[TD]: TW Light gore mention/blood.

I have died twelve times everyday.

Today I will die twelve more.

Tomorrow, twelve more.

And the day after that, twelve more.

There won't ever be an end to it. There won't be a light at the end of the tunnel. There won't be a release to this torment, this grey line that I've come to walk along for the last hundreds of sweeps. I guess it can be considered my punishment; whatever it is I've done. Well I do know what it is I've done. I've existed as an anomaly to the hemospectrum, to the Queen's beloved caste system. I've disrupted all known order by being hatched in the first place. I'm the lower than the mutants with their candy red blood, yet even higher than the royalest of fuchsia bloods. I exist as every color and as no color. I am purely tainted. But I am also clean.

It wasn't entirely hard to hide my blood color-or really lack thereof- and yet it was. I could only fake so much until it was impossible to keep faking. In the end they were coming after me thinking I was a normal mutant blood, covering my tracks in the anonymous of the grey area like all before me of the class have done. They hunted me down to the ends of Alternia until I finally gave up myself in exchange for the life of another. The Threshecutioners were ready to cull me, and I was ready to die, but there's still so much that I did not know of my blood.

The moment I felt the sting of metal biting through my skin was the moment I knew I was going to make it out alive, and come to regret it deeply. I've never hated my blood more than I did in that moment, pouring like a crystal clear fountain from my open wounds, betraying me and subjecting me to an eternity of routine death and rebirth.

The Queen demanded that I be judged in her court immediately.

I died in that room for the first time by her order, because my blood was clear. And I awoke alive again, the blood still pooling out of my body even as the gaping holes closed. After dying several more times I was imprisoned on the premises forever. Forever's been a long time.

I served in her court as a Fool. Of course I was not to be the only one. She summoned twelve to join me, one for each color of the castes-even the bright and lowly mutants. Some were there as punishment, like me, and sentenced to spend all but their dying days in her servitude unless they failed to comply to her demands.

In total there are Thirteen Fools. However I am to be kept a secret, much as I had thought to keep my blood. And thus the Twelve are known as the Zodiac. In the Queen's court they have to do whatever she wishes to keep her pleased, but whenever I am brought forth then there's only one thing to satisfy her.

Each member must kill me once before she will release them from the daily duties.

I have died twelve times everyday.

Today I will die twelve more. It will be no different than the last two generations I've endured, this being the third.

The clang of metal on metal rings in my ears. They're at the beginning of the stony hall. It will take them twenty-three steps to stand in front of my wooden door reinforced with iron bars both on the outside and the inside. In forty-eight seconds they will have found the key to my cell, the first set of iron and wood unlocked and open, and dim shafts of light filtering into the cramped space. For ten seconds they will stare and judge me. And the final five seconds will contain them unlocking the final set of iron bars.

Who will be escorting me today? Or so I would like to wonder this but it's long since become meaningless. In the end we won't be allowed to speak to each other. No words of reassurance, no general politeness, not even a sound of pity. Nothing.

Metal grates on stone, and then wood smooths it over. Thin shafts of pinkish-orange light shimmer into my cell and illuminate the little space almost as well as a single candle. A bed of straw, which I sit on, and three walls with brick and stone layered one over the other. There had been an attempt at one point in my time where I had tried to count my forever, but eventually it just made me sick and now it surrounds me like a reminder.

A girl stands in the way of the light, casting a shadow that very well near diminishes the already poor lighting. Just from her posture alone I can tell which Zodiac has drawn the lot to come get me today. Cocky, elegant, and demanding. Her hair is voluminous and it cascades over her back and shoulders like a gently roiling fountain. And if this weren't a big enough tip off then her horns most certainly would have been- being much like the spiders that she and her ancestors chose to serve. It's none other than the Serket descendent, Vriska.

