did I disappear? Was I gone? Or was I simply asleep? I don’t know, but it scares me that I’ve missed time again. How long? A month? A year? Twenty?
Sitting up, I wrap my arms around my torso as I look around. I want to call out, but if I alert her to the fact I am awake, she will begin the torture all over again. Looking down, I notice my toes are starting to have the invisible tinge to them as well. What happens when it covers my entire body? Will I be lost forever? The questions swirl in my head, and without meaning to, I reach for Atlas like I have done so many times over the years. I feel him in the distance. Far, far away across the world.
He’s angry and sad, which is usual for my warrior god.
It must alert her that I have awoken though, and the screen before me flickers on as her laughter sounds around me. “Good, I thought you had given up. It’s so much more fun when you fight…and you’re just in time for the show.”
I shiver at that, knowing whatever I’m going to see will be bad. I was right. We are in the temple with our legs draped over one arm of the golden throne, which is running red with blood. Our darkness fills the stone temple, giving it an eerie atmosphere. Our guards are spread out on either side of us, and one of her claw-tipped hands runs across one’s stomach like she’s petting a dog. Its eyes are empty, and it doesn’t seem to even notice us touching him, yet his cock is hard, and I beg mentally that this isn’t another sex scene I am about to witness.
Instead, our head turns, and I spot my pale legs. They are bare except for some black beads which cross over my body. Brilliant, I’m betting my breasts are out again as well with those bars she has put through them on display, and that necklace she always wears made from human teeth dangling around my neck like a warning. I spot blood flaking from our arm and hand and know she has already had some fun. So I have been out at least an hour or more.
There is a man kneeling at the base of the steps to the throne. From the terror in his eyes and the rapid beating of his heart, I’m betting he is human. She laughs, the sound throaty and deep as she taps her nails together. He squirms, his eyes darting around searching for an escape no doubt. He won’t get one. If he tries to run, it will only spur her on. She loves to hunt.
His face pales further when he looks at something to the right. She allows me to see it, and I close my eyes in horror. There is a pile of bodies. Their hearts are ripped out, their eyes are open, and their mouths are frozen in silent screams. Blood drips from them and covers their corpses. They suffered, and they were killed by my hands. She lets me see the obvious pain and defilement before looking back at the man, and I know what is to come. I brace for it, trying to block the darkness from snaking through my heart, my own anger and hatred morphing me. My reactions will do nothing but enrage and encourage her.
Yet when she stands and slowly prowls down the steps, I can’t help but get to my knees. “Please don’t,” I whisper. She hears me, of course, her head cocking as she crouches before the man. She cups his chin before stroking his cheek. He’s clammy, and his lips tremble as tears fall from those young eyes. He’s so young, he’s barely even lived his life, and yet she will take it. He will die alone and in pain.
“She pleads for you, begs for you to live,” she tells him. He seems confused, so she pinches his chin, digging her nails into the skin until he cries out, and then she sits back with a laugh, lifting her hand to watch the blood run down across her nails and fingers. “But you bleed so prettily, doesn’t he, little human? Just think how it will look decorating my temple and body.”
“Don’t,” I snarl, getting to my feet as her hand slices across his chest. He falls back with a cry as long, narrow claw marks open on his skin as he tries to crawl backward, begging in a language I don’t understand, but the tone is always the same. He looks at us like I am a monster, the devil himself, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to remind myself it’s not me.
It’s her.
Not me.
“You want him to live? Offer me something,” she demands, straightening and stepping around him teasingly as he gets to his feet and finally tries to run. Laughing, she appears before him each time, blocking his exit as he screams and cries, trying to flee.
“Offer you something?” I query frantically. She has never asked that of me before.
“Yes…you want his life? You have to earn it.” She cackles.
“How?” I question, willing to do it to save this stranger, to not have another death on my conscience.
“Take control and fuck one of my guards, any of them. Take them into your body and fuck them, little human. Feel the pleasure of the pain they have to offer.”
I recoil, and she laughs. “No? I guess he will die—”
“No! Anything else, please!” I beg, clawing at the screen now.
“Anything?” she repeats, looking at the man with a cocked head as he tries to run past us. She reaches out and swats him back to the stone ground effortlessly without remorse.
“What do you want?” I ask, breathing heavily. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“A memory. A mere memory,” she whispers. “Give me a memory that is dear to you, any of them, and I will not torture this man. Your choice, human, you can save him.”
Licking my lips, I debate my options. Can I watch another be killed? No, no I can’t.
“Fine, you want a memory?” I snarl. I don’t know what she wants it for, but she can have it. It’s the only thing I have left to give, the only thing she can’t have of mine, but now I’m giving one away without a second thought. To save him. If I don’t, his death is on my hands, and I could have stopped it. I try not to give her one of my few favourites, but instead, something that is sentimental. I can live without it if I have to. It hurts to do it, but I have to, and I know they will understand. I make sure there is nothing in it that can betray my family or give away any of their weaknesses, merely my own as I close my eyes and bring it to the front of my mind.
The table between us is loaded with empty plates and half-finished goblets of wine. Theseare my favourite nights. The nights after they return from battle, worn and tired, yet relieved to be home. They enjoy it all so much more then, happy for every second of life. They have slept and bathed and dressed up. They make a fuss of me because they know I have missed them. Their parents are gone again, so it is only us and the servants in the castle. The fire is roaring to the right, heating the stone floor as I sit up in my chair, the one his mother usually occupies which they dared me to sit in. I cross my legs under me, even as Attie gives me a reprimanding look for it. He is always telling me it’s not ladylike—screw being ladylike. When you grow up with six brothers and…well, Attie, you don’t give a shit about manners or being a lady. Even if I have to pretend when anyone else is present, they still name me the wild child.
