Shackles Of The Past

Chapter 28- Webs of horror

Every angel,

has its devil side.

~ Unknown.

***

Sometimes pain comes in different ways; physical, mental, emotional and psychological. Pain is caused when the body refuses to accept stress. Stress of the physical, stress of the mental body, stress of the emotional and lastly, stress of the psychological. It goes through four different stages. First is pain, and pain to stress and stress to trauma, and then ends with death. All these stages reoccur in the mindset of humans, and still continue. But this wasn't the case. This was far from pain. This was torture. Torture!

The last man stood fixed at a particular spot. So many emotions swirled around him. His eyes remained wide as he stared at nothing but the small girl. Her body was drenched but not stained. Her pale beige dress couldn't be spotted with a spill of blood. Her face was still covered with that long silver hair as she stopped walking, fixed at a certain spot, and now facing him as though she could see his trembling figure behind her heavy locks.

He panted in terror. His breathing was hard and heavy. With the shock of the earlier event, he was paralyzed to the core such that he froze. Slowly, he took off the mask on his face, expressing his fear and shock.

He had distorted face, shaped big-boned. His nose was pointed and sharp and his mouth was refined in such a way that fitted his figure. He wore black pants and a dull shirt that stuck to body. His short brown hair was tossed by the wind and mixed with the raindrops.

The thunder struck loud, reminding the people under it that it was going to get heavier. And deadly.

And the next second, he dashed into the woods.

Medusa smirked internally.

Running deep without pausing, he panted with his feet sore of how much distance he had been running away from that little monster. The breeze rushed past him as the rainfall became rather vigorous. The leaves made an unsettling sound, under his feet, a sign of the impending doom coming his way.

He would run, run far away for his dear life. At least he was safer from death. From torture; from the claws of that little monster! That witch!

All they wanted was the huge sum of money the lady had offered them to get rid of a child; this child known to be the curse of their land. She had promised to complete the payment once the job was done. And though the idea of who they were about to face surfaced the back of their mind, their greed was far potent than sanity. It was damned.

And they agreed. One, the pay had been tempting, and two; they badly wanted to get rid of the witch. Of course, they had prepared beforehand. Witches were immune to spells and sorceries, but they were exorcised with holy water and salt. It was a common knowledge in delivering humans being possessed by satanic power. It was practiced also to eliminate witches from the race. And successfully, it had worked.

Centuries, decades, and yet no witch appeared. Not until a dreadful night. A night where satans dropped from hell to welcome the birth of a child. The birth of doom not salvation. A witch and not an angel. Medusa and not Jesus.

Years passed with crisis and misfortunes. The devil brought forth its curse. Prophecy upon prophecy, priests upon priests, nothing could eliminate just this one child. This child without a heart. A body with two souls. Medusa and Medyse. He was baptized with water, but she was baptized with blood. A sinful practice.

Little Medusa grew with an intimidating aura but an innocent figure. She was the clear definition of innocence and sin.

So when the lady had convinced them what she carried were just mere intimidation, and proved to them in a way they had believed because all witches they had come across mutter spell before attacking their preys. She had convinced them she knew nothing. And they wanted to put an end to the cursed child.

And the salt? W-what had happened took him to terror and sent him the message from the wind that it was all that it screamed. Danger. Death. Dead. And most importantly, the little girl couldn't even talk! That had put their hopes high.

But how come? How come she had so much power that killed two of his brothers in a way no man had ever done?! She was a witch! But witches aren't this strong, especially to someone as small as she is! From his vast knowledge, witches first mutter spells before performing rituals against their target but that child… that child had done the unspeakable deed with a blink of an eye and on a fair note, without any spell! How?!

He knew his decision was selfish to abandon his brothers and flee for his own treasure. But yes… selfishness can be prone upon his very own life. If no one would live to tell the story, he would when he's alive and not dead! That the very child everyone believed was harmless had killed two of his brothers' cold bloodily!

But he was about to find out the other way.

Medusa suddenly appeared few steps away from him, causing the poor victim to screech to halt and fall roughly to the muddy ground. And lightning struck. The thunder boomed like a ravaged beast. One could see how angered the gods has become when it struck exactly midnight.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he diverted to the other way only for she to appear before his eyes. And again he diverted right, and was still blocked by her eeriness.

He fell on his knees, pleading. "Please! Please! I beg you! D-don't kill me! I-I-don't kill… spare my life…" he continued with his frantic begging, stammering and shivering under the unmerciful weather.

But Medusa was in no mood for pleas.

Reminiscing that encounter graced a satisfying yet cold smirk on her lips. The pleasurable and heart contented screaming of that woman at the sight of the heads of the men she hired to kill her, eyes opened, laying cold in the basket, basked in their pool of blood, right in the middle of her bath.

And she recalled the rumors following the next day, the words of a time she had left to the bazaar to get some food stuffs.

With the empty basket on her arm she made way towards the bazaar were villagers, merchants, folks crowded the entire place. Some stopping to buy items, others sitting near their shops either engaging in a conversation or gossiping, all this became clear to the little girl as she approached.

Local carts filled with fruits, with a rope that supported the trunk which dragged the wooden wheel, delivering to the buyers who ordered passed by.

The appearance of the little girl drew curiosity in the eyes of some villagers. One of them whispered to the lady besides her by saying, “Isn’t that the little witch?”

Her question drew the lady’s attention besides her, following her line of sight to spot the girl walking towards a tomato seller. The lady with brown hair nodded with a slight frown, “I wonder if she’s here to take another soul along with her.”