She jerks her head sharply, impatiently, and steps aside. Rising from my bed I clear the cell and wait with my hands stretched forth. The cuffs are never removed from my wrists so all she has to do is take a cord from her belt and string it through the loops before leading me away, not even bothering to shut the door to my cell. I will be coming back to it anyways.

We walk down the hall at different paces, hers being a brisk and haughty swagger, mine being casual and practically languid. The difference between us can't be more clear than my own blood. She's only been here for a few months and still thinks that speed will earn her everything. It's the typical brash measure that most rookies make their first run on the job. Then again her Royal Highness is unpredictable.

We walk through halls of stone of dark, up winding staircases, shifting to floors and walls of marble and ceilings of pearl. The light of the sun wanes through sea-glass windows, creating a ripple of colors along the walls like a tidal wave of the hemospectrum. It's beautiful, but not a sight that I've never seen. Soon enough I'm dragged into the Grand Court of Her Royal Condescension and greeted with more familiarness.

Vriska unbinds the rope from my shackles and leaves me to stand in the center of the room, where most of the light shines down in a wide circle from an overhanging chandelier. The Queen sits on her alabaster throne with one long leg crossed over the other. Fuchsia trimmings adorn her black jumpsuit and curve to her relaxed figure. Her long, curly hair piles around her, spilling over her seat and onto the floor. Beside her is her favored weapon of choice, the triton. Every time I gaze upon it my skin prickles in various places where it had met with the vicious, blood hungry metal. Both of her hands are adorned with golden rings and jeweled bracelets, one holds a glass of soporific type liquid while the other rests with a slight impatient beat being tapped onto the stone underneath her.

She studies me with a cold stare and reveals nothing like always. I mimic it in my own uninterested way, noting that there are bags forming under her eyes and making her appear to be as old as she really is. I place my arms behind me and bow low before her. Not a sound escapes me.

"Rise," she commands, and I do so. I watch as she waves someone over and they walk forward from the shadows where the twelve usually wait when I arrive.

The angle of my head twitches slightly to the right, mildly curious. I haven't see this boy before. The Queen must have finally replaced the previous mutant blood if he's here. It seems that I'll miss yet another chance to interact properly with him. Though I highly doubt that he will want to after what will soon occur.

He's short, yet looks mature enough to be about six or seven sweeps old. Midnight black hair curls gently over his forehead, the rest an unruly mess as if he had just woken up. Little nubby horns poke out from this disaster. His grey skin is healthy except for the dark circles under his luminous gold eyes, his blood color having yet to fill his pupils. He wears the customary court suit that all the male Fools wear; a three piece ashen grey suit with blood color linings, and symbol on the lapel of the coat. Strapped to his back is his weapon of choice, what appears to be a double sickle.

Those will become stained, yet remain clean.

The Queen smirks at him, at the way he stands in attention. A mixture of fear and diligence shapes his posture. He's honored to have received the position as a member of the court, as it spares his life though he'll have to serve here until the very end. Yet he's also fearful simply because of his mutant blood. He'll be hated for sure, is what he thinks.

"Vantas, do you see this she-troll here?" The Queen doesn't look at me as she nods her head in my direction. It shouldn't surprise me that she continue to make a single line of descendents suffer, yet I can't help but blink slightly at the name. When the boy turns to look at me we lock eyes. There's no doubt about it and the resemblance to his ancestors is somewhat uncanny. I have this feeling that he's going to cause me a peculiar form of trouble.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he responds promptly with a scratchy voice. It's not hard to tell that he wants to ask who I am, what my importance is, but he is trying hard to restrain himself in hopes that the Queen will answer without prompting.

"This here is another Fool, just like you. You will only see her at the end of each day unless you are the one escorting her from her cell. There's no need to know her name, but if you wish to refer to her as something then call her Thirteen," The Queen's smirk deepens to the point of borderline cruelty. Thirteen is her pet name for me, an insult almost. But I cannot change what is her will and have since long forgotten my own name.

The boy nods to confirm he understands.