A wildling.
Which is why Attie calls me Wildflower. He thinks me wild as well, but also beautiful, like the wildflowers that grow behind my mother’s house. Strong, uncaring of judgement, and weathering any storm this world can throw at them. I look to him now where he sits on my right in his father’s chair. His expression is stern and his eyes are untouched by the wine, but there is a small smile curling up his lips as he listens to Kyro regale them with a story of him falling over in the middle of battle. Slate adds to it as Khalid sits silently at the end of the table. Ciar laughs so hard, he almost tumbles from his seat, his goblet never empty. Mishal grins and eats the leftover chicken as Calder increases the rain outside to cover our merriment.
“You didn’t eat much,” Attie murmurs, leaning over. I turn my head and blink at his nearness. We are so close, our lips are almost touching. My gaze flickers down to his without meaning to, and he pulls back slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Wildflower, concentrate.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” I tell him quietly.
“I know you did not eat while we were gone,” he snarls, knowing we struggle to get food enough for the whole family so I usually give my portion to my mother, who needs it more. “Eat.”
I huff and take a bite, and he continues to glare at me. “More.”
“I. Am. Not. Hungry,” I snap, and everyone quiets and stares at us glaring at each other.
“Atlas, give her a—” Calder starts, always quick to come to my defence.
“She needs to eat,” he barks.
“And ‘she’ is not a child. I know how much I can and need to eat,” I yell.
“If you aren’t a child, stop acting like one!” he roars in my face. I hear the servants scurry away, their fear of him making them run. He can be angry, he can be mean, but he’s all bark and no bite, especially where I am concerned. I know this comes from a place of worry, worry about when he’s gone. He feels guilty for all they have when we have nothing, but I do not. I soften, seeing the panic in his eyes that something is wrong, that he has hurt me as we stare at each other silently.
So I do the only thing I can think of. Something so unladylike, the women of the village would faint or scream over. If any of the humans saw me, they would throw me on a stake. His parents would flay me alive. I grab a handful of potatoes and smear it across his face.
He freezes, his mouth opening, his eyes widening, and I can’t help but giggle. The rest of the silent table breaks into raucous laughter, and Atlas reaches out and scrapes it from his face before sucking a finger clean, his eyes on me. My laughter stops, my breath hitching at the threat and desire in his eyes. “Run,” he warns. I try to get up, but I’m too slow. His hand comes out and smears gravy across my face, and then food is flying from all angles. I use him as a shield as I toss food at my brothers from my own plate. Laughing uncontrollably, their smiles wide and uncaring, I watch that darkness in their eyes fade with each moment that passes. The aftereffects from battle are leaving them for a moment, and it’s the least I can do for them.
For him.
I duck under his arm as it blocks a flying chicken from hitting me, and I peek up at him. Giggles leave my lips, and gravy and food are splattered across my face and dress. He looks down at me, his smile wide and teeth flashing, and for a moment, I see his usually stern face soften. The way it usually does when he thinks no one is around. His other hand strokes across my cheek before he runs his fingers across my smiling lips.
“Such a crazy woman,” he murmurs as the others carry on the food fight, oblivious to the moment stretching between Atlas and me with unsaid words, desire, and love. “How can you be so perfect?”
The memory starts to fade, and I hold onto it, but then it’s gone, and I’m left with tears in my eyes and pain fracturing my heart. I feel a longing so strong, it takes my breath. Not just for my love, for my Attie, but for my family. To be seated around a table like that again, just enjoying each other’s company. Just having fun and being a family. No death, no necromancer, no darkness…just happiness. But now they have their mates, their own family, so maybe they don’t need me to lighten that darkness for them any longer.
“Such human pain,” she murmurs as I lift my head. “You should have simply taken what you wanted. Look where being innocent, being good, got you.”
“It got me a good life,” I snap defiantly.
“It left you cold and alone at night, it led you to an excruciating death.” She laughs. “Being good is overrated, little human. Being bad, on the other hand, gets you everything you want.” She steps towards the man then, and I panic.
“No! You gave me your word!” I yell.
“So weak,” she sneers as she laughs. “So fucking weak. I only promised not to torture him. I’m still going to kill him. You gave up so easily.”
“No!” I scream, but she tosses me deeper into the darkness until I can only watch now. I’m voiceless, screaming into the void.
So naïve, I thought I was so smart. I should have realised she only said she wouldn’t torture…not keep him alive. I have to bear witness to her snapping his neck. His eyes go cold and empty before she rips out his heart. She throws the body onto the pile before turning with the still beating, bloody heart in her hand and strolls to the countless rows of empty vessels. Picking one at random, a small child, a young girl, she punches the heart into her chest. The eyes fly open with a disturbing scream as the magic pulses through her body and the wound starts to heal around our hand as she pulls back. When it closes, the scream cuts off, the mouth slams shut, and its eyes go empty.
It’s ready to be controlled.
Another minion.
“Now for some real fun, little human. Watch and learn,” she taunts as she turns to her guards. “Strip,” she demands.
All four step forward, shedding their bottoms until they are naked before us. Then she wanders before them, tracing her hand down their bodies to their stiffening cocks, trailing blood across them. “Which shall I have…or all?”
“Don’t,” I plead helplessly, but I am unwilling to give anything else to this monster. She will just do it anyway to spite me and to hurt me.
She selects one at random, and I bury my head in my legs, ignoring the moans and the slapping of skin. The pleasure she throws into the void to upset me. The sound of my body being used and defiled. The man’s grunts of pleasure, of her screams of ecstasy. It’s not me, it’s not me, it’s not me, I chant as she fucks her way through her guards, but then something calls to me, something familiar.
Something so heartbreakingly angry that I lift my head.
Atlas!
