Dark thoughts toiled for attention in a troubled mind. Small lips quivered in fright and apprehension. Her flesh wielded easily to the knife, and bright red blood began to fill the wound. Alas, she kept her eyes downcast, there was no desire to see. Her arm trembled in His Fingers. Then once more the cold knife bit into her flesh. A pathetic gasp of pain escaped her throat as the metal carved a new line into her arm, parallel to the first. It was an eternity before the blade was once again lifted up.
She risked a careful glance and the hand around her wrist tightened. The blood was finally flowing freely from the first wound, and the skin surrounding had already started to swell. Once again the blade cut into her flesh, though this time she did not cry out. As soon as the knife came away she trained her eyes on the inside of her arm. Three blood filled parallel lines scored the soft flesh. The wounds went deep, and all three were now bleeding heavily.
Alora shuddered tried to form words, those begging him; one last time, to spare her.
“please.” She finally managed to get out, barely a whisper.
“ I d--” Before she could utter another syllable he had placed his finger on her lips.
“Shh, darling, everything will be fine.” His voice was like velvet, enticing and melodious. His finger was still on her lips, the other hand keeping a firm grip on her wrist. He lowered his finger slowly, cupping Alora’s chin in his hand. Catol gently forced her head up, catching her eyes with his own. She trembled in fear, and desperately wanted to drop her gaze but could not.
“All will be well, my dearest, do not worry.” He brought her wrist closer to him. Catol leaned forward taking in the scent of her blood. The crimson liquid was spilling down the sides of her arms and onto the stone table beneath.
She could feel the hot tears welling up in her eyes, and once again cast her look away, lowering her head. As Alora carefully shifted her left hand, the sound of the clinking chain-attached to her wrist-permeated the air. She gave a small gasp as she felt Catol’s tongue on her wound, but did not glance his way. He feverishly ran the tip of His tongue along the bleeding, festering line of red. All the while catching the excess blood on the surface of his tongue. Catol paused giving a shudder of delight
“Perfect.” He muttered giving Alora’s wrist a delicate kiss. Then dropped her hand and stepped lithely away. He made towards the altar. Alora glanced up but didn’t wipe the tears away. She watched apprehensively as Catol lifted a silver bowl from off the altar.
Her hand trembled once again, as his assiduous fingers wrapped around it. He positioned her arm above the bowl. Allowing the blood that was still dripping from her wounds to collect in it. The crimson liquid stained the bright silver, as it spilled from Alora’s cuts.
Within several minutes a dark pool of red liquid had filled the bottom of the silver dish. More blood flowed in from the curved metal sides, slowly increasing the size of the pool. Catol carefully tipped her arm, trying to coax more of the life giving substance from her wounds.
Giving a satisfactory click with his tongue, he set the bowl down with cautiousness. He caressed Alora’s arm. Then with great trepidation release it from his grasp. He lovingly stroked one cheek. She froze at the cold touch of his hand on her face.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make everything better.” He whispered softly, withdrawing his hand. “Soon, you won’t have to worry about anything.” More tears leaked out of Alora’s eyes, making watery trails down her pale face. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want everything better, but didn’t have the courage to. She had given up everything to love him, but now she was realizing that she didn’t want this.
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