The Queen stands and moves behind him. She places a grey, taloned hand on his shoulder and leans forward to whisper in his ear. I can't hear what she says, but I know what she tells him almost as if by heart. I watch his neutral expression change, eyes widening in shock, turning to look at the Queen with his mouth agape ready to protest.

Before he can say anything she shoves him down the steps that lead up to her throne and he stumbles. He catches himself before he reaches the bottom, landing on the last step heavily. With a haughty chortle Her Majesty returns to her seat and prepares herself for the show to begin. I loosen my muscles and wait for the Vantas descendant to reach me with my arms slack at my sides.

As he walks forward, slowly and hesitantly, he removes the sickles from his back. They twirl around slightly as he accustomed himself to a familiar grip. His steps echo around the silent hall. The tension mounts within him the closer his feet bring him to me. I wait patiently.

He stops a few feet away from me with his weapons raised and his posture in a battle stance. I'm ready to begin this dance and learn his style but it's quite obvious that he isn't prepared for this. I don't blame him.

In this society that we've built up we are expected to kill or be killed. Learning to fight is mandatory if we wish to survive. But many trolls, especially the lowbloods, want a change. They would rather take the path of peace and only fight to kill if necessary. The highbloods have turned killing into a thing of sport. Bloodshed is meant to be entertainment. Killing senselessly is the way things are supposed to be ran, according to them.

I've become so desensitized that it hardly matters to me anymore.

There's a hint of confusion in his eyes as he studies me. He's trying to make sense of this. How is it he'll be seeing me at the end of each day if he's going to be killing me? I'd like to tell him how, but I'm forbidden from speaking. He's just going to have to watch and learn. But at the moment if he doesn't hurry and get this over with he's going to get into trouble.

I look back at the Queen and prepare to break my silence.

"Your Highness, it appears that the new Zodiac is confused as to many things and is in need of a demonstration before he can carry out your order," My voice comes out as a croak, somewhat deep and dry. I lightly cough but do not turn away from the Queen. A dangerous look flashes in her eyes and I know that I am in waters that are turning too deep for swimming. There comes an audible murmuring from the right as the Zodiac speak among themselves, none having heard my voice before.

Softly I continue and offer something that will surely make her forget she was even angry at me. "If you will allow for it, I wish to give the demonstration myself."

She remains silent as she thinks. Her hand rises to meet her mouth and she absently plays with her bottom lip for awhile before a dark grin forms. I've never offered this before. And what is one more killing of myself in a day to her?

She nods and I return my focus back to the Vantas boy, holding out my hand expectantly for at least one of his weapons.

He stares incredulously, slowly shaking his head back and forth to deny me. I take a step forward, and he takes one back. I close my eyes briefly and inhale.

"Please give me your weapon."

My eyes open again. He's shaking his head more quickly and I can see his hair moving with the movements like water. Water which is clear like my blood that will flow free from the confines of my body.

"Vantas!" the Queen snaps. "Give her your weapons."

He switches the sickle in his right hand over to his left and stretches out the arm stiffly. Wrapping my hands around the exposed parts of the hilts I try to take them. Unwillingly he lets them slide from his grasp. I step away, back to my place in the center of the court. Raising the sickles above me I cross my arms, keeping the rounded side facing me. Then in a swift and fell swoop I bring them back down to meet with my neck.

The sickles clatter to the floor, flinging clear blood in every direction. The warm, syrupey goo spurts from the slits I had created and fills into my open lungs. The boy's mouth is opened in a wordless scream and he reaches forward already too late to stop me. I take one step forward, teeter, and then fall onto my side to choke while I bleed to death.

Karkat:

He didn't understand the Queen's command. Kill her? He hadn't expected his job to turn ugly so quickly. He didn't even know there was another Fool besides the twelve in Her Majesty's royal court until know. It doesn't sit right with him, having to kill someone he doesn't know for no good reason. That's why he hesitated to perform his duty.

