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[Ⅳ] bloody hands & tipsy promises

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bloody hands &
tipsy promises
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Morana Fala didn't need a reason.

But tonight, she had one. A particularly good reason to justify the blood that would dry under her nails. The man that laid whimpering in her arms was well known with the women and girls of Ketterdam. So, maybe it would be more accurate to say that Morana Fala had about 48 reasons. At least 48, probably more.

That she didn't need a reason was a rumor. A rumor one particular group of people liked to spread. She kills for nothing. She is a danger to us all. She has fun while doing so. And while some of those allegations were true, she had a reason every time. And the reason came always in the same way. A girl or a woman with often sealed lips, but eyes searching for help. Because most women of Ketterdam knew the reasons she had to kill. And while they would never say it out loud, their silence was filled with an agreement.

It would often happen, that Morana would find little pieces of paper hidden in the walls of the alleyway she would dump her bodies in. She no longer hid her killings. She presented them. A warning and still, so many didn't listen. Normally, there was close to nothing on those papers, but it was always enough. A name. an address. Or a significant coat or perhaps a well-known hat. She always found who was described and made sure they suffered.

As a wordless showing of gratitude, she would often find rolled-up money at the same spot, or perhaps a necklace of good quality. But she never took it, bringing it back to their rightful owner. It wasn't like she didn't need it. But she just couldn't accept payment for what she did. If she did, she would feel like those men and what they did was the reason she could survive. A thought Morana couldn't tolerate. 

A snap of bones, followed by a pathetic squeal was, what brought Morana back to what she was doing. Which was, what a surprise, torturing.

"Oh please," the man she was holding squeaked out, "let me go, I'll give you whatever you desire."

Morana only laughed darkly. Her eyes however held not a glimmer of amusement, so she pushed the man's shoulder even further. "Did you stop when all those women asked you to?" seeing the surprise in his eyes made her let go of his shoulder, just to take out her knife again and plunge it into the skin under his left knee.

Trying to surpass the scream, the man stammered out something that sounded like an apology while still trying to claim that he was innocent. After about another 20 minutes of spilling blood that would take ages to get out of her clothes, Morana finally stabbed him for the last time. A clean-cut right into his heart. His eyes widened and his lips finally stopped moving. The now-dead man fell limp in her arms, and she pushed him off her.

Standing up, Morana scrunched her nose in disgust. Inej had tried to explain to her once why blood reeked so much, but she didn't listen considering she wasn't interested in it. Morana didn't care much about knowledge in general, or at least not in the traditional way. Back at home, she frightened away at least 7 private teachers. She would either not show up to class or would make their lives much harder by constantly messing around. It wasn't just that she had no interest in what they were trying to teach her. She wasn't able to learn it properly. Her mind would wander to places that were a million times more interesting than whatever was being talked about. For example, why the big map that hangs in the front had a stain of ink on it, or why her teacher had such a beautiful wife while being so ugly.

She tried to explain that to her parents more than once, but they didn't listen. Telling her she should just focus more and study better. When she was younger, Morana would get tears in her eyes and she would run upstairs to throw herself onto her bed, releasing the tears in loud sobs. Waiting for a comforting hand to stroke the messy curls she had as a child and tell her it's alright. Though they never came, it didn't stop the hope that was there every time.