Desecration of a saint

Her eyes stayed fixed on me, unblinking and unwavering. The hatred in her gaze was unmistakable, despite the stoic mask she wore. It was as though the scowl she wanted to unleash was barely contained beneath her rigid expression. But I felt it, and I met it. Even sitting on the floor, my position both literally and metaphorically lower than hers, I didn't look away. My eyes locked with hers, defiant in a way I couldn't quite explain.

A deep and unbridled disgust rose within me—not for her appearance, which for the most part seemed normal, save for her sickly pale complexion. No, it was something far deeper, an instinctive revulsion that I couldn't ignore. It felt as though her very essence was wrong, like she was a stain that needed to be cleansed. The intensity of it startled me, and if not for my small body and young age, I might have acted on it, regardless of the consequences.

As the silent battle between us played out, Lord Thorne sat nearby, his imposing figure exuding a calm that felt almost deliberate. He lounged with an air of quiet detachment, but every so often, his sharp eyes would flick toward us, and a faint smirk would tug at his lips—as though he found some amusement in our unspoken feud.

"What do you feel, Edric? I am curious."

Lord Thorne's voice broke the silence, his calm tone cutting through the tension.

I turned my focus from the woman to him, hesitating. "My lord… may I speak my thoughts fully?"

"That's what I asked, boy. Do not make me repeat myself."

His response was sharp but tinged with intrigue. I straightened as much as I could and spoke, steady but deliberate. "I feel like she is a blight—a sickness. Like bread left out to rot, mold spreading across its surface. She should be removed before that sickness takes hold."

Lord Thorne's expression barely changed, save for a slight twitch of his mouth. He turned his attention to the woman. "And you?"

The woman's stoic demeanor cracked. Her disgust exploded in an open act of defiance as she spit on the ground near me.

"This little blessed one should be dragged behind the wagon as we move," she sneered, her voice heavy with venom. "Truly, my lord, you should let me handle him. I promise, I will be quick about it."

Lord Thorne chuckled softly, a sound that was neither kind nor cruel, but something in between. "Ah, how predictable," he mused, his smirk widening. "It seems at least part of what we tried to accomplish worked. Edric, I expect high things from you. Do not disappoint me."

His words left me momentarily confused, but the pieces began to fit together. Of course, they had done something to me. That was why I felt such a visceral reaction to this woman, and why she seemed to feel the same toward me. It had to be tied to whatever they had used during the surgery—the creature whose parts now made up part of me.

Blessed. That was the word she had used, and it struck me with chilling clarity. Whatever they had done, whatever they had used, it must have been some kind of blessed one.

As I was finally starting to understand more of what I was now, a sharp banging jolted me from my thoughts.

"My lord, I have three more contractors that will be accompanying us on our trip. Would you like me to send them in?"

I recognized the voice as the lead guard from earlier.

"Send them in," Lord Thorne replied. His gaze shifted to me, his tone carrying an edge of amusement. "And you, Edric—I suggest you sit closer to me, considering how your little spat with her just went."

I moved closer to him, careful to remain far enough away that my position wouldn't seem above my station. The door of the cart creaked open, and the three contractors stepped in.

The feeling hit me immediately. That same deep disgust I had felt toward the woman now returned, amplified to a suffocating degree.

The first contractor was an older woman whose skin was traced with black, vein-like lines, her eyes pools of inky darkness that seemed to devour the light. The second was a young man, strikingly similar to the woman I had already met—his pale complexion and unsettling presence mirrored hers.

The third was a complete enigma. Their face was hidden, and their garments obscured their gender entirely. Their movements were deliberate but unnatural, like a puppet being guided by unseen strings.

The air in the cart felt heavy, almost oppressive, as they settled inside. My instincts screamed at me.