The Mayaware's reign must end.
In a world of demonic beings with a hunger for human flesh and thirst for blood, Hesi Renen knows it well. When her siblings are taken to the harvesting farms, she must do everything she can to get them out, even if it...
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The gossamer felt itchy. Hesi's bare feet were smooth against the stone floor—polished after having scrubbed the dirt and sand off. She adjusted the cuffs of gold around her arms and patted her hair flat. It was hellish to brush away the tangles brought about by months—perhaps years—of not tasting the comb. Good thing she woke up earlier than the rest, finished bathing before the sky lightened to a placid lavender, and got back before the entire fortress came alive.
What did the male attendant tell the women yesterday? Did he spoil what was bound to happen this morning? She has to play it by ear. The door to a larger room crept closer. Her eyes swept across the potted plants of differing exoticism, each one weirder than the last. These must have come from the farmers in Ser-Djare considering they were the plant-inclined people. What was Ser-Tehra, her home, good at? No idea. It had been so long since she stepped foot there, but maybe she would soon.
Because Berheqt stood over it.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold steel of the door's handles and swung it inside. The resulting whine of the hinges brought a wave of heads snapping up and eyes landing on her.
"Who are you?" The woman with bright red hair asked, eyebrows drawing together into a frown. "We haven't seen you before."
Hesi shrugged as the other women began muttering their agreement. She studied their faces, the fortunate souls who were survivors like her. One had an abundance of empty piercings on her face. The jewelry had long fallen away. Another had ink splattered across her skin, flowing in random lines and swirls from the arm peeking through the slits of her gossamer sleeves and disappearing up to the back of her neck. So, it wasn't that type of perfection the Mayaware were after.
But...what were they searching for in these women to pick them from the pile?
"I came from the next batch." She trudged into the center of the room, not shying away from their gazes. They scooted in opposite directions when she dropped cross-legged in their midst. "I arrived this morning."
"Where are you from?" The woman with a lot of piercings asked. Her gossamer dress was void of sleeves. Instead, it wrapped around her body so tightly Hesi thought it aimed to flush air out of the woman. "We exchanged basic information about ourselves before the selection, but we know nothing about you. Where are the others from your batch?"
Hesi's eyes narrowed. "All gone," she answered, the lie flitting off her lips as easy as spitting poison water. "I'm from Agkhre. It's...gone too." She added a tinge of melancholy in her voice and looked down to further sell the story. It was true she spent a while in Agkhre, and that it was gone. It was true she was from a secret batch and came with nothing but the clothes on her back and a knife hidden in the folds of her dress. Half-truth always made the lies easier.
"I'm sorry," the woman with ink on her skin said, reaching out and laying a hand on Hesi's arm. Such a gesture was foreign, almost unwelcome, but Hesi fought the urge to flinch or slap the woman's hand away. It came from a place of sympathy, and if Hesi was to assimilate with them, she had to make them think she was one of them. That would help the lie sell better.
