Bloodsong

Bloodsong

Trembling slightly, she places a hand upon my forehead. My eyes are
fixed to the floor and I can hear her whispers, although I cannot make
out her words. I wonder if they are a blessing or a condemnation.

Now she bids me to stand up in a voice that is quiet, cracked. This is
my first look at the Empress, very different to my expectations. Her
skin is pale, sickly, a little off-white. She wears a translucent gown
that reveals the shape of her body, emaciated. The lines of her ribs
are obvious. This makes her look older than her face suggests she is.
Her most drawing feature is her eyes, which are a striking shade of
amber, at once yellow and gold. Within them lies a compassion that
shocks me a little, a depth of feeling that she holds toward me.

She instructs me to follow her, and wordlessly I do so. Communication
is to be avoided, I have been told. The corridors of this isolated
building are entirely featureless, they blend into one another
seamlessly. It is reminiscent of a hospital, the smell of the place is
clean, it lends the building no character. I wonder if this anonymity
helps her as I watch her walk. Her steps are deliberate and once or
twice she has to catch herself from falling over, almost toppling
weakly over.

It takes us some minutes through the anonymous building to reach our
destination. The room again is white-walled but adorned with various
items. On the far wall is a painting, one of the most bizarre I have
seen. It portrays a throng of people, who knows how many, each bleeding
profusely from their ears and mouth, some from large wounds on their
chest or back. Yet none of the faces scream, each of them holds a
contented smile. The style is shadowy but despite the apparent carnage
there is a serenity that I cannot understand the source of. On the
walls left and right of me there are large windows, stained in grey,
letting in only a very limited light. The heights of the ceiling are
adorned with long strands of red silk. She turns to me again, a darkly
beautiful figure, and speaks once more in her broken voice. 'Is this
truly what you want?' I nod to her, looking into the depths of her
sunset eyes. She smiles, but its forcedness is obvious. 'I want you to
lay here.' She points to an obsidian altar and I follow her command.
The stone there is cold against my exposed arms and sends a shiver
through me.

She now stands above me, placing her hands upon my chest, slowly
removing my shirt. Her hands are icy cold, uncomfortable on my flesh.
Now she looks upwards, and the sounds begin to pour from her, the
glorious bloodsong of this strange empress. There are no words but she
is an instrument within herself, a sirenic sound unlike any other. I
smile at the melody as I feel the blood begin to pour forth from my
ears, bursting out of my mouth, dribbling slowly into the pierced
altar. She looks down to me with a little sadness as I die, bleeding
from her mouth as I do, this pale priestess, wounding herself to
destroy me.