When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
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Drip, drip, drip. Life drained away in slow, steady streams of maroon from the edge of the off-white bathtub. What once pulsed with vitality was now reduced to crimson lines trickling down, staining the cold grey tiles beneath. The blood, thick and vibrant, was a stark contrast against the sterile room—a chilling reminder of lives lost.
"Lalzari, I know it seems overwhelming, but let me show you," the king said, his tone disturbingly calm, extending his hand toward her with an almost fatherly gesture. His twisted invitation sent a wave of dread coursing through Lalzari. I can't do it! I can't bathe in the blood of innocent girls! I won't... will I? Her mind raced, fighting the repulsion and terror creeping up her spine. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, suffocating her thoughts, as her feet remained glued to the ground.
But before she could respond, Mareeb, with his quiet understanding, stepped forward, gently taking her hand in his.
"Let me escort you, Omid," he whispered softly. His voice, calm and deliberate, briefly soothed the storm within her, offering a fleeting moment of clarity. But that moment shattered as Mareeb led her closer, guiding her through the blood-soaked floor, past the lifeless bodies. He let go of her hand as they neared the king, leaving her suspended in a haze of dread.
Lalzari’s fingers lingered in the air where Mareeb’s warmth had been, a final tether to sanity as she stood on the edge of something unspeakable. His touch had been reassuring, like a child seeking comfort, but the horror of what awaited her yanked her back into reality. How can I smell this blood and not have a reaction? The stench of death filled her lungs, and yet, despite the battle raging in her heart, her body betrayed her. She stepped forward, inching closer to the sickening sight of the blood bath.
I can't do this, she screamed inwardly, but her feet continued to move. The horror was closing in, and there seemed to be no escape from the twisted path she was being forced to walk.
The king extended his blood-streaked hand toward Lalzari, each drop a reminder of the horrors he had committed. He’s going to touch me with the same hands he used to murder all those innocent girls? Her mind spiraled, the disjointed thoughts swirling with a sense of suffocating panic. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her palms clammy. Her heart raced, its pounding rhythm deafening in her ears. Her eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape, but her feet felt anchored to the floor, paralysed by fear. I wish I didn’t exist in this moment, she thought desperately, every fiber of her being recoiling from the king's approach.
"What is all of this?! What did you do?!" Lalzari's voice rang out, shaking with both terror and defiance as she snatched her hand away and took a step back. She could feel Mareeb’s tension fill the room like an oppressive weight. He stood still, his face pale with dread. A boy like Mareeb, who had survived by never questioning his masters, was shaken to his core by witnessing Lalzari defy the king so openly.
