Corrupt Beauty
By- Zell's Girl
-------------------
Darkness. All I remembered from those days was darkness. It swirled in my head. Ideas arose, but were immediately drowned out. It seemed like my thoughts moved at a million miles a minute, there in an instant and gone in a flash.
My eyes shot open. I gasped for air, though I don't know why. Cold sweat was on my face. I focused my blurred vision to see a face above me. It was dark, so the room was well masked. It was familiar. The familiarity immediately shocked me.
My head said 'It's the one you killed you murderer' out of sheer panic. I really don't know why it registered as such, I guess it was guilt. I gasped. I swung myself over the side of the bed and reached to where my sword would be. My blade and scabbard were both not there.
"Marcy!" a voice said to me.
I stumbled back. "Stay away." I took a few more steps backwards. I tripped and landed in a corner. I scrunched up in the edge.
"Marcella, what's wrong?" the voice inquired desperatly. The form took seveal steps in my direction.
"I said STAY AWAY!"
"It's me, Glenn… Are you all right?" Glenn asked, sounding concerned. He knelt down beside me, staring sympathetically into my eyes.
My head pounded. I was reassured it was only Glenn, but I was still uneasy. "Leave, Glenn. Please, just go."
"All right, Marcy. If you need me, just head to the barracks." Glenn lit several candles and left the room.
I recognized my room. I walked back to my bed. I curled up into the warm, familiar blanket. According to Riddel, Glenn watched over me the entire time that I was in the infirmary, day and night. When I was moved into my room he followed like a little boy who felt bad for something he blamed himself for.
Glenn, my friend, the most responsible and kind of we killers, he could have had so much more than a sword. Glenn was a talented artist, and we all knew it. When he started a sketch it consumed him. The picture then would take a piece of his soul, and started to spark with life on its own.
But he gave that up to please his brother and father. He could have so much more if he didn't need to please everyone. Sometimes, I wished Glenn was just a little more selfish.
I fell asleep only by blocking out all my thoughts. My dreamless sleep assisted in my rest; I had no need to wake up screaming. That's one of the things I can be thankful for.
When I awoke in the morning I walked over to my mirror. I let my hair down. I put on my blue dress and normal leather armor. I didn't look any different, but my outlook on the world has taken a beating.
I considered for a moment going to the mess hall for Orcha's usual group breakfast of sausage and eggs. I told myself I'd rather sit there at the window, despite the fact I was utterly famished.
I stare out my window. I could see the garden that Van felt so passionately about. Van… I wondered if he even came to see me while I was in the infirmary. I scanned the room, and there stood the sign he was there. On my desk was a vase of azure blossoms. They were all perfect in shape and well arranged.
I walked to the display and searched for a card. There was none in the vase. I felt rather neglected until I look below at the base of the flowers. Beneath the edge of the vase there was a note.
Dearest Marcella,
I arrived to the manor on Tuesday morning with these flowers.
According to what I understand, you were injured or something.
When you awaken, I just want you to know I was at your side,
waiting for your recovery. Glenn said he'd make sure you'd be okay.
I hope you know how many people love you, and I pray you are well.
Sincerely,
Van Rudalya
I smiled. Van was always there for me, despite the fact he knew I was a heartless killer. Bless the boy, he was so devoted. I also noted that the people who care about me are all monsters like me.
We are all such hypocrites here at the manor. They all kill, but treasure those whom are dear to them.
A knock came at my door. I opened it with making a sound. Luccia was outside with a tray of food in hand. "Marcy! Are doing vell?" I beckoned her in, taking the food from her. I wolfed it all down in a second. She started to say things, but my head took over.
Luccia, she was my mother figure. She was the one to nurture me all throughout my childhood. She was the one to tuck me in at night and saw to it that I always behaved. She's a killer too. She built weapons of mass destruction, similar to the one Karsh and I destroyed. She watched and did nothing at all for she did not realize that my conscience and reasoning were trampled on.
I looked at her blankly. Her mouth was moving; she was speaking; but my head never registered a word of it. Luccia thought something was off in my head. She left, and probably said something to the others.
For several hours I was alone. I was left alone with my thoughts. The silence allowed them to take control, and let my emotions take the beating. Though my eyes were on the garden out the window, my thoughts were far away.
I sliced my sword across him no thought. The tearing of his flesh seemed to echo for seconds, like when you shred a piece of cloth. Red droplets headed to my face. They seemed larger as they approached. I closed my eyes before the moment of impact. The spatter covered my face. The blood was warm. My frigid skin absorbed the heat in an instant.
Each moment was like reliving it all again. My heart sped. My mind pounded. My entire body burned. I don't know from where the pain stemmed.
I am a demon. I have to be alone. Maybe reliving this again and again is my punishment, or perhaps my way to redemption. I will let myself be lit afire. I lock my door to make sure that no one will be able to get in. I sat back at the window and closed my eyes in ponderance.
Crimson, flying scarlet. The blood droplets were like a swarm of starving cardinals, gorgeous for what it was but oddly malicious. I threw my sword aside when I bent to help him. That was something that we dragoons are taught never to do. Not only am I a demon and a killer, I am a poor excuse for one.
A knock came at my door. I didn't know how long it had been, when I was away in my mind I lost track of reality. I didn't respond.
