Crimson flames of vengeance
- Dettagli
- Categoria: I racconti di Michel
- Pubblicato: Martedì, 02 Maggio 2023 12:41
- Scritto da Super User
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Crimson flames of vengeance
People knew me by many names. Parents told my tale to frighten children into bed. My whisper was enough to haunt the most gallant of men with nightmares. They called me the Crimson Witch, daughter of sin and mother of pain. They’d say, “Avoid the rocky path up the mountain, she was seen there last time,” or “She shall devour your soul morsel after morsel.” They only believed what they wanted to believe. That I basked in their agony, that every draught and plague was my making. But no one remembered my true name. Forgotten, forever. Because of him. The man I dared to call father. He chose power and glory over me. And how could I blame him?
To obtain the gods’ favor, one must make sacrifices. And my death would be the most inconsequential. I was worthless, a beautiful husk he would never put to good use. What is a daughter like me other than a burden? He resented me, for my breasts would never suckle a baby, and my womb would never be heavy with child. I was no more than a mouth to feed, and a shame, a disgrace to our family. If anyone came to know that I bore the curse of infertility, who knew what they might think. That our family had lost the gods’ blessing? Unacceptable.
He would achieve all his dreams by getting rid of me. I could never give anything to my family, but this…this could be my legacy. My sacrifice…my sacrifice would finally give me value.
So, when I came to him the night of the first day of the year, he was so delighted that he even caressed my face. His hands were rough, but for the first time, I felt a sliver of love. All doubt left me at that moment.
I still remember his pitiless gaze as he fed me to the flames upon the altar. He was truly regal then, like the king he would soon become thanks to my death. I wasn’t afraid of my untimely demise, for I was sure that the heavens would open their doors to me. I finally had a purpose, and a noble one. But when he bound me with gilded chains to the cold stone, scalding embers burning at my feet, there was no love for me. It pleased him. He would be free of me, and maybe he coveted that more than power. It broke me. That last realization shattered my heart, but it was too late. I couldn’t move, only scream, as the fire raced up my bare legs, burning me.
My cries clawed their way out of my throat, but he did nothing. He didn’t have the mercy to leave, or even to fake sorrow. He stared at me…smiling. Perhaps he was tasting the blessing of the gods, but I didn’t care. He could’ve shed a tear. A single tear would have been enough. No, even a downward curve to his thin mouth, but no. He had to smile while I wept evaporating tears and writhed, skin shriveling amidst the flames.
When he left the room, tired of this too-long spectacle, I was still burning, but I had no more voice to scream. That was his fatal mistake, one minute more, and he would’ve prevented me from surviving. But he was oblivious to something. The victim of a sacrifice is as blessed as the one who makes it. And I had a single thing to ask the gods. Once, I prayed for the good health of my family and, when I felt egoistic, for the chance to travel the world and see all the lands on my father’s maps, but the girl who would pray for such things was dead. When the gods’ blessing flowed through my veins, almost as searing as the embers at my feet, I beseeched them to grant me vengeance. And they did.
My body adsorbed the fire like a drunkard gulping down another pint of beer. The flames stitched my flesh back. I coughed up soot for what felt like an eternity, but, at last, I escaped.
I could’ve exacted my vengeance immediately, he was probably only a few rooms away, but I didn’t want to. I wanted him to know that I was alive. I wanted him to live in fear, and rue the day he was born. One word and I was gone. I had left the chapel, space and time bending to my will.
I landed on the freezing snow. I didn’t know where I was, but I remained there for three days. I slept for countless hours, naked, only the flame of vengeance preventing me from dying of hypothermia.
