Kingdom Come

Blinded

Nikolas passed through the mirror into his hidden room and threw himself down in a chair. He still had a bottle of the Azrael girl's blood, and he craved the taste on his tongue again. He picked up the bottle and swirled the thick liquid, watching it rise and fall against the inside of the glass. He removed the cork and lifted the mouth of the bottle to his own. As the cold glass brushed his bottom lip, he begin to shake, and his breath became heavy and labored; the intoxicating smell filled his nostrils causing his eyes to grow dark. The red substance flowed slowly through the neck of the bottle, and he moved his tongue forward to touch the first drop as it emerged. Again, the taste seemed to touch his entire being, and the knowledge that the source of this exquisite delicacy was just upstairs was enough to nearly drive him mad. 

He threw the bottle, smashing it against the wall. "NO!" He growled and held himself up on his hands and knees. His arms trembled as his darkened eyes watched as the blood flowed down the wall, forming a puddle on the floor. Nikolas released a low growl, "I can't do this anymore!" Fists banged against the cold rock underneath him causing the stone to crack and his hands to turn red as the Rivenna's blood mixed with his own. "I don't want to be this beast anymore! You said it would be a blessing, but you lied! This is a curse like no other! I want my life back. I can't do this..."

                                                                                     *****

Laughter filled the walls of the tiny cabin before spilling through the little openings in the thatch roof harmonizing with the sound of tiny bare feet running in circles on the hard dirt floor. Erik stumbled through the door, accidentally knocking his young wife to the ground when she rounded the table to reach tag their little boy.

"Leah! What are ye doin' woman?" Erik slurred. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "Yer teachin' our boy ta waste the day when 'e should be workin' fer the family." 

"He's only six years old, Erik. Give him a chance to be a child." Leah said quietly.

"Life will be harder on 'em, so we have ta be harder on 'em too. It's the only way ta teach 'em."  Nikolas faced the sound of his parents' voice. It was nothing new for his father to return home drunk or for his parents to fight. Erik pushed his wife toward the counter causing a pot to crash to the ground and Nikolas to jump. "Clean the house, woman; it's yer job. Come on, boy. Donnae stand there. Get a move on." 

Nikolas stepped toward the door and felt the left side for his walking stick. Once he found it he stepped through the open door. Before he could get to far away from the house, Erik kicked his leg out in front of his son. Nikolas fell to the rocky ground and warm, sticky liquid began to cover the palms of his small hands. The walking stick in his left hand was now broken in half and splinters peppered his arm. The boy began to cry before a strong hand grasped his chin and pulled his face upward.

"NO!" his father roared, "Men don't cry, do ye hear me? Life won't be kind ta ye. Just because ye cannae see the world, doesn't mean it cannae see ye. People will look at ye as an inconvenience. It will knock ye down, but ye gotta get back up. Donnae let 'em see ye cry." Erik took the piece of the walking stick that Nikolas still held in his hand and threw it away from him. "That is only a crutch ta ye. Proof that ye cannae do it on yer own. Ye can. Now," Erik picked Nikolas up in the same way he had his wife and set him on his feet. He grabbed the wooden bucket beside the house and shoved it toward his son's little chest. Nikolas wrapped his short arms around the bucket and fell back a few steps from his father's force. "Go wash yer hands in the stream and milk the cows. I wanna see this bucket full, and there's a beatin' waitin' fer ye when ye get back if there's a single drop spilt."