“She’s here to take another soul with her,” The first whisperer corrected, voice dripping with disdain. “I thought she was locked up for the murder of Duke Harward last week?”

“Yes, I heard. Such tragic event that I still can’t believe a girl as my last child’s age could commit such atrocity,” Someone said, shrieking. “Oh, his head. I heard his head weren’t found till date.”

“She must have used it for her rituals. Can’t you see that hair? And that skin? Or those eyes resembling that of a walking dead,” They all looked at her.

“Why is she out? Her head is meant to be hung on a spike by now, for all the hideous crimes she had committed. What does the authority have to say about a witch?”

One of the customers took interest in their conversation, huffed before saying, “Rumors have it that the magistrate who handed her to the court members were found dead this morning.”

The first lady gasped with stretched eyes. “It must be her!”

“Shh… lower your voice,” Another warned, feeling intimidated. “I’ve heard several things happening, but things so unholy like this, the devil had indeed decided to punish us with his sins, and we should be very careful spilling out the witch’s name.”

“Why haven’t this matter been taken to the royals? They need to know there’s a witch living and breathing the same air as we. The last time I heard witches clans were infiltrated for good. This is preposterous,”

“Rather monstrous,” The lady interjected. “It’s best we don’t talk or even spare another glance at her. Who knows what would happen next,” she said, glaring at the girl before turning to face her own business.

But the adamant one spoke next, “I wonder how such being possesses such darkness.”

One would assume the sight of the girl as a pure child, devoid of sin and evil nature, like a swan of princess she seemed, her cheeks firm and her long lashes very vivid around those ocean blue eyes which lacked warmth and rather referred dead.

The look on her face was passive, perfectly round, flawless, not so long or deeply refined. Those eyes that were lost, weighed in emptiness that varied her entire being, long gone like it lost its purpose of living.

Her pale skin, slender figure, and tiny mouth, remained unmoving, not a slight pull upwards of sort kind. Not to mention the aura she carried along. Utter darkness. A great mane of silver hair grew back from her forehead, falling about her almost magically. It seemed soft and motionless, more a cloud than mane, perhaps, and not so fine that the light made the mass of it appear faintly transparent.

Thunder stuck hard, causing Medusa to look upwards, and brought back to reality. The cloud was thick and heavy, covering the people under it. Guess it would be raining after all.

Medusa was drawn back when silent whispers got to her ears. And it got the whole servants talking. And she could guess what could be happening.

She hung the last piece of cloth, before following the others to the place they all headed. By the time she got there, the other slaves had already gathered. There were murmurings, low whispers laced with anxiousness that painted their voices. A man stood with poised elegance and an air of authority. Medusa recognized him; Mr. Barnes, the head servant over the castle.

Esther stood at far end and their eyes met. For the nth time, staring at each other without any communication. It became something common for the both to do. Words just seem to flow without them speaking.

"You all are very much aware the… Lord… of Dragsholm, has awoken from his slumber," He started off with a usual frown. "With that, a grand ball would be thrown in few weeks' time, prior to the King of Dragsholm, His highness, Walter Hawthorn order to celebrate his… brother's arrival, Lord of Dragsholm." Medusa wasn't surprised.

After the Demon Lord's hibernation for over hundred years, the people of Dragsholm had chosen their new king, the legitimate son of the late king, as their new ruler. Rumors had it that the new Lord was the illegitimate son of the Hawthorn reign, as the late king had involved in an affair with a whore that worked in a brothel, producing an heir to the throne, when the late queen couldn't.

The second wife to King Edmund Hawthorn, Hazel Hawthorn, the mistress of Dragsholm, was brought to the castle as decision of his royal cabinets. Not everyone knew the true story of how the king who was never interested in taking any concubines or mistress, suddenly decided to have one; a lowly whore form a brothel seiring an heir to the throne. The news had circulated around the palace and even out of the castle walls, such staining the reputation of King Edmund Hawthorn.

Few years later, Queen Seraphena gave birth to a boy, the second child of the Hawthorn, the prince of Dragsholm, after Lady Hazel gave birth to the crown prince, Arthur Hawthorn; tagged as the illegitimate son after being the very first bastard.

People call him the wench's son. People say the bastard. Or rather the whore's sour fruit. But now, he was the demon Lord. Not only the Lord of the Manor that lived in the castle, but the Lord over darkness. The whispered beast.

"As servants…" Medusa heard him speak, breaking her off from her thoughts. "… properties belonging to the castle ground and of course, to the kingdom as well, you wouldn't be reminded that your decorum, respect, hardwork, punctuality, resilience and self-control are required." He said. "I need not remind you, who you are and what you have become from the very start. Lord, Dukes, Ministers, Council members, officials and other prominent nobles will be present. It is your duty to serve them. I'm certain Lady Monica has given you the speech needed for this," Then he glanced over to the old lady at the far end, which she acknowledge with a bow. "And with that, I'll assign you to your positions in preparation for the day…”

Few faces fell at the announcement. Quite a number looked worried, some contradicted but just one looked less concerned; as though she was rejoicing for this opportunity.

As the names were being called with duties assigned, some sighed in relief while some didn't. "Esther, the Royal waitress." Esther sighed in relief, releasing the breath she had been holding for long.

"Medusa, the Royal kitchen."

Soon, everyone departed after hearing their assigned duties and was to continue their pending work. The day had finally paved way for night, with the moon shining brightly at the sky, accompanied with the stars that carried glory with its master.

The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the night sky with blanket of stars that stretched to infinity. Few days from now, Medusa thought to herself. Finally taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes and listened to the quietness of the night that lured her to sleep.

***

#Medusa&Medyse.