Story:

>> Chapter 1 << , Chapter 2

Excerpt: Moonlight

Lucinda smiled at her reflection in the mirror of her boudoir.

Her mouth, split in two, smiled when she told it to smile – as all mouths do.

“Wider,” she would think as both halves obliged.
And together they would smile at themselves in the waxing moon’s light.

Chapter 1: Escaping The Catacombs

Lucie sat in her thin, holey tunic with her dirt laden feet placed squarely below her knees. Her arms wrapped around her legs and she lowered her head into the gap created by this position to cry. Cold, grey cobblestone beneath her bottom and against her back reminded her that her tears were not the only damp thing in her cell. A thought crossed her mind, or rather a memory of the sensation of dry air and warmth on her tanned skin. She tried to grip onto that memory and hold it in place; that she may genuinely feel the pleasure of a sunny day once more. But the memory was distant, and in this dank place it was impossible to conceive joy. After eight long months in this wretched prison, she’d been informed that tomorrow, she would finally be hanged.

An auburn lock of matted hair fell forwards as she sat up. A hand that she could not see tucked it back into her ratty mane. “Why so glum, sugarplum?” sang a familiar voice that echoed both from everywhere and nowhere. The voice was deep and rattled her jaw, but sometimes it was shrill and corroded her train of thought. “You know precisely why” Lucinda spat, though her mouth did not open. “Oh hush, darling-” “Wretched succubus,” Lucinda cursed, this time out loud. Here the voice flowed into a sharp, high tone that cut through her like a knife “-you brat.” It waited a moment before speaking to her again, as if considering how to best approach the situation. “We have discussed this. I am not a succubus, nor an incubus, nor a demon, nor an angel. I am simply a benevolent spirit, here to guide you” it said rather matter-of-factly. Then its tone softened, “You know you that you need only to sign the contract, and all this pain shall become a distant memory.” It spoke in her mother’s voice this time. Her mind felt weak for a moment, as though she were being lulled into relaxation and simultaneously losing herself in a dense fog. The thing was mocking her. Lucie started upright, realizing her sudden loss of control. “You’ll not entrap me so easily.” Lucinda spoke firmly and loudly, waving her arms into the empty air. This back and forth went on for some time. The guards knew by now to ignore such unprompted ravings.

At dawn, the sun cast it’s first rays of light over the eastern slums of Orelis. This, of course, was of no consequence to Lucie in her windowless cell. But within her, she could feel that she was running out of time. Never before had the voice in her head been so influential to her whims and thoughts. To her, it felt as though in her final hours she was becoming someone else. The nails of her fingers were chipped and caked with dirt. That didn’t stop her from boring them into the hard, flattened ground. She scraped until she bled, and when she pulled her palms away, only shallow scratches remained. “Shit.. this is really it,” she thought. “But it doesn’t have to be this way” chortled the voice flippantly. Lucie didn’t respond. Instead, she wallowed in the dejected silence and heavy, rancid air that hung all around her. A few hours went by, and her heartbeat skipped with each echo of rattling iron keys or passing footsteps of guards. Still not her turn. A cold sweat filled her to the very tip, and chills passed through her bones. Her tears had been drained during the night, replaced now by dry salt and soot. “When, damnit?! When?!” she yelled and met the scraped dirt with her fist. “I can’t stand being left like this.” Lucie didn’t realize that she had expected a response until it did not come. “Oh, what? Now you’re too good for a walking corpse?” Still no response. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” A rusty, metal latch turned and clicked into place. The door of her cell swung open with a mighty blow. Two guards in uniform stood in the carved entrance – several wall sconces burned behind them, casting an ominous, flickering orange light. “Prisoner Lucinda Valridge. You have been found guilty for the murder of Thalor Brigdmar and have been sentenced to hang on this day, the 5th of Norem, XX14.” Lucie’s hollow eyes dilated and frantically darted across the length and width of the doorway. She didn’t hear what the guard had said; she only knew that it was finally her turn.

