The Tainted Servant [Finished]

Hot, flushed skin. The straining sensation of eyelids parting, light pouring into the pupils and jolting their owner awake. A vague ache in every muscle, some, one wouldn't even think could ache. Matted hair, sore wrists, and an uncomfortable burning along the abdomen.

This is how I wake up every morning.

I arise from my bedspread, my hands raising and my eyes drifting to the palms that adorn them. Blisters, crooked nails, and scratches vividly decorate them. I scrunch my nose in a vulgar sniffle, one hand reaching up to rub a knuckle at it. My legs remain covered by the ugly, patched-up blanket I sleep beneath. The small of my back is braced against a pillow, one much prettier than the blanket and crude bed frame I slumber atop.

She is calling me.

Kicking away the stitched mess I call a comforter, I stretch my body and ease the multitude of aches that plague my thin form. A simple gown covers my form, though it's more akin to a potato sack than a genuine article of clothing. Instinctively, I step past my bedding, telling myself that I shall clean it later. My room is small compared to what I step into. A kitchen, a dining room, and a living area all meshed into one frameless, arch-less quarter.

She sits at the table. A small, oaken furnishing meant for two and only two. Her baggy, hazel hues settle on my own distant, azure gaze. My demeanor is little more than stupefied, still drunk on my own slumber. She smiles lavishly at my appearance, her pale cheeks seeming to brighten up a bit. I feel no such sentiment.

I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth a few times, before managing a yawn and stretching myself once again, much like a cat. The vague, hazy taste of something sweet lingers on my tongue, and the accompanying ache in my legs causes me to shake at the knees ever-so-slightly. I groan with discomfort, moving my hands to the cuff of my wrist and tenderly rubbing at the reddened, indented flesh. She turns her attention to a plate of food lying in the center of the table she's seated herself at. A jar of thick, sweet nectar lies next to it, among other table accessories.

I'd tuned out her high-pitched voice for some time now, and she's seemed to have taken notice. "Enn." No answer. "Enn!" I snap out of my dazed state, but don't seem to look at her. "Enndolynn dear, down here?" she snaps, her fingers lingering in front of my face as she raises herself up and out of her chair. She's short. I'd debated asking her if she'd had stunted growth, but the urge to lose my lips at her hands had yet to dawn upon me.

"Yes, Magnolia?" I question, feeling my naval begin to burn with a leg-tingling sensation.

"You've not answered a thing I've asked of you, dear." Her gaze is firm, but there's a whimsical air about her.

"My apologies, Magnolia."

"Tut tut. Apologizing on the day of your coming into this world? Think nothing of it, brave knight," she jeers. Today is my birthday. I can already feel tears beginning to well in my eyes. Whether or not they're from the strain of awakening or the sentiment of my birth, I cannot tell. They may have been from the sting of her nickname. "I made you breakfast," she adds plainly, though it surprises me that she had. It'd been quite awhile since she had cooked anything for herself, let alone me.

"Thank you, Magnolia." The words are brief, and slide off of my tongue like sand paper. Stepping away, I seat myself adjacent to her and take up the ceramic plate in front of me. I always found it odd how she kept things like utensils and kitchenware in a place like this.

The wooden interior seemed to creak a bit, Magnolia's eyes widening as she frantically looks about. "Oh dear. I forgot in the midst of making your breakfast. I shall return shortly, Enndolynn dear," she calmly states, before hurriedly rushing out of the tiny kitchen and into a room not too far off. Her own. There have been few times where I've been allowed in. My first visit was the only time I'd had a proper look, but that moment felt ages ago.

"Damn it all," she mutters under her breath, the sound of crashing following the remark. I can't help but chuckle as I politely maneuver a silver fork into the fluffy delicacy before me. I deliver it gently, allowing my hand to guide my fork to my lips, and not daring to crassly lean forward in the process. Despite my time here, manners are something I strive to uphold. Much like Magnolia.

It was almost comical how formal Magnolia herself could be as well. It was a jarring circumstance, fully knowing what her hobbies were. "If you'd like, Magnolia, I could go to the market and fetch what you need," I suggest.

"No, my dear, these are very specific ingredients. The market would never have them. I must curse my gluttony. Had I not left a majority of the cooking to you, I wouldn't have had as much trouble making your favorite dish. Nor would I be in this little predicament," she complains aloud. Something about her turmoil draws a sickening smirk along my features, but it soon found itself suppressed.

"My apologies Magnolia. If I'd any idea about what you were making, I would have told you to not bother cooking for me," I murmur. My words weren't true in the slightest. The delicacy she'd made was amazing. I wanted this today, even if I'd forgotten about this day's importance. Unless I came down with some sort of dreadful illness, I'd never be given another day like this. Magnolia knew.

"Your birthday only comes once a year, my darling. Concoction-making can be done at any time. I should have planned this, the blame is mine alone. You enjoy your breakfast dear," she quickly cooed in retort. A vivid burst of wretched, bloody thoughts suddenly pass over me. The prospect of hearing Magnolia's shrieks, her cries of pain. How delectable they'd sound. They were sudden, without a doubt, but far from effective. I shake my head, disregarding the blighted thoughts.

"Thank you then, Magnolia. I always appreciate your cooking," I respond from afar, finishing my breakfast and politely wiping my mouth with a dish rag. Standing, I take both of our platters and place them in a wooden box to be cleaned later. Presumably by me. My ears twitch at the sound of her darkened laughter from the considerable distance. It was always ominous in her own way. Endearing from an outside perspective, but terrifying to those who knew just what it meant.

"And I yours, Enndolynn. It's days like today I enjoy showing my appreciation for your efforts."

My eyes widen a bit at that last part. Magnolia appreciates me? My mouth trembles once again. Shakiness is a natural occurrence with me nowadays. A sort of side-effect. "I'm honored to hear that, Magnolia. It means more than you can imagine."

"Of course dear. I know today is your birthday and whatnot, but could you be a dear and fetch me some parchment?" she adds, causing another blasphemous thought to ignite in my thoughts. Something about her tone made her sound so... so vulnerable. It sparked such inklings like nothing else.

"Of course Madame," I reply, letting out a hushed sigh and moving to a shelf supported by nothing but copper and wood. A roll of parchment was quickly taken, and, standing at Magnolia's doorway, I hold it out for her. Without even looking, she casually moves her hand back and takes it, settling it on a desk near her room's entrance

"Lovely. To intrude again, I planned on watering the flowers out front. Do you mind filling the can and leaving it by the door? I assure you I will ask nothing more of you for as long as I can," she murmurs, the back of her head facing me now. Her unkempt tresses and their golden-brown coloration typically spanned down to her knees, but in her seated position, they reach past her feet.