The first thing that I did was let my father know that I existed, that I would be his personal hell. So I went to our family estate with a snap of my fingers, too focused on my plan to care about my newfound powers. And I engulfed it in flames. I knew it was empty at this time of the year, save for a few servants, but they weren’t inside. The sight of my childhood home burning was dreadfully endearing. The smoke, belching from every window and crack; the fire, slithering all over the wood like a fiery serpent. It was truly a vista of unparalleled beauty, and I could only imagine what the castle, from which my father so desperately wished to reign as king, would look under my scorching spell. But I had to wait. All the years spent as a dutiful child, practicing courtesy and patience, wouldn’t go to waste just now. When the two servants who still worked here came back, dread filled their eyes. I strode to them, flames coiling around my body in a blazing garment. I took their hands, careful not to burn them, and ordered them to report to their master what they had seen. I expected them to remember me, to bow before me like they always did. But they only quivered.
“Do you not remember me?” I crooned.
“Please, please don’t kill us. We will do as you say. But please, spare us,” they replied, tears streaming down their cheeks.
Rage ignited within me, heat surging through my body. They squeaked, for I had burned them with my unshackled magic. “Do you not remember me?” I asked again, fury stealing the softness from my voice.
“N-no,” they muttered.
How could they have forgotten me? “I am…I am…I—“ But then another realization struck. My father had wished for me to be forgotten by everyone, and the gods had granted him that too. I…I didn’t even remember my own name. “Now go, and do as I said.” I let their hands go, my fingers lingering on theirs for a moment.
I was dead, my body was no more than a husk for my vengeance. I had been stripped of every dignity. Another flame sparkled within me. My father had to remember my name. And I had to hear it one more time. I wouldn’t leave this world again without knowing it.
I waited for the day of his coronation to show myself again. I walked the lands of the kingdom he would soon rule, but I couldn’t feel the awe that my younger—and living—self would have felt before the sights that I witnessed in my path. Waterfalls tall as mountains, oceans wide like the unending sky, and all the masterpieces of mankind. But they had no meaning to me anymore. Only two things in the whole world had it. My father’s punishment and my name.
That day, I was among the crowd before the great balcony of the castle. He spoke of his heroic deeds and the glory of our ancestry. A new king, a new dynasty, a new era. But this era would be named after me, not him, thanks to the sadistic irony of fate. The Era of the Crimson Witch. Little solace for me, but all the more shame for him. His new sons, standing behind him, arrogant just as much as I was submissive, cheered at him, proud to be the offspring of such a man. When he had reached the climax of his useless speech, I decided it was my time to shine. A whisper grazed my lips, and all the tapestries, flags, banners that bore my family crest ignited at once. His gaze met mine. They locked for instants, but it was enough to make him understand that he would never get rid of me. Not without paying for his sins.
Then, I heard my new name for the first time. “The Crimson Witch! She’s here!” someone shouted, and I knew they were speaking of me. I left the crowd, hidden under my hooded cape. The Crimson Witch…the name had a sour taste in my mouth, but it was better than being completely forgotten, or so I thought. Soon, I would realize that I wasn’t welcome on this earth anymore. That this name would taunt me for decades. My face was the face of the devil, and people believed that I only left a trail of death and destruction in my wake.
I ignored the other humans. People didn’t know the truth, and they had the right to blame me for every hardship they had to endure. After all, I was my father’s favorite excuse for his misdeeds. He could justify the result of his lacking capabilities as a king.
I was certain that he feared that I could be hiding behind every closed door, thirsty for his blood. And he was right, obviously. I liked to watch him in his sleep, though vitriol flooded my stomach at his miserable sight. He squirmed, moaning and thrashing under his blankets. He was dreaming of me, of the day of the sacrifice. Not because he felt guilty for it, but because of my magic. The first time that I visited him, he was sleeping soundly, content to be safe in his castle. I had to destroy this belief. Mine were nothing more than tricks. A violent nightmare once in a while. Wine turning to smoke in his fancy goblet. Candles burning faster than normal. Little things, but enough to drive a man crazy over time.
Sometimes, I had to leave the castle just to laugh. Graceless guffaw escaped my mouth in the somber forest just behind the castle. It was so amusing to witness his nonsensical decrees. No more candles could be used in the castle. He had guards posted at every corner of his palace. He slept without blankets, fearing that I would set them of fire, but I kept him warm, so warm that he could savor a hint of the flames of hell waiting for him.