—

Lucinda’s feet trudged to the gallows as she was dragged from either side by those who had retrieved her from her cell. She did not scream, but rather mumbled to herself in hushed whispers. Her hair hung over her eyes and swayed in each direction they forced her. The guards could not make out her words, nor did they care to listen to what a [soon-to-be] rotting heap had to say. Before the ropes stood an impressive and large man decorated in shiny, black armor. In his hands he held a great battle axe, whose silver blade blinded the front row of the crowd with its unsettling glare in the high noon sun. The large man in his flashy dark armor stepped aside to allow the trio passage and the guards finished carrying Lucinda’s form up each step, then onto the platform box of the gallows’s stage. The crowd could not see her eyes, only the grey shadow cast over her thinning face by her hair. They all cheered and sneered and jeered as a crier read aloud all of her charges. They booed and heckled Lucinda with their bloated or gaunt faces, sausage-like or skeletal fingers, and filled their fat or empty stomachs with mead or air. A brown tomato hit her squarely in her right thigh. With her head hung low, she allowed her eyes to rove around its aged, shriveled flesh and passively wondered if that’s what their heads would look like if they were to pop. Eventually, one of the two fastened the noose around her neck and held her in place. Lucinda smiled a smile that others could see only if they were to look very closely. It was the last smile that would ever genuinely be her own.

A trickled of blood ran down her lip, and the overseer of the execution gave the signal to pull the platform away. “Let it be done,” she whispered. The rope went taught, then slack, then taught again, and Lucinda’s body hung in the air for a short while. Her left foot twitched. Then, as suddenly as life can be taken away, Lucinda’s head fought to return to its natural upright position. The cheers of the crowd turned into astonished silence, and then horrified screams. Lucinda, hanging by her very neck, appeared as though she were simply standing perfectly upright in midair with a rather unfashionable necklace. She felt the terror course through each of them and laughed a deep and powerful laugh that was not her own. The more frightened the crowd became the more invigorated she felt, and so she continued to laugh and laugh until finally all but her, the block executioner, with his great axe, and a considerably small number of the guard remained. Lucinda stopped laughing, but could not help the wide grin that was smeared across her face. The executioner, in his mighty, ornate black helm was an elite representative of the King himself and would not normally be so easily unnerved – but this was not a normal situation. The Executioner raised his axe far above his head and steadied his aim towards Lucinda’s neck. Lucinda, being who she now was, thought of a cunning ploy and snapped her fingers. The instant her forefinger separated from her thumb, the executioner floated in the exact spot where she once happily levitated. He barely had time to reach for the rope around his neck before the momentum of the axe saw itself through a wet squelch . It’s blood-spattered blade hit the platform of the gallows at the same time as the executioner’s head. Lucinda’s smile would have grown, if that were possible. How very clever of her, indeed, she thought with an audible chuckle.

—

In seeing this feat that surpassed all logic and reason, the witnessing guard used their better sense to quickly saunter away from the scene. It’s also possible that some of their pants were drier prior to seeing an executioner and a mad witch swap places, only to have the usually more formidable of the two’s head come clean off his shoulders. Lucinda watched as they scattered. She sized the great axe up and down with her eyes, knowing that it would be impractical to carry amidst the streets of Orelis. She shrugged, still smiling. Her eyes made their way back to the executioner’s stunted body. She now had some time to really admire the craftsmanship of the metalwork and casting of the rotting heap’s heavy armor. The chest piece had small grooves carved all across its front, back, and sides. Not very practical for battle, she thought. It would almost certainly compromise the chest’s overall integrity to thin so much of its outer surface with frivolous decorations. But, then again, this was all just a show. In that way, it made the armor seem like just another prop for this morbid set, and thus perfectly crafted. “I can’t take that much metal with me; it’s far too heavy.” She was talking to the armor. It looked increasingly sad as the body that wore it grew colder. She pouted and flicked her bottom lip backwards and forwards, reveling in its metallic tang. “Oh, alright, then.”

Lucinda lifted the axe from the wet boards that it had lodged itself into and rested it on her shoulder. With her index finger that was not holding the weapon’s hilt pointed at the disembodied head, she chanted a spell under her breath. In one smooth motion, the axe’s blade collided with the helm and it shattered into dozens of pieces that splayed across the pooling blood and oak boards. It also sliced through what remained of the executioner’s face and head, but to Lucinda that was less notable. She hovered her hand above the obsidian metal shards and chanted softly in a foreign tongue once more. The armor fragments began to shake and rattle against the boards that they touched. Many of them levitated into the air and reconnected with others to form flawless seams. When the casting was complete, in her hand Lucinda held a half mask as deep and black as the night that dripped in the blood used to seal it. It had a sharp, pointed mouth with jagged teeth, and possessed half of an inhuman smile that was not dissimilar to hers. The unused shards of metal and errant blood droplets excused themselves back to the floor of the platform, and she placed the half mask gingerly on her right cheek. Her right eye was completely covered, but that did not impair her ability to see through it. Elegant and comfortable, how lucky for me! In a final, dramatic hand wave across her face, she sealed it to her skin. Blood dripped from her chin, but it is difficult to say whose. “Now you can come with me everywhere I go,” she chirped. Her smile stayed unnaturally wide.

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