"Of course, Magnolia," I coo once again. I had not a clue who built this place or if it was made out of Magnolia's own skillful whim, but the watering pump to the far left of the house's exterior never ceased to amuse me. Unluckily enough, I'd never quite been able to see the source of the water, running or not. Though my travels had allowed me the sight of many a lake, never the one that fueled this pump had ever crossed my sight. It was almost whimsical. Perhaps Magnolia assigned my locations purposefully so. Maybe the water was taken from a lake thousands of miles away. There were endless possibilities with Magnolia. A special breed of cunning, she was, and I shuddered at the thought of so much as considering betraying her. Possibly because I feared Magnolia could read my thoughts.

Reading. I remember how reading used to make me feel. Books. Instructions. Letters most of all. I miss them so.

My steps lead me out of Magnolia's home, myself closing the creaking wooden door behind me. I look to my right, then down. The watering pail. A hand reaches up, easing away a hanging tuft of pale blonde from my line of sight. There was something admirable about this watering pail. Rusted spots and dents coated it, signifying its valiance in its line of duty. Watering flowers. I find a scoff escaping my lips. If only life were as easy as watering flowers. I kneel down and heft it with two hands, carrying it at my middle as I depart. Bare feet pit-pat against the ground, my steps carrying me along the stone path that stretches throughout Magnolia's tiny home. My goal is fresh in my mind, particularly because I enjoy it.

Now seeing the pump in sight, I can feel a sort of eagerness wash over me. My sheer fascination with it was bordering on odd. But who was to blame me? My old home never had a pump, and my new home had nothing my old home had. It was as if fate selected the pump to be my friend, and I, its. My hand reaches out and grips the metallic handle, giving a few twists and placing the pail's opening beneath the nozzle. I sit, staring. The pipes rattle, disturbed from their idleness and forced to do their job. It clanks just a bit, enough to cause me a bit of fright. The thought of my enamoring with the contraption always made me forget the jarring noise, as many times as I'd heard it before. It was like its own variation of a friend scaring another as a greeting, then continuing on when they'd relaxed and had their laugh.

My backside now presses against the ground; smoothed stone with the occasional bump or displaced pebble. With my legs crossed, a sole fist presses against my chin. I stared down the pipe, attempting to intimidate it. It rattles again, this time with fear. He always needed encouragement. Within a matter of seconds, a weak sputter of water drenches the pail's opening, and in an almost serene manner, a mild trickle begins to pour into the sizable hunk of metal. I reach up, patting the handle. With my gaze gentle upon the pipe, I open my mouth to speak.

"There there. I've always got your back."

With every gentle pat, the flowing water intensifies for a moment so quick my eyes can barely catch it. I knew he appreciated my effort. It wasn't often we saw each other, but when we did, we always had amazing conversations. My hand scratches at the nape of my neck, a particular itch seeming to skitter across my skin. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" My attention was still turned towards the gushing pump.

Its mild-mannered self continued the steady downpour, giving me my answer. "Of course I can, what am I saying?" I remind myself, smiling at the pipe and moving a hand through my bright, golden tresses. "Today is the day of my birth." As if surprised, the water seems to falter for a moment, the trickle steadying back to its usual pace. "Thank you. Magnolia neglected to tell me that. But... I've not a clue, I simply do not feel happy that it is. I find myself unsure as to why. Do you have any idea why that may be?" I continue. The pump actually stops for a moment, a lone drop trickling before they rattled once more and continued their pouring anew. "Ah. Of course. I should not burden you with my woes. Apologies, friend. I must depart to do some thinking," I mumble, noticing the pail beginning to overflow. Avoiding the run-off, I stand up and twist the nozzle a few more times, shutting off the trickle and sighing.

"Until next time. Do take care," I proclaim, the first real semblance of joy out of me in some time as I grip the tool's handle with every fiber of strength I have. Magnolia always made this look so effortless. I stumble, occasionally spilling water across my bare foot as I step and sway. This was the worst part about filling the pail. Now back where I started, I set the tool down by the front door, before taking a breath and wiping away a sweat bead I'd managed to work up. Unsurprisingly, the woods were extremely humid around this time, even if the foliage managed to soak up a great deal of the sunlight. Luckily, it was enough to keep the place bright and somewhat cool.

This made it one of the most ideal places to grow flowers, graciously enough. Had Magnolia set it up anywhere else, the flowers would bloom nowhere near as beautifully as they do now. My eyes set on her garden. Numerous raised rows of wood, filled with mulch and organic material, and atop them, flowers by the dozens. A rainbow of lustrous, earthen gifts that Magnolia tended to daily, even going so far as to whisper sweet nothings to them as she watered them with care.

That's just silly. Talking to flowers? What a madwoman.

I shake my head. As pretty as the sight of the bountiful, tended beds are, I unfortunately knew the woman who cared for them. I turn back around, my gaze set on Magnolia's house.

Whether I hated or liked Magnolia, this was a sight that always fascinated me. I've not a clue how, perhaps by fantastical means, but the woman had placed her house into an earthy hill. Not big by any means, no, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in the sheer aesthetical pleasure it brought to the eyes. On the overarching mound, Magnolia must have emptied the hill's insides of dirt and debris, leaving it hollow and instead filled with potential. It is in here that her house would be located.

It was beautiful. The moss that hung off of the roof's overhang, the curvature of the hill and how it made the perfect all-natural roof, the wooden beams and boards that'd been built at the front to give the house that much more style, the lantern that hung off of a hook in the ceiling barely a meter from the entrance itself, and the door, simple wooden boards with a latch handle and no lock; all of this meshed into a delightful, eye-indulging residence. It was rare for me to be able to admire this sight.

I found it quite ironic that Magnolia's front door had no lock. Similarly, she likely found this quite humorous as well. If anyone had even made it to the front door, they likely wouldn't last much longer after. Both Magnolia and I knew this.

Having accomplished my task and properly recovered from the exertion of it, I push past Magnolia's wooden door and back into her wood-adorned interior. I turn back, a sole glass-pane window allowing me to see the flowers once more in a blurry fashion. I smile, before once again facing forward. It is here that I would gaze upon my residence. Magnolia's home. The central area was barely larger than the average bedroom, and encompassed a kitchen and a dining area, along with a laughably small living area. Covered completely in wood, there would be no sight of dirt anywhere, even through the seams of the floorboards. The wood never seemed to rot, and every insect that wormed its way inside seemed to die seconds after. It was as if Magnolia had carefully planned every manner to keep her home reinforced and well-kempt. Residential perfection.