But one day, when his mind had shattered into a million pieces, he fell ill. The poor man, after sixty-three years of slow sadistic torture, was about to be stolen from me by the mere course of human life. I couldn’t let that happen. I had disappointed him all my life, but he had expected to see me every day for decades, now I wouldn’t miss this opportunity to finally meet his expectations. I was so thrilled to finally show myself in my full splendor.
He was bedridden, surrounded by dozens of guards. As if they could stop me. The thrill that surged through my body at the thought of discovering my name was almost unbearable. I was so close to finally having an identity again. To be free from the chains of vengeance and the hatred of the people. No more Crimson Witch. No more daughter of sin and mother of woe. No more harbinger of death or herald of plague. But a name. My name.
As I sashayed through the dark halls of the castle, devoid of candles as per my father’s will, my gown of flames sparkled, lively as my excitement. The day had come. The day I had so meticulously planned for years.
The door to his grand bedchamber turned to ash with a single look. Not even the most adamantine of metals would stop me now.
“It’s her! Seize her!” He rasped, coughing immediately after.
The guards pointed their halberds at me, but a snap of my fingers was all it took to burn the air away from their lungs. They fainted, armors clattering on the stone floor.
“It’s just you and me now, father.” I walked to his four-poster bed. While I hadn't aged at all, he was a clump of wrinkles and white hairs. I crinkled my nose at his foul stench. Maybe life and aging had been a punishment of their own, but I wouldn’t show him mercy.
“Guards!” He tried to scream, but his voice cracked. His spindly body quaked, struggling out of the thin blankets, which were still too heavy for him to move.
“They won’t come, father. We are alone.” I kindled my hair, and he started sweating, the heat making him squint his glassy eyes. He had nothing of the proud man he had once been.
“You should’ve died that day! You useless wretch.” He spat. His breath was getting labored. He didn’t have much time.
“Yes, I should have died.” I wished to see him plead for his life, implore me to spare him. But he knew death was just around the corner, and he wouldn’t let his honor go like this. The rage within me, which gave me life and power, was burning more brightly than ever. “But I am here. I could kill you in a thousand ways, but I can be gentle. Only if you answer one question.”
“I don’t care about your pity. You could carve me open and I’d tell you nothing. You are a disgusting disgrace. Pathetic, evil—“
My hand jerked, strangling him. My palm warmed, enough to see redness spreading over his skin. “Close your filthy mouth. And answer my question.” My eyes blazed, fire encircling us both.
“Y-ye—“ he tried to speak. I loosened my grip. He nodded, true fear opening his eyes wide. Finally, I had broken him. To let his pride go meant to see him at his lowest.
“What is my name? Tell me, or even the punishers of hell will pale before what I’ll do to you.” Trepidation grew in my heart. My true desire, answered at last.
But his face rippled in dismay. “I-I…I don’t know.”
He could be lying, he could be trying to stall. But that was the truth. I felt it. The truth crushing in on me. No one remembered my name. I was lost to oblivion.
I shrieked, knees hitting the floor. Tears welled in my eyes, and everything around me burst into flame. My father didn’t have the time to utter a single sound before his flesh and bones were turned to ashes. My fire would have devoured the whole castle, no, the whole world, if the gods hadn’t revoked their blessing.
Now that my father was dead, I had accomplished my request. The flame of vengeance was abating, quelled by the gods. But I kept screaming and weeping, mourning the loss of my name. I had tried my best, every day of my life. First, to be the best daughter I could be, but I was defective. Then to avenge myself and to regain my name and my dignity, but those things weren’t my fate. The Era of the Crimson Witch was destined to end with my failure. I was bound to eternity with all the names I had scorned during my life.
And as I step into the true afterlife, a memory blooms in my mind. A beautiful hum, a face I do not recognize, yet so similar to mine that it can only belong to the mother I never knew. Her lips part and whisper something. “I shall call you…Alina.”
And I hear it. My name, never to be forgotten again.
