A Minor Loss
By Unanon
Written for the 15minuteficlets community on LiveJournal for the prompt
word 'Bloody.'
They cut out my tongue while I was still alive; I had offered it willingly. My master consumed it in a dark ritual designed to temporarily increase his magical powers. I held in the low moans that wanted to escape from between my bloody lips; I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me dishonor my family's nobility or myself by any outward expression of pain.
Lord, it hurt.
I was a good vassal to my master. I served him well with my body, my talent, my wand, my status and position. He had only to ask...to gesture in my direction...and I would offer anything within my power to give.
I would have remained his obedient slave had he not threatened the one thing I'd sworn in my heart to protect forever.
She was my secret love. In my youth I'd gaze upon her at every opportunity, hiding my admiration behind sneers and words of contempt. We were of different worlds and I knew I could never have her, so I concealed my feelings, trapping them forever within me.
I hadn't seen her for a number of years until that day she was dumped unceremoniously at the feet of my lord. She had wed, borne children. Her figure and face were altered with the marks life leaves behind, but the spirit I perceived within her shone as brightly as ever. I knew I loved her still.
When my master began the incantation that would destroy her, my feet moved swiftly, as if of their own volition. My wand-arm remained steady as I blasted my way through my dark-clad comrades. Tongueless, the magical damage I could inflict was minimal, but my ancient family sword spoke only of death. The carnage and their screams of terror meant nothing to me as I sliced my way forward, dodging panicked curses. All my focus was on her pink-clad form, shuddering beneath the pain of a Cruciatus curse.
We both perished. She passed on to that realm of peace while I remained. I will never taste that quiet beyond, but I'm comforted by the knowledge she is forever safe. The stains that seep into my ghostly robes reassure me.
All that remains of her now is her portrait, a vapid imitation of the fire she truly possessed in life. I visit it occasionally, but only while it sleeps. Her image reminds me...calls me...but even in death I am cowardly, conforming to the misplaced prejudices of my race.
If I had the opportunity I'd do it all again. She was worth that much to me.
They cut out my tongue while I was still alive; I had offered it willingly. My master consumed it in a dark ritual designed to temporarily increase his magical powers. I held in the low moans that wanted to escape from between my bloody lips; I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me dishonor my family's nobility or myself by any outward expression of pain.
Lord, it hurt.
I was a good vassal to my master. I served him well with my body, my talent, my wand, my status and position. He had only to ask...to gesture in my direction...and I would offer anything within my power to give.
I would have remained his obedient slave had he not threatened the one thing I'd sworn in my heart to protect forever.
She was my secret love. In my youth I'd gaze upon her at every opportunity, hiding my admiration behind sneers and words of contempt. We were of different worlds and I knew I could never have her, so I concealed my feelings, trapping them forever within me.
I hadn't seen her for a number of years until that day she was dumped unceremoniously at the feet of my lord. She had wed, borne children. Her figure and face were altered with the marks life leaves behind, but the spirit I perceived within her shone as brightly as ever. I knew I loved her still.
When my master began the incantation that would destroy her, my feet moved swiftly, as if of their own volition. My wand-arm remained steady as I blasted my way through my dark-clad comrades. Tongueless, the magical damage I could inflict was minimal, but my ancient family sword spoke only of death. The carnage and their screams of terror meant nothing to me as I sliced my way forward, dodging panicked curses. All my focus was on her pink-clad form, shuddering beneath the pain of a Cruciatus curse.
We both perished. She passed on to that realm of peace while I remained. I will never taste that quiet beyond, but I'm comforted by the knowledge she is forever safe. The stains that seep into my ghostly robes reassure me.
All that remains of her now is her portrait, a vapid imitation of the fire she truly possessed in life. I visit it occasionally, but only while it sleeps. Her image reminds me...calls me...but even in death I am cowardly, conforming to the misplaced prejudices of my race.
If I had the opportunity I'd do it all again. She was worth that much to me.