To the immediate right of the entrance, there would be Magnolia's room. It remained half the size of the hut's central area. A sort of wall blocked any sight to the left of the entrance, but the right was visible. An odd design choice, but Magnolia knows her own intentions, and alas, I do not. To the entrance's right, a wide desk could be seen. This is often where I saw Magnolia, should she not be rummaging through various dusty books on her shelf or eating in the poor excuse of a dining room. There were no drawers; all dirty dishes, what little dishes she had in the first place, were placed in a wooden box. I would eventually take this wooden box out to the pump and, with the help of a dish cloth, clean her wares. It was simple, but often tedious during events Magnolia celebrated.

Last, and most certainly least, there was my room. Located in the very back of the house, to the left of our dining room, It was small, to say the least. It had enough room to fit a bed, a dresser, and a suitable amount of space for two people to have some breathing room. Often times I laid against the baseboard of my bed and stared at the oaken ceiling, my dreams troubled with dark elements and the comfort of my bed unable to soothe it.

"Thank you, dear. Feel free to rest. Should you awake, help yourself to whatever you wish. Should you wish something from me, you need naught do little more than ask," Magnolia suddenly greets, her eyelids seeming to lower for a moment as she looks at me. She's only a couple feet from myself.

"Of course, Magnolia. For now, silence would be appreciated. I've been quite restless as of late," I mutter, rubbing my eyes quaintly. The statement was more of a jab than a request. Magnolia knew exactly the reason sleep was scarce for me, and the thought brought a brief heat to my face.

"You tell a soothsayer to be silent?" she jabs back, causing me to gnash my teeth beneath my lips. This was something she'd ceaselessly managed to do as well. My teases were always overshadowed by hers. It was infuriating. I could never bask in the comfortable pleasure of having perhaps outwitted her; she always struck back with something greater, and much more laxly than I could ever manage.

"Yes, Magnolia. My apologies," I grumble. She chuckles in response.

"Do keep trying. It's a fun challenge. But alas, I've a letter to write for Alma. I may be departing for a few days henceforth from tomorrow, and I believe asking her to watch over you and my 'humble abode' is the best course of action. There is someone I must meet to restock some ingredients I no longer possess. Damned timing, I must say," Magnolia prattles. I catch my breath and find my legs shaking.

"Ahh, truly? Sebastian? Is there no better course of action? You know I would never go against your whim, Magnolia," I quickly retort. There's a certain frantic nature to my tone, as elegant as my words may be. This is because of a sole word, pried free from Magnolia's thoughts, and into my ears. Alma.

By all means, Alma is frightening. Her visage alone could scare a man out of his boots, and to have her milling about was a thought I wholly feared. Both Magnolia and I knew this. Of course, the relationship between Magnolia and Alma was a strange one that I could never quite seem to figure out. Before I found myself in the former's company, it seemed she knew the veritable demon of a woman. Their flirtatious manner of speaking to one another made me ponder whether the two were... perhaps more intimate. Knowing Magnolia, it would not surprise me, but partially knowing Alma, it confuses me as well. Her appearance, attitude, and actions make me think of her as nothing short of a fiend, and yet I've known Magnolia to be nothing but the same. Perhaps it makes sense after all.

"Of course it is, dear. As much as I've come to trust my darling little servant, there are more tasks to uphold here than I would allot to a sole soul. Take solace in knowing I'm saving you from more burdens, darling Enndolynn," she coos, causing my skin to clamor with the hiss of her last sentence. I bow my head and nod. I've challenged her thought process, it's only natural she's reacting this way. To compromise Magnolia is to compromise a prodigious breed of genius.

"Apologies, Magnolia. Shall I make bedding for her at once?" I ask, causing her gaze to drop from her parchment and stare once again at me. Her eyes burn.

"Enndolynn, today is the day of your birth. Treat it as such. I commend your dedication, but I'm beginning to feel so very annoyed by it. You do not need my permission to go to sleep. Just go," she declared, the deep squint in her eyes causing my body to tremble as I turn my head. I avert her stare, gripping my shoulders and nodding.

"Of course, of course. I-I shall return to my chambers if you need me," I flatly stutter, before hastily walking off to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I seat myself atop my bedspread. My backside presses against a raised area of blanket, the messy coverings scrambled and damp in many areas. Though my thoughts were once of the confounded relations between master, servant, and friend, they now find themselves wholly clogged with murderous intent. My nails dig into the flesh of my bicep.

That look. That horrid, horrid look.

A little more than a year ago, I'd seen that detestable look. The day I'd first seen Magnolia LeMaitre.

-

Many years ago, I was the daughter of a noble house: House Virius. My name was Enndolynnessa Gertrude Virius. Our house was one of chivalry; both men and women amongst it were respected, well-fed, educated, and praised. From ages five to twelve, I was taught literature, basic mathematics, writing, and dated sciences. Truthfully, the only studies that I pursued afterward been writing, largely because letters were a necessity for my sanity.

My father was a knight, and a well-noted one at that. His deeds were known throughout our country. He'd felled terrifying beasts, saved countrysides from both raids and armies, and his scars were faded and spoken rarely of. But most of all? He was humble. He was a living incarnation of the word 'honor'.

With each horrid monster he'd slain, he asked naught of any share of the king's riches (even if they rewarded him anyway). With every countryside he saved, he refused their offerings of gold, livestock, even a simple case of bottled goat's milk. The wounds he'd received were tended to and stitched up only by those within his family. He did not marry a woman for her body nor her experience in more passionate affairs. He married his childhood sweetheart, a pleasantly plump, yet kindred woman. My mother. It would come as no surprise that throughout the course of his life, my father had been granted a plot of land adorned with a noble house, a place in the king's guard, and those to tend to him and his family. He refused the offer to become one of the king's royal guards, claiming that while it was benevolent, he would not serve the king as well as he deserved. He did, however, take up the servants, much to the surprise of most who knew him.

The house was grand. A miniature castle. With it, the entirety of the Virius family had rose from simple city-dwellers to a royal name, all through the grit and determination of one man. A living legend. Gallin Virius.

His skill with a blade was unheard of, and stories spoke that the shield that kept him alive throughout his entire career as a knight was blessed by Titanörr, a deity of true strength amongst the common people. It hung at our mantle, his polished blade positioned vertical behind it. My father's legend was done. It was up to house Virius to continue it. And by the Gods, they did.

Though my father's chivalrous campaigns were done, his life was not. And so long as he breathed, he would remain benevolent. He was an inspiration to the entire Virius family. Cousins, Uncles, even entire branches of our family tree traveled from all four corners of the continent to live under the legend, safety, and virtue of House Virius. My father personally trained his brothers, who trained their sons, who trained their friends, who trained their friends' friends, and so on and so forth. It was a cycle of swordsmanship. If the name Virius was mentioned, it soon became for swordplay.

My father grew older and realized that although chivalry would not forever keep his family tended to, he would never stoop as low as greed. He thought of passing on his legend so that other young, eager knights could learn from him. He, with the help of his family and eventually inscribers, created scrolls detailing Virius swordsmanship. They were treasures for all who possessed them. The initial copy is kept locked in their treasury.

