Okay! This is just a little something I wrote whilst trying to get back in the swing of writing. I was feeling a little angsty, so I decided to type-ramble for a bit and see what happened. And... this did.
Read and review, if you would be so lovely (as I think you are anyway)
Light glinted across the razor-sharp edge of the knife, held tightly in a thin, trembling fist. The wrist flexed, allowing the light to travel down the length of the blade, terminating at the point, before striking the pommel once more. Its surface was scratched deeply from hasty maintenance and heavy use but the dark metal was clean and the hilt was tightly wrapped in soft, smooth leather, slightly lighter where it had been gripped tightly in the past, both in fear and in anger.
Her conviction began to wane as she stared at the knife, tracing its honed edge with her eyes, taking in every detail; the tiny nick near the tip, the scuff on the leather where it had struck a rock as she had dug for roots, the fraying thread that was sown into the wrappings, a simple yet elegant pattern that extended across the entire hilt. It was a good tool, expertly made and useful for many things. She received it from Master Ilen when she began her first year of training in the Arcane arts. Running her fingers softly over the sharp edge, she cast her mind back.
She recalled using the dagger offensively only once. Even then, she had not used it to injure anything. She had been running through the woods, as she often did, carefree and relaxed.
She hadn't noticed the wolf until it began howling, confused and frightened after she had accidentally stumbled across its winter den. It was fully grown, at its physical peak and she harboured no doubts that it could have easily torn her apart.
She hadn't wanted to kill the creature as it was obviously with young and she had no ill will for any animals of the forest, but she could not stand idly by and let herself die so that the animal could live.
The sudden fear of coming face to face with the wolf had startled her, leaving her unable to recall any of her arcane training. Impulsively, she had pulled her belt knife and held it between them, crouching low, trying to seem small and unobtrusive. If the wolf would accept her acquiescence, then neither would get hurt, but if not, she would be prepared to fight for her life.
Images of the knife plunging into the creature's flesh, slicing through skin and muscle, sinew and organs flashed through her mind. She imagined the sickening thud of the knife striking the wolf, its plaintive howls of pain echoing in her head. She could almost feel the warm blood splashing onto her skin, could almost taste its bitter tang on her tongue. The thoughts made bile rise in her throat.
She did not want to harm the graceful being, but if she had to…
The proud creature had stood its ground, growling threateningly as if to warn her, but did not attack. It bared its teeth, watching her with golden eyes. She had bowed her head respectively and took tentative steps backwards, lowering the knife as she did so. The wolf remained defensive until she had backed off a fair distance, letting up its aggressive stance only when she had begun to run.
She remembered that day vividly. Not because of the adrenaline that had coursed through her, nor because of her fear of the canine huntress.
She remembered it as the day she had first resigned herself to harming another living being. The first day she had ever contemplated killing something.
She would never forget the sickening emptiness that had momentarily consumed her or the numb rigidity of her muscles as they tensed in preparation for bloodshed. It was an experience that held a mixed message; if put in danger, she would be willing to fight for her life. But it also taught her that the ability to stay your blade is just as vital as knowing how to wield it.
She allowed herself to float amongst her memories for a while longer, hypnotised by the refracting light.
Harming another living being in defence of your own life is one thing.
Harming yourself in the aid of countless others…
Her thoughts brought to mind the words of another, spoken on the day of her encounter with the wolf. The words of one she trusted. One she loved.
'There is nothing that should matter more to you than your life and the lives of those you love and value.' The words were spoken softly by lips pressed against the nape of her neck. Lithe arms had wrapped around her as she spoke of the ordeal, squeezing softly. She remembered the heartbeat drumming against her as she looked over her shoulder into kind, hazel eyes. Her revulsion and fear had melted away under that strong gaze and she felt herself smile and relax, rolling her shoulders against the warm body behind hers. The lips brushed the tip of her ears, whispering unintelligible words. She fell asleep and her troubles slept with her, her mind far away from the hardships that day had presented her with.
That was another thing she remembered of that day; being held in a lover's embrace, having her fears soothed and her mind put at rest. Nothing had ever felt as good as those arms wrapped around her; they had saved her from her own memories, her own thoughts.
Now, that person was gone, ripped away from her life by a vile and insipid taint. Now she was truly alone, naked to the fangs of the world and to those contained within her own mind. Another day she could never forget; looking down onto the pallid face of her love, contaminated by murky blotches that seemed to shift in sympathy with the beat of her weakening heartbeat.
She remembered the all-consuming anger, the heart-wrenching sorrow and the soul-shattering loneliness of that day. It was as if a blade had passed through her heart, tearing her to pieces.
She could not stop her lover being taken by the human. She would not. He had said that her only chance of survival was with him. As much as it destroyed her to see the only source of happiness in her life depart, she could not bear the alternative. Better to leave than to pass into the Beyond.
So she did not fight. She stood idly by and let herself die. She let her heart be torn from her chest as she watched the human depart the camp with her love. Her life.
She often found herself fantasising, on the edge of consciousness, imagining those arms wrapped around her once more, the ghosting brush of lips against her soft skin and the gentle beat of two mended hearts. But her fantasies could never conjure the same warmth or safety that the real thing had conveyed so effortlessly. They seemed superficial and empty, taunting her with the phantom embrace.
The only sacrifice worth making is one made for those you love.
As she sat, contemplating the knife, her mind awash with fear and fantasy alike, she once more recalled the images of cutting into flesh and muscle. She imagined how it would feel, the tearing of skin under the razor edge.
If the… spirit was to be believed, only that would save her heart. Only blood would repair the damage. Blood… for power. Blood for magic.
Blood for blood.
If I value one thing in this life, it is her.
If I must sacrifice myself, let it be for her.
Her resolved tightened as she closed her eyes, resigned to causing harm.
The knife lowered, biting into the taut skin on the palm of her hand, drawing blood of shocking crimson to the surface, allowing it to stream through the lines of her hand, free from its fleshy confines. The pain was sharp and hot; it made her fingers twitch and her eyes water.
Please, let it work. I need this.
And it did.
The pain slowly dissipated, replaced by a prickling feeling. It was not painful, but uncomfortable, like sitting too close to a roaring fire. She wanted to clench her fist closed, to soothe the ache. A flash of hazel eyes made her relent, keeping her hand open, the hot blood running down her arm in thick, slow rivulets.
The feeling grew and grew, becoming more and more uncomfortable until finally…
E-elgar'nan!
It was incredible; it felt as if she was truly limitless, as if she could do anything. She could feel the sheer power of her blood, singing to her such sweet hymns of promise and fulfilled desire. It was as if she had been sleeping and the whole world had suddenly come alive. Every sense seemed sharper; she could taste the metallic tang of her blood in the air, smell it. It was so bright in her vision, vivid scarlet against lily white. Her body trembled with the realisation of such untapped potential.
All she wanted to do was live up to those words.
'There is nothing that should matter more to you than your life and the lives of those you love and value.'
Before, she had been so helpless; watching her life pass by, unable to hold on to anything worthwhile; it all slipped away eventually.
No more. Now she would grasp it and never let go. She would find a way to heal her love, to bring her back.
This is a sacrifice I am happy to make.