The she-troll didn't even seemed phased by this. The way her body stayed relaxed, the way she waited patiently, the dead yet observant look in her clear-somewhat sliver- eyes. Her hair showed a lack of care by the way it curled and tangled in whatever direction it wanted in it's short and choppy range. Even her outfit showed that she had been here for a long, long time. The threadbare jester's tunic full of faded colors held tightly to her body by a black bodice, matching black leggings with knee high scarlet boots that curl at the toes. She looked the part of an actual Fool, unlike him and his colleagues. She didn't even have her own symbol.

She calmly held out her hand and asked for his weapons…..

She was even willing to kill herself?!

They were now firmly in her grasp, as if she's used them time and time again. Her movements were fluid and synchronized, like she's done this time and time again. The light glints off of the metal and he watches in horror as she brings them down diagonally, crosshatching her own throat. The sickles fall from her hands and land on the marble floor with a loud clatter. A spurt of the clearest blood he's ever seen spews from the wound. It pours like water down her front, but thicker, heavier.

His mouth twists and he tries to scream but his voice is stuck in the middle of his throat in a large lump. He reaches for her as she steps forward and then falls onto her side. He should move over to her, help her, something. But he is frozen in place, transfixed by the sight of the clear liquid flowing from her body and pooling around her. Her choking grows weaker the longer he stands there, until finally she stills.

His heart hammers against his chest as he turns wildly from the fallen woman to the other members of the Zodiac. Most look away, but a few stare in pity with their hands behind their backs.

Behind him something moves. Slowly he cranes his head around to look over his shoulder. The lump in his throat drops and turns to a pit in his stomach. Thirteen is sitting up, spitting and coughing up more of the shiny blood. If he were trying to fool himself, which he is, he could simply brush it off as saliva. But who is he kidding? Saliva isn't colorless. Blood shouldn't even be colorless. Yet here is the proof that it is right now, getting back up off the ground after having slit her own throat.

He's going to be sick.

She grabs his weapons and walks over to him. He scuttles back, but quickly stops. It's hard to breathe, he's panting so hard. She holds out the sickles with one hand and reaches for his other, guiding it up to take them from her. He feels the cooling blood running down onto the hilt and recoils, nearly dropping the things. Thirteen grips his hand tightly and forces him to clamp down onto them and take them back.

"Now you have to do it," she murmurs quietly with a rasp to her voice. "Don't think of me as another living being, don't pay attention to my blood. Use me like you would a practice dummy."

She steps away from him and gives a slight nod. The lump returns again, and with the weight of the pit he really doesn't have a doubt that he's going to be sick. Shakily he steps forward and takes up his battle stance again. Quick and painless. He's gotta make this quick and painless for both him and her.

Steeling his nerves he pushes forward and sprints. Raising his left hand high above him he jumps and brings the blade down like a harbinger of death.

I arise from the ground for the final time today bathed in my blood. The floor everywhere I've died is shiny, like little pools are dotting the court. I bow to the Queen and turn to face Vriska once again with my hands outstretched. While she binds my shackles again I look for the Vantas boy.

He leans heavily against a far wall, heaving. While most members of the Zodiac stand stock still and mind their place, a few of the low bloods have gone to comfort him. I pity him a little. Watching the same person die multiple times in the same day is a disturbing thing the very first time it happens. He's much like his ancestors in that aspect.

Vriska tugs harshly and I turn my attention away from the boy.

As I tread down the familiar white halls I count my numbers again. For three hundred and fifty-two sweeps I've been imprisoned and given a forever sentence. For three hundred and fifty-two sweeps I've walked these halls back and forth to the same places and faced the Queen's court. For three hundred and fifty-two sweeps I have died twelve times every day by twelve different hands from three different generations.

Except for today.

Today I have died thirteen times.

That Vantas boy…There's something about him and his lineage altogether that is strange. I can't quite place my finger on it, but it's disruptive. It seems that he really is causing me a peculiar form of trouble.