I was born two years after my first brother, a year after my sister, and a year before my second brother. The third of the most notable line of Virius children. The offspring of the Valiant Eagle.

My older brother always desired to be just like our father. Even if he never actually stated it, his constant effort in training, speaking, and outwardly proving his fairness, much to the antithesis of what an actual knight should do, showed just that. He was his father's pride and joy. To say the least, we all were. My sister was raised as any expected a female of our time to be. She cooked, she cleaned, she helped mother tend to us when we were sick, she polished swords and washed dirty clothes. It was odd, but comforting to see her beat the dust out of blankets. It was then that she truly shone. Perhaps she was actually angry with all of her work and took it out against those poor, poor sheets.

Though our name had value, we were far from royalty, and as such, we had no princes or princesses to share like breeding horses. It was an odd mixture of common and royal living. A good number of people looked down upon us for the cultural blending, but as long as we had the king's favor, we were content. We had no affair in politics. It didn't matter to us if the king's royal advisor bedded more women than years he'd lived. It didn't matter to us if his greatest knight sodomized his squire against his will. It definitely didn't matter to us if his daughter ran away with some bestial sub-human after his castle had been attacked.

Of course, none of these actually happened. And if they had, our coffers were lined with enough gold to sustain ourselves, and our family armed to the teeth and fit to defend. But we attended his celebrations when invited, we played with the children of royals, and the next day, our stomachs grew upset from the hearty consumption of sweets they had provided. We were children, through and through.

Growing up and constantly listening to my father's bedtime stories and riveting anecdotes, aspiration seeped within my blood and pumped through my body with every beat of my heart. Thinking of his cracked, scar-laden lips speaking of his encounters as if they themselves where tales of legend, I could find goosebumps grazing my skin not long after. In his efforts to please me, he'd call himself the Valiant Eagle, and me, his brave little eaglet. My cheeks clamored with excitement and the beaming grin it brought to my face was unmatched by any other sensation. No birthday, no gift, no amount of gold, and most certainly no drink could ever bring as much happiness as my father's words did.

I wanted to be a knight. Just like my father.

-

My eyes are drenched in tears.

I shake my head. This reminiscing. It's something I haven't gone through in... Gods, I don't even know how long. I cannot tell how much time has passed. In all of it, I've huddled against myself, fingers digging into my biceps and my knees raised near my chin. Curled up in a ball, sobbing like a child.

In this witch's house.

What has my life come to? To think of thoughts I'll never experience again?

Another sniffle wrinkles my nose and makes my visage that much more unattractive. My bedding is now cold. Or perhaps it is my body? The hot tears that slide down my cheeks would speak otherwise. A hand reaches up to drag a pillow from its resting position to me. Within a matter of seconds, my face is buried and sobbing. Today is the first of many birthdays that I'll be spending with this wicked woman. Before long, all that will change is my age; there will be a point where she no longer grants me such leisure on my birthday. She'll make sure to make the night before each one as hellish as she did this one. It only gets worse from here.

Gods save me. Please.

Once again, I can feel my navel burn with intense heat. My entire body is warm now. Wasn't my bed dreadfully cold a minute ago? I grit my teeth and let out a pained grunt, my hand clutching at the afflicted area. I'm sweating. This humidity... the smallness of my room. The presence of- when did I wrap myself up like this? What am I thinking?

I stir myself out of my bed, falling onto the creaking floor and pounding my fist against the ground. The thump that tingles my ears tells me it was enough to dent the floorboards. My chest, fair and covered, begins to rise and fall in a frantic manner. My nostrils flare, taking in breaths that my parted lips are quick to push back out. This incessant flame against my stomach. It's too much! Without even thinking, I begin to lift my gown, just enough to expose my navel. The cool air touches it. My affliction. My torment.

My curse. The mark across my naval.

Once black, it now radiates a furious red. The corruptive sizzle that resounds through the air is enough to torture my very soul. What accursed causation is making it burn on the very day of my birth? Is the witch torturing me? Has Alma figured how to do the same? Will my life ever not be at the mercy of this damnable woman? "Enndolynn. Enndolynn! What in His name are you doing in there?" Magnolia roars. I crawl along the floor, pushing myself against the door. I turn and press my back to it, denying her entry.

"Do... not... come in... M-Magnolia," I manage, my face contorted with pain, yet my body quaking with aching sparks of joy. There's a light bang against the door, most likely Magnolia's fist hitting against it. She wants to come in.

"What are you doing in there? Why are you gasping? Open this door Enndolynn! I'll not tolerate this game any longer!" she shouts, another pound rattling the wood on its metallic hinges. The curse hisses against my skin once again, that seething hatred burning along my front. Instinctively, my hand reaches down to touch it, only for the heat to intensify enough to burn both my hand, as well as my navel. I screech instantly, keeling over on my side and leaving my lower-half against the door. Magnolia opens the door with relative ease now, the creaking hinges resounding through my pain-deafened self. She gasps, a hand up against her mouth as she stares down at my writhing form. My knees bend and raise, my toes curling and my hands digging deeply into my arms.

"Enndolynn! What do you think you're doing not telling me about this?" she shouts, kneeling down and flipping me onto my back. My legs curl and shake once again, my teeth chattering as I twist around ever-so-slightly.

"I. I thought you were the one doing it," I haphazardly lie, looking into her frantic visage. Her head twists this way and that, analyzing every movement I make, as well as the position I've come to have taken. She glares for a brief moment, but her eyes lock on one sole feature after a minute of turning me about.

The curse.

"All on your birthday... so, so very tragic," she shakes her head, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth and putting her hands on her hips. "I know how much you dread this, Enndolynn, but I'm afraid it's the only solution to the brand's affliction. Sit still." I shake my head, thoroughly refusing the sentiment. And yet, despite my mindset, my body betrays me.

"I hate this damned place!" I screech at the top of my lungs, nails scraping against the floorboards. The utterance is instinctive and carries no weight. Magnolia already knows this. I've screeched it many times, and yet I can recall no circumstance in specific where I had. Each debacle becomes just as insignificant as the one before it. And yet, in the heat of moment, the sensation that currently wracked my nerves was utterly mind-numbing; it was the greatest pleasure and the most terrifying pain mixed into one overpowering sensation that threatened to tear my nerves into bits. How did I forget this again and again?

"Keep still, damn you!" she shouts. My body continues to twist, my teeth grit and my toes curled. She stands for a moment, a weary sigh leaving her lips before she exits. I instantly scream upon her departure, unsure if she's leaving me to suffer. That is, until she returns with a book in one hand and a small, polished gem in the other.

