1-WORM

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"Steady yourself Worm

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"Steady yourself Worm."

The withering table set before both Priestesses dripped with its contents. Congealed mess that dripped and fountained down each leg pooled onto the cracked stone they stood on. The stench so foul, their noses had become accustomed to the lingering scent. Becoming evermore powerful with each twitch of the silver haired one's finger tips. With each twist, pull and press onto the disheveled skin of the meat beneath her hands.

The dark haired one stood back, hands clutched together behind her back. She knew exactly what was going right, what was going wrong and everything in between. Her eyes focused mainly on the silver haired girls abdomen. How her breath pulsated her stomach, hidden beneath a thin dress, moving in and out. She clocked her brow, noticing how the girl's breathing became steadier, and the fingertips amongst the flesh relaxed.

"Excellent, now focus."

Much blood had been lost, the royal blue of the fabric on the silver haired one's dress was becoming a beet colour. A vile crimson that seeped through to her tanned complexion. After all this practice, the blood merely seemed like a drop of rain. Or in this case, a downpour.

The girl breathed in, sucking her stomach in towards her back with clasped eyelids. The ink on her face became darker, almost inset in her skin with each breath. The greyish colour it had been before became pure black as the girl flattened out her palms. Even with the gash sewn up, blood still trickled out from his wound.

"Bring him in." The silver haired one ordered.

The dark haired teacher banged on the door to the dingey room they were performing in. A guard shrugged the beaten criminal into the space. He fell to his knees, the wring let's about his ears drenched in sweat that travelled along his forehead. His name, the mage hadn't asked, she didn't mean to either. He had attempted to murder Princess Cleora's newly born babe. An act of treason, and an act committed against a child the silver one saw as a sibling. It was foul, no reasoning behind his actions other than -

"I felt like it." His alibi was horrid. Wrong, and she would make sure instead of his beheading, that his life would be used for good sacrifice.

The body on the table was ready, if she didn't act now he would be lost forever. A young gardener who'd lost his life young to the criminal's blade trying to prevent his entry into the stronghold.

He left behind a wife and two young children who could not survive his loss without the income.

It was a perfect trade. A life, for a life.

The silver haired one withdrew a dagger from its sheath set beside the gardener. Valyrian steel, the hilt imprinted with dragon scales.

The criminal had whipped his head up now, leant back against the door with his knees held up to his chest. Hands splayed out either side. As she approached him, dagger in hand and blood drenching her skirts it was the picture of some sort of fallen angel. White hair and all.

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