One Word Prompts

Poisonous-The Cursed Blade

The blade sat on it's pedestal, it's purple lacquered sheath gleaming in the moonlight. She watched it from the doorway. It called to her.

In the voice of her mother, it called to her.

"Take me," it said. "Draw me. Feed me."

She knew she should leave. It's voice was louder, more compelling with proximity, stronger still in its shrine where it was meant to be sealed. Stronger under the full moon's light. Stronger for her weak will.

"Stay," her mother's voice urged her. "Stay, or take me with you."

"Come," she whispered when she was further away. "Come and see me."

"Feed me," she said always. "Let me feed."

She had been told repeatedly, do not enter the shrine. Do not enter the chamber of the sword. Her brother, who was meant to be sealing it, who she was meant to be protecting, could not have emphasized it more. It was a cursed thing. Poison ran the length of the blade. Not poison of the flesh, but of the mind. The kind that corrupts and twists. The kind which breaks a person, tears at their humanity and leaves them physically stronger for it. The kind which grooms a man into a monster.

But her brother had sealed it. Within the seven pointed barrier, the two fold crosses, the purified circle, the sanctified shrine walls, its influence should not have been felt.

"Come to me," her mother's voice said, uncaring for all the should's.

"Come and take me," she said, disregarding the layers of binding around it.

"Come and feed me."

With each evening, with each motherly call and ghostly whisper, she dared a little closer to the blade. Tonight she had reached the center room of the shrine, but only the doorway.

Only the doorway, she had promised herself. Just so she could see it. No more. Only so she could hear her mother's voice more clearly, not so she could do as was asked.

Only the doorway.

This far, she knew, was already too far. Her brother would reprimand her if he knew. He might even banish her from the temple, send her home, to their father. She knew that. Still she stayed.

"Come closer," her mother whispered in her ear. "You have come this far, what is another step?"

And what would be another step? she asked herself. Surely, there was no harm in another step. She was already where she was not supposed to be. What would be another step? Just one?

Just one. She took it, hesitant, but committed.

"See," her mother said. "There is nothing to fear. Step closer. Your punishment will be no more severe for another step. Come."

This was still true. If she were caught here, her brother would hardly care if it was standing by the door or in the center of the room.

She found herself several steps forward, beside the blade's pedestal.

"Take me," the voice said. "Hold me."

She shook her head. Even being this close was dangerous. To touch it? She couldn't.

"Just run a finger down the sheath," her mother's voice said.

She found her hand hovering over the purple lacquer. The air had been cool, but the room seemed frigid now. Condensation beaded on the smooth surface. The moonlight danced over the finish.

She was a swordswoman. She could not deny the admiration she felt for the craftsmanship before her.

"What harm is there in looking closer?"

"What harm is there in inspecting?"

"What harm in touching?"

Her fingers glided over the sheath. Each inch was as smooth as her eyes had promised.

"Hold me."

A simple request. A thousand reasons to deny her. One simple reason to do as told.

She lifted the blade from its stand. Feeling the weight and the balance in her hands.

She placed the handle in her hand. It felt as if it had been sculpted for her and for her alone.

"Draw."

There was no reason to do so and she was certain there was good reason not to. She had been told this blade was dangerous. She knew that even holding it like this was forbidden.

"Draw."

And she had heard of the beauty of this blade, especially under the light of the full moon. Surely that was a reason for.

"Draw," the woman's voice repeated. It was a familiar voice, comforting, but she could no longer place where she had heard it. Nor could she articulate why it was she had not wanted to do as it asked.

The blade slid from its sheath with a silence more beautiful than music. The moonlight shown off the edge with more grace than dancers or acrobats.

She twirled it before her, unprompted. A blade like this there was no need for prompting.

"Feed me," the sword said.

She looked around the room, uncertain how to fulfill this request.

"Feed me," it repeated.

Her gaze found its way to her own flesh, her open palm.

"Feed me."

She lay the blade against her skin. It was so sharp, no pressure was needed for blood to bead upon the edge.

"More," the blade demanded.

She stagger from the room, the blade's poison coursing through her, from her palm to her brain. It devoured her. Tore through her body. She howled in agony into the night.

"Feed me."

She walked through the corridors of the main complex now. Around her she could sense movement. Men arming themselves against her. She could feel them, their antagonism against her like silk against her face, their fear of her like sweet honey in the air.

A man with a lesser sword stepped before her. He held his weapon in trembling hands. A single swipe of the blade she carried and he lay in bloody mess on the floor, his sword in two pieces beside him.

"More," the voice said.

She did not have to search far to fulfill the request. Many more men in robes carrying lesser weapons in shaking hands, drenched in fear and desperation ran at her. All fell. Each adding their blood to the poison blade's meal.

The blade urged it's wielder to seek out more. To feed it more. It's wielder did.

The men of the temple, realizing it was too late to stop what had begun, fled. The blade ordered its wielder to give chase. She did. They chased the fleeing monks to the forest at the edge of the temple. One after another, the blade directed her toward them. Only when its wielder stood over mangled body of the last of these monks, did it release its hold on her.

Only then could she see the destruction she had caused.

Only then she could see her brother at her feet.