"It's- it's too much! I can't! Please!" I shriek, teeth gnashed and arms spanning uselessly against the floor.

"You will not die, Enndolynn. Stow yourself, my dear. Allow Magnolia to make it all disappear," she quietly replies.

"No! Please! I'll do anything! Release me from this! Not today! Not on my birthday! Please, I don't want that today, you can't-!" I hastily shout, reminding her of today's importance and causing her to clinch her own teeth. She whispers a keen vulgarity under her breath, surprising me as her arms lower for just a second.

"Your words speak truth. Apologies, little servant..." she grumbles, having lost her opportunity to take advantage of my suffering. Her words comfort me, but realization soon dawns upon me. The moment my eyes snap open, I see her hand glowing as she skims through her book. Sh-she's completely disregarded my wishes! When she takes notice of the horror now streaking my face, her impassive expression stretches into a wide, sinister sneer. "...but this is the only way."

This was unnatural. Every little quality of this happening was wrong in one way or another. The young, short woman holding a keen advantage over one of superior height and age, my strengths now suppressed and exposing the soft, tender insides of a once-hardened exterior, but most of all, how accursedly weak I felt, compared to my prowess from many years prior.

There's a quiet, ominous hum, and as soon as I open my mouth to shriek once more, a blinding sensation washes over my body. In an instant, all of my senses are dulled until I'm nearly comatose. And yet, I retain just the barest amount of each. I can feel my hair standing on end as I witness her looming over me, her muted murmuring similarly ringing in my ears.

But it pales in comparison to the sounds that bounce inside of my thoughts. They're endless. Incessant talk of 'the end'. A hundred voices I can't understand, the looming dread of something peering inside of me.

----

"There are many ways I can torment you, Enndolynn. Some are of my own whim, some are mere coincidence from the gift I granted you one year ago. You are forever mine, and I, forever your captor. You are bound to me. It is thus that I ask you..." she begins, before giving a much more firm grip to the length and causing me to squeak with pained pleasure. "That you accept your place."

My eyes once again shut, mucus dribbling from my nose as tears once again begin their course. The words strike me as something I know. I know to accept my place. I know Magnolia's hold over my life is not one to be trifled upon. I know that there is no hope in my freedom. And yet, I vaguely hope anyway. Magnolia knows. She knows of my contempt for her. She knows my continual loathing for her dwelling. She knows of my constant loneliness and regret. And just as I try to hold onto hope, she attempts to make me accustomed to this lifestyle.

I sob as a hazy pink begins to surround her hand. Small jets of sapphire gush from the corruptive organ, streaking across the two of us as she continues to 'please' me. The rose-hued emanation is a familiar one; when Magnolia grew bored of my writhing and dejected screeches, she would finish her sensual torture with this. I knew not what it actually was, but all signs pointed towards a pleasure-spell. One to heighten the effects of touch to astronomical levels. My body spasms as I feel the sensation wash over my legs. I had hoped that the tentacle would not feel such a sensation, but alas, my curse would allow no such thing.

I tilt my head back, horrid wails wrung from my gaping lips. As if her grabbing from before hadn't been enough, the sheer feeling of her crude stroking now begins to wrack my body with rivulets of gratification that I simply cannot describe with words alone. My cheeks, red with justified crying, remain so now as a result of her grandiose caressing. I would last less than half a minute. Her malefic chuckling resounds through my ears and swims through my thoughts like an aquatic predator, ready to lash and capture its prey. Me. With my eyes closed and the subtle laughter ringing in my head, my thoughts only come to imagine what her thin, pale lips resemble whilst vocalizing her menacing amusement.

As climax comes to bubble at my very core, I howl and slam my fist into the ground. My knees bend sharply, feet pressing their toes against the foundation of her house and scraping their nails against them. My back once again buckles, my shoulder blades bearing the brunt of the floor. A thick knot seem to form in my stomach, just beneath the accursed mark. And as that strong, final pump came about the wriggling tendril, Magnolia's grip on the lashing length intensified. I could no longer hold myself back. All at once, a deluge of cobalt fluid cascades from the tended shaft, causing my head to tilt back and a defeated groan to finally pry loose from my exhausted form.

The encouraged finish left Magnolia and myself thoroughly coated in the remnants of my pleasure, the liquid dripping off of her smiling face and streaming down my chest. Truthfully, there wasn’t a copious amount of the stuff. Enough to remain tedious for Magnolia to wash off, certainly, but I myself would have no such worries. The very evidence of my corruption lays limp against my thigh, receding back into my depths with careful slowness. As I lay limp against the ground, Magnolia tentatively moves a hand to my cheek, caressing it lightly. Much to my luck, it was the hand not dribbling in the deplorable fluid. I smile. Weakly so, but it was a smile nonetheless. The burning lust that so vigorously terrorized my form had finally been dissuaded. All by the kindred ministrations of Magnolia.

“Thank you, Magnolia,” I simply mutter, attempting to stand up and finding my legs to be less than compliant. She chuckles, much more genuine than her usual baleful laughter. My hope is that it’s more out of sincerity than amusement from my immobile predicament.

“Of course, dear Enndolynn. Should you need further assistance, simply shout for me. You are under my care, after all,” she reminds, standing up and beginning to move to the door.

“Wait! Magnolia. Please. May you- may you stay by my side?” I question, propping myself up upon on my elbows as I look to her. My countenance is nothing short of pure authenticity. She remains motionless, her hand still grasping the metallic handle as she seems to mull over the process. My cheeks fluster with red, but I do not regret my words. Yet. I bow my head and lay limply against the floor once more. She releases the handle, staring down out me with a look of worry. Her jaw trembles. A lone word leaves her mouth.

“Why?”

She seems… sad, almost. It’s an emotion I’ve never seen Magnolia express. All of my time here, I never thought I’d be pitying the woman who took my life and forced it under her own guidance. And yet, just as I’d never made such a request to Magnolia, never did I expect to see her to indicate anything close to sadness. My bottom lip trembles at the sentiment. Did she despise what she'd done? Was she having a momentary lapse in her methods? Maybe this is another one of her teases. How do I respond?

“Because…” I begin, properly sitting up and looking off to the side. I furrow my brow and look back up at her, now with confidence. “Because I’m accepting my place Magnolia. And I believe…” I trail off again. My expression has faltered, but my words carry the same weight that they had before. “I believe to begin that, we should at the very least try to enjoy each other’s company. I know we do not now. I want to change that. It is… this is… this is my birthday wish, Magnolia. So please… stay by my side. If not from hereon out, at the very least, just this once.”

She remains silent, but her expression tells me all I need to know. She lets out a sigh and bends down, her hands clutching her knees. Her hand reaches out, thumb running along my features in a motherly fashion. How small she made me feel. "Enndolynn, my loyal servant. I appreciate your services, the numerous that you provide. But I cannot indulge your desire for companionship. I simply don't desire it. You've become more than a tool for my work in the year we've spent together, this much, I will tell you."

The words strike through my very core. My heart is speared on cold truth, and yet my body is relieved by the knowledge of respect. The digit rubbing along my cheekbone serves as a sort of cushion for the harsh crushing of my hopes.

I stay silent, tears welling in my eyes once again. My admiration for Magnolia's blunt words is countered only by the revelation that I shall always remain lonely, no matter my hope.

"Thank you, Magnolia." I'd cut off my own tongue if it didn't mean the witch wouldn't discard me like a broken toy not long after.

"Do not channel your spite into kindness, my dear. It is a deadly mix for both of us."

I nod my head, feeling hot streams of shame trail their way down the sides of my head. I have nothing more to say. Magnolia seems to hold the same sentiment, but she seats herself next to me regardless. Perhaps she's indulging me just this once. I lay down, crying softly, but with little regret. I would not have worked up the courage to say such a thing in my life before this one. Pride, shame, and anger all bubble at my thoughts. No hope remains.

"Magnolia," I quickly state, turning my head to look at her. She retains her position from earlier, huddled against herself. It's childish, but more in an enamoring fashion than an annoying one. She tilts her head and stares quizzically at me. "Do you know what time it is?"

"The sun has yet to set, but its virtue ever borders on darkness, my dear." This was her way of saying dusk. I nod my head, pulling enough strength from myself to be able to properly sit up. Even in this position I remain a few centimeters taller than her.

"What would you like for breakfast tomorrow, Magnolia?"

"Ahahah, I'm afraid my stomach has been spoiled by today's breakfast," she chuckles, causing me to smile a bit and nod my head.

"Sweet, then? I think I can make do... we still have half a jar of jam, it should be no problem," I mutter aloud, easing myself to the edge of my bed and laying against it. In this circumstance, now only one question can come to mind. One I feel fit to ask. "Magnolia?"

"What is it, Enndolynn?"

"How do you know Alma? Why do you like her?" The statement stems from her impending visit. The girl sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She eases herself next to me, her robe-clad self now at my side and seemingly annoyed. My curiosity is natural, and my hopes are that Magnolia knows this.

"Alma... is a reminder of sorts. An attractive one, no less," she goads, giggling to herself. I nod my head, not prodding the topic any further. To my surprise,  Magnolia opens her mouth to speak up once more. "I do not share stories of my life, Enndolynn. Just as I do not ask to learn the stories of others. I... have no reason to. Should I, or you, disappear, what then? We are left empty husks with no remembrance of each other than the sad, overbearing tales of our upbringing. Alma has received no greater a tale from me than you."

Her words make sense, and if anything, it's an ideal I should have figured out on my own accord. "Do not mistake my words for weakness or... sentimentality," she adds, causing me to give an instinctive nod of my head.

"Of course, Magnolia." I shake my head a touch. Bitterness coats my next utterance, but tender care masks it. "I ahh... suppose you may depart to your quarters now, Magnolia."

"Truly? I may stay longer if you desire it."

"Ahh, no. Please. I've... I do not wish  to be spoiled in such a manner. You have things to attend to, as well as pack, correct?" I quickly shoot back. As much as I'd previously desired Magnolia's company, now it seems I've come to despise it. She gives me the same look she's always given me. One of knowing. As if she knew every word that hadn't come out of my mouth, but instead dwelt within the recesses of my mind.

She did not speak for nearly a minute, an invisible partition now forming between Magnolia and myself, intimidating me to no end. "Very well, Enndolynn. Should you need me, you know where I am."

How quickly our moods change.

I lay back once again, residing on my floor and staring up at the ceiling. I soon become aware of my own nudity, my hands gripping each of my bicep, arms splayed just beneath my perky chest. A low chuckle claws its way through my sobbing throat. I couldn't believe that, knowing my own circumstance, I begged Magnolia for companionship. Was I truly so detestably desperate?

In the wake of my depressive thoughts, I lay for what feels like an infuriating eternity. Soon, weariness overtakes my desire to compose myself and I fall asleep on my floor, a tear-drained, naked mess.

-

I wanted to be a knight. As a female, this was damnable among any order. Any order except Virius. My older brother would be accepted as a knight without question should he aspire to it, but me? It would be near impossible for anyone beyond my family to deem me worthy of such a title. And yet, I wanted to break that barrier. Legends told very little of women outside of their usual roles, much to my disapproval.

Growing up, my favorite story had always been the tale of Ashura. A skilled, masked woman who appeared in battle like a force of nature. Any side she assisted would be sure to win the battle they were facing.  All had assumed her to be a man, as the mask she donned and the bountiful features she disguised had hidden any and all traces of femininity. It wasn't until five years of her continued travels and seemingly sporadic assistance that her identity had been revealed. A savage blow had cleaved her mask from her face and left her features exposed for all to see. Both armies stopped and began to crowd her instead. The man who exposed her hadn't lasted ten seconds more.

The men who crowded her stared in awe. Such a terrifying foe and an intimidating ally had proved to be one of the opposite gender. How could one so oppressed be so deadly? She spoke simple, broken words. It was clear she did not speak often. "You speak, you die. I am everywhere." She vanished into a burst of smoke immediately after, seen sparsely from then on. In every battle she attended afterward, all who brought up her gender were to never speak again, their wriggling tongues cut from their mouths.

Of course, the story wasn't nearly as graphic when my father told it. As I grew, I'd read through many storybooks kept in our library, stumbling upon Ashura's tale and admiring her even more than I had before. The beginning and end of the book gave a sole picture of the warrior, something my childhood storybook had not done. She'd had delicate features at the start, but by the end of the tale, she'd been marked harshly by the blow that exposed her. A gruesome scar now streaked down her face, accompanied by the various ones that she'd received all over throughout the years of her work. She was the very definition of a warrior.

There were a small amount of stories that similarly detailed warrior-esque women, but Ashura's struck me the most. Combined with my father's continuous encouragement, it came as no surprise I would train day in and day out to prove myself. I'd spar with my older brother constantly, but his greater strength and durability left me on the ground more than enough times. He admired my determination, and sought to assist me in my endeavor. At times, I doubted his reasoning, thinking he was only doing it because my father had. But as the years passed, I grew more and more confident that my brother was as chivalrous as our father.

At the age of seventeen, I watched as my brother set off with a band of renowned knights, serving as their squire in return for further training and experience on the field. I myself served as a sort of figurehead; people wanted to see the famed Gallin Virius' esteemed daughter and her proclamation that she desired to fight on the same field as men. They wanted to see if she was worthy of taking. My intentions were much less focused on fighting than they were being just. At my eighteenth birthday, my father presented me with more than I could have asked for. A spear, a shield, a set of armor, and a garb to go with it. I was ecstatic. I couldn't express my gratitude. My father, old as he was, personally assisted in crafting the shield he gave me. It donned our crest, an eagle clutching a featureless vermin in its talons.

I cried a great deal that night, and continued to reel the day after. I sought out how I could live up to my family name as my sister continued her household work, giving me a kindred smile as I expressed my excitement. I truly couldn't have asked for a more perfect family.

Throughout the course of a few years, I tied an old, tattered scarf, reminiscent of home, just below the head of my weapon, and carved my father's name into my armor. There was no greater joy to me than decorating my own apparel. I thought of it as a partial instinct, a true sign that I still had the mannerisms of a woman despite my otherwise manly upbringing. I traveled with a band of other knights, most of them freshly-approved squires coupled with a veteran or two. We were an expendable extension of the king's sword arm, to say the least. Our tasks primarily involved driving away bandits, assisting war-torn countries, and occasionally being posted at forts and such.

There was a particularly harsh topic for me to approach during the start of my career. Killing. By all means, I could hunt and skin, but killing another human was difficult for me. My first encounter involved a rowdy, wild bandit who'd singled me out amongst my combative allies. The brigand's mighty axe cleaved down, but I easily deflected the blow with my shield. I looked frail, without a doubt, but I had a deceptive amount of constitution. I hesitated as I pulled my spear back, and the shouting man goaded me with an earful of slanderous, vulgar language. He reached for me instead, but before I knew it, one of my allies plowed into him. Drunk on rage and adrenaline, I let out a shrill cry and lunged forward, goring him on my polished weapon in the process.

I looked around for my next opportunity, but the vicious men turned tail and fled after my attack. I gazed down at my weapon as I pulled it free from his body. Soaked in blood. The scarf had a few streaks of crimson staining it as well. I panicked and turned, comforted only by the gentle soothing of my allies.

Over time, I grew used to the prospect, even if it took a toll on my consciousness from time to time. We were helpers, performing the greater good for our country. Week after week, year after year, my dad and I would exchange letters. I'd tell him about my adventures and ask how the family was doing. He would tell me all sorts of thing about my little brother, the occasional household occurrence, and sometimes even silly political drama tidbits. But most of all, he'd tell me how proud he was that his little eaglet had left the nest. How she'd rose above the vultures and crows dwelling amongst the way of the sword, and spread her feathers as a true Virion.

Even before my time with Magnolia, I was not the most strong-willed. I was no Ashura, cold and harsh. I was emotional. And the prideful tears of joy that stained my face upon reading those letters within my tent are some of my most treasured memories.

But it didn't last. Fate entwined me and Magnolia, and it certainly favored Magnolia's whim.

We rested at a town. This town had complained that there were odd disturbances in a nearby woods, presumed to be bandits or perhaps a wild, enraged bear of some sort. Bears didn't leave the marks that this thing did. Our small detachment knew this much. I was assigned with the scouting party this time. We surveyed the forest's front, finding numerous horrifying traces of... something. Blackened sludge, jagged teeth that belonged to no known creature, and claw marks that were large enough to be carved by dragons themselves.

We were dealing with something far beyond our understanding. And yet, as human nature went, we knew we had to be the ones to discover and report it. Perhaps we should have done so with a larger crew, but the past cannot be changed. Our band of knights explored the woods during broad daylight.

Half a day of trekking and we seemed to come up with nothing. These woods went deeper than it seemed. The thick, grotesque sludge was ever present, my right boot knew that much on more than one occasion. Horrid roaring seemed to echo through the forest more and more the longer we trekked.

We were not welcome here.

We were certain some god-awful monstrosity lurked in these forests, and a few men seemed to desert at the mere thought of something capable of snapping a tree like a lowly branch beneath its foot. We camped out for the night, certain that if we kept moving in this darkness, we'd be ambushed and slaughtered like cattle. For added safety, we had four of our twelve-man party stay up at a time, rotating throughout the night. No one's shift was wholly remarkable; each was just as unnerving as the next until the sun arose.

The next morning was awful. Everyone was groggy and stressed. One man passed out mid-walk. Hope was lost. The fact that we knew we were close made the circumstance that much worse. The echoing once again resounded. We wished the beast would appear soon, just so we would be able to flee, report, and gain the help we truly needed in order to stop it.

What we found next perplexed us. A stone path that stretched deeper into the forest. This was a creation of man, no doubt, but who? Perhaps there was an abandoned temple deep within the woods and the monster chose its dwelling to be there. We eased down the trail, every step as cautious as the one that came before it.

Five minutes of walking along the path had ensued. The roaring ceased, but that had only caused our nerves to grow even more antsy. The mood spiked when we happened upon possibly the oddest sight in our lives. The stone path led to a house built into the very earth. A bed of dirt remained at the front, doubtlessly fresh. The rows were few and flower stalks were beginning to rise. We stopped in our tracks, and quite abruptly too. "What in Gods' name is this? Is this some kind of fucking joke?" Our leader shouted. His teeth were grit and he took one step forward. A creaky wooden door, built into the earthen home, slowly opened.

Out stepped a young girl, a large hat tilted over her head and covering a portion of her face. She wore some sort of purple overcoat three sizes too big for her, the bottoms ragged and torn in a few places. It was stitched and patched back together in a messy, unskilled manner. Perhaps she taught herself? The white silk blouse that laid beneath the coat seemed to have been tended to much more neatly, that much was evident. Her hair was tangled and messy, and the sole eye that we could see had heavy bags beneath it.

"You! What is your name? Explain yourself! Are you the source of these monstrous noises and this God-awful tar everywhere?" A day and a half of this tiring journey had no doubt enraged our leader. None of us had ever seen him this furious before, let alone furious at all.

"Yes. You have made a foolish mistake coming here." Her voice was shaky at best, but a glint of malice could be heard in her few words.

"Silence! You will stop these noises, or I will see to it you, nor whatever you control never speak again!" His gruff disposition was indomitable for all but his own fury. Even despite this, there was a hint of disbelief in his shouting.

"I will not. You shall be silenced yourself."

"Pardon me?"

A large majority of us were suddenly aware of a terrifying stench. So abhorrent that one of our men keeled over and vomited. We turned and looked for the source of the pungent aroma. Streaks of yellow stared at us from the trees. Not just one. Three, four, five, ten, twenty, I couldn't count them all. I was shaking in my boots, and my mind was racing feverishly. Rays of glistening, hateful glares now directed their attention to us. Thick, sloppy dripping tickled our ears and instilled fear into our hearts. "Witch... witch! She's a witch! Run!" One man hollered. He turned tail and immediately darted. One of the twenty rays immediately vanished, lashing out and chasing down the deserter. Upon hearing his wails of pain and the dreadful roaring of the agonizing, faceless creature, our party immediately drew their weapons.

"We fight! Kill the beasts, behead the witch, and burn her home!" Our leader commanded. We followed without question. This was a genuine fight for our lives.

"You shall not." All at once, the beasts sidled away from their veil of darkness behind the trees. Now stepping into the clearing, we could see their hideous forms. So many of them... some with two eyes, some with four, all with otherworldly teeth and features. Their shapes and other means of tearing into innocents all varied between them. All were horrifying. Some men had wet their drawers at the situation. Some did so as they drew their last breaths.

Without even thinking, our champion lunged into the fray, followed by three of our devoted party. They struck the sludge-covered beasts, cleaving them this way and that. He'd killed a few of them himself before an especially towering one sunk its teeth into his shoulder. A knife from his boot quickly jammed into the beast's head, the creature roaring before others joined in and devoured him whole.

I myself stood in fear. A lone, swaggering monster swayed its way toward me. I shrieked and thrust my spear into its mouth. I did not know if I'd killed it. I'd been focused intently on the young woman. Her stare had been on me and me alone after her threatening remark. I could feel tears welling in my sockets as I watched ally after ally be cleaved, eaten, crushed, and torn. Their pained wails of desperation sent guilt hurtling into my tiny form. How had so simple a mission been turned asunder? Was I to die a fearful coward?

Even as I stood, quivering, I'd noticed the monstrous screeching and pleading shrieks of man had all but ceased. All that remained had been the various creatures surrounding me, their dripping echoing through my eardrums and their... breathing of sorts... doing just the same. "You are a woman." The girl spoke.

"K-kill me... this is... this is cruel! I cannot bear witness to such an atrocity and live. Kill me! Kill me witch!" I beg, my voice choked as I shout the words. Her wrapped feet step along the stone path, approaching me carefully. I raise the weapon and point it at myself, but before I can drive it through my heart, shaky and presumably unwilling as I was to the action, one of the grotesque beings moves itself to my arm and prevents its movement. I shriek and plead, just as my allies had before me, for my life.

"I've never seem a woman among warrior men... such a brutish lot," she chides, now face-to-face with me. A hand reaches out and caresses my cheek.

"No! We are knights! I-! We will die as knights! Not playthings!" I shout, thrashing my body against its slimy prison as the monster now plants my feet onto the ground, holding me with unmatched strength.

"Your allies have died gruesome, detestable deaths. They did not die like knights. They died like cattle. You? You will not die with them," she harshly states. I'm appalled at her words, only causing me to further shake and shout. She shakes her head. Reaching out, she takes off my chest piece, discarding the garment in a pile along with a few other of my equipped articles. In the matter of a minute, all that is left is my undershirt and a pair of leggings, leaving me to whimper at my own uselessness.

"A perfect form... yes dear, perfect. Stay still. Silent. If you open your mouth, you will die in possibly the most gruesome way of all," she quickly chides. My bravado from before has all but vanished. My lips are sealed, my nose sniffling with sob after sob. She lifts my top, exposing my stomach and rolling it up just under my chest.

"Iethnokk seisvull ish'gratu... c'estid!" she chants. Her fingers touches my stomach, directly at my naval. Agonizing heat burns through my core, myself biting my tongue to stifle my shrieks. My legs quiver against the sludge that keeps them pinned to the stone ground. My hands clench and unclench as I attempt to grab at nothing. I kick and screech like a confused, angry toddler. The blistering sensation sprawls from my belly to my hips, just above the wide, bony features of my protruding pelvis. I can feel my eyes rolling back. I can feel Death grab me by the tongue and whisper it's tender promises in my reddened ears.

Or perhaps it was the witch? My mind is racing far faster than I can keep track of. Why am I still alive amidst the tattered carcasses of my allies? A hand grabs me by the chin and tilts my head back, rocking my visage and forcing the stored droplets of my shame to fall down my cheeks once again. The seething agony has stopped, surprisingly, and within a moment, I'm freed from my sludge prison.

"What... what are you-?" I question, falling to my hands and knees and wiping the dripping fluid from my nose.

"I am a witch. And you, my servant. Your soul is now bound to mine. I've been meaning to practice that spell for quite some time. You're lucky it worked the first time," she turns, looking at the brutal, bloody battlefield in front of her. "My my, what a mess. Hmm," she ponders, moving a hand up to her chin and scowling. The lurking monstrosities loom around the detestable witch, all breathing raggedly and swaying like blown trees. She turns back to me, a smirk tugging at a corner of her mouth. "What is your name, girl?"

I curdle a wad of spittle in my downed position. This was my little brother's favorite move. I purse my lips and spit it right at her near-exposed foot, the disgusting, mucus-laden projectile landing right on its target. She smiles, arms crossed at her front. "Adorable. Yes, that will do nicely. You will clean all of this."

"Like hell I will! Kill me! Do it! I will not live in the service of she who slaughtered my allies!" I shout, rising to my feet and clinching my teeth, a hateful, tear-riddled stare now placed down at this unnamed monstrosity of a human.

"Oh? You will. You are a coward at heart. Your eyes are ones that shake in the presence of death, whether yours, your enemy's, or your friend's. You will pick up the dagger of your... yes, I believe that was your captain. You will pick up his dagger and place it at your heart, but you will not do it. You will threaten my life, then your own, but you will take neither. I am Magnolia LeMaitre, and from this day forward, your life is in my hands. Do as I tell you, or I will confirm your fears of death."

She turns and leaves. Taking slow, calculated steps away from my quivering self. A few inches from my foot lays my captain's dagger, covered in dusky tar. I reach over and pick it up, turning it over and wiping away the disgusting substance. I clench my eyes shut, slowly dragging its very tip to my heart. I hold it there with both hands, trembling and sinking my teeth harshly into my bottom lip. Magnolia turns, an eyebrow raised as she smiles. Her head is tilted back. She shows nothing but confidence. I let out a deep breath, before taking in an even deeper one, the blade's apex pressing even harder against my skin. I can feel blood pooling from the puncture, staining my undershirt. My eyes are fixated on Magnolia, but they soon close in the wake of my thoughts.

Memories of my family swarm my mind. If I die now, there will be no possibility I'll ever see them again. My friends will have died with no one to remember or honor their final moments, valiant or not. Shame clouds my judgement. Most of all, her words ring true.

I'm too afraid to die.

I drop the weapon and fall to my knees once again. Magnolia shakes her head and steps forward. "What is your name, girl?"

-

My eyes open pointedly, my jaw trembling and tears once again coating my cheeks. My words are but a whisper.

"Enndolynn Virius."

I am no longer a Virius. Now, I am just Enndolynn.