"Marcy? It's me, Van! Hello? Are you in there?" Van called. I pondered for a second if I should say anything or let him in. I tell myself 'No, Marcy, he doesn't deserve the pain that stems from a monster like you'.
Van should have started never dating me. He knew who I was. How could a painter who only could see the beauty in things possibly care about me? It was like the story of the bird that loved the dragon.
The old legend went that once there was a very beautiful bird. Though many birds loved the beautiful bird, it only loved a ferocious dragon. The bird knew its love was wrong, but it didn't care. The dragon, though ferocious, loved the bird as well. When the times became rough in the valley where the two love-struck creatures existed, the dragon had nothing to eat. Thus the dragon ate the bird it loved so much, just to live. The bird could have been perfectly happy with one of the other birds; but it loved the dragon and just end up being the death of it .
It is not the happiest of bed time stories Luccia told me as a child, but it proves a point. No matter how right something feels, some things just can't work without pain. I was like the dragon; Van was like the bird. Van could be perfectly happy and live a perfectly wonderful life with some other girl, but he would risk everything to be with me.
"Hey Van, what are you doing sitting out here on the floor?" A voice asked; it was Glenn. Glenn is really persistent. I smiled slightly at his devotion to being at my side.
I decided to listen to them. "Marcy's asleep, I guess. She didn't respond when I called in to her, and the door is locked..."
"Oh," Glenn replied. "So, you and Marcy are dating?"
Van laughed. "I've been dating Marcy for over a year."
"I see you come bearing more flowers? You know, if you keep this up, you'll have Marcy's room infested by ravenous locusts or something," Glenn stated, sounding rather serious for the statement. It was obvious to me he was joking, being as I got used to his unique humor.
"I bought these ones from the shop. I just have never seen red bellflowers before."
"Oh."
About a minute of silence ensued. I knew they hadn't left though. Neither of them would be easily discouraged just leave without motivation. I knew the two men would probably just sit out there all day. I know it seemed mean, but I did not want them to see me. Not now, not like this.
Who was the first person you ever killed? Oh, that was way back. It must have been around when you were seven years old. Probably a Porre militant or a person who opposed the General's rule.
Seven years old and a killer, that's who I was. Hell, before the Serge adventure I tried to kill Nikki, my own brother! I also tried to kill Glenn as well back when we thought he had betrayed the dragoons. What does that tell you about me, I wonder? I have no heart.
"Hey Glenn, is Marcy any better?" Karsh asked. I guessed he arrived to visit me as well. Now all three of them were in the hallway, waiting. I almost decided to let them in, but I knew I shouldn't. "Oh, you are here again?"
Van laughed. "Yeah, of course I'm here."
"So, are you that serious with Marcy?" Karsh asked. From his tone, I could tell the response he wanted. Karsh was very direct.
Karsh, he was an interesting fellow. Karsh was calm, cool, and collected at all times. Once you get to know him he's easy to understand. He's a liar, a manipulator, and knows just how to rig a hand of cards. He is probably the best soldier of all of us, since he no longer gives a damn about 'morals'. Don't get me wrong, Karsh cared for me and the others fiercely. Perhaps it was his deceptive attitude that taught him the the need to be trustworthy to those who cared for him.
"Why don't any of you notice that she and I have been dating for a while now?" Van groaned. The three men all laughed heartilly.
"Hey, I'm starved. How 'bout you two?" Glenn stated.
"Let's go grab some lunch from the mess hall, then come back and wait for her to wake up," Karsh replied.
"Well, um, what about my flowers?" Van asked.
"Leave them in the lab, Luccia will put 'em in some water and you can pick 'em up later."
The noise from the three stopped as they left from their post. I had some more time to think. Damn it! When they took away all my conscience couldn't they have eliminated my thought process?
I threw away my sword. I knelt beside him. I brought my head down to his chest. The red liquid seeped into my ear. I could lightly hear a pulse. I stared down at him with pleading eyes. His face was covered in a mixture of sweat and blood; his eyes bulged. His body struggled to live, but that was far from possible.
He died a painful death. If I had any mercy I would have remembered to knock him unconscious as I tried to make him live. It was in basic training. Kill humanely and never torture. But why should I remember how to help life when I am told to kill?
His eyes started to close. He looked at me with this total look of hatred -- pure, bitter hatred. I looked to Karsh. I knew he couldn't help, he knew less about healing then even I did. "Come on Trip, don't die." I just didn't want him to die, probably because I knew I couldn't face the guilt.
No one could understand this feeling I was facing. I had to face it alone. I was never taught to function alone; I was always part of the unit. I wasn't independent at all. I needed someone to rely on, and in turn I needed to be relied on despite the fact that I push everyone away.
Mother… What would you think of me now? Your murderer daughter? You probably wouldn't ever have dreamed of me ending up like this. You and Dad dreamed of a better future, but I have helped destroy all that. Nikki can sing of happiness, love, and a brighter future too. All I can do is hurt people and make some else's tomorrow a hell of a lot darker.
I wondered sometimes if my biological family raised me; how I would have turned out. I'd be a whole different person, I bet. But no, that's not reality. My mother died when I was born. My father turned back into his former pirate self. Dad disappeared so Luccia raised me here at the manor.
If Luccia hadn't raised me I might have just ended up with Nikki. Maybe I'd have been a singer. I might have grown up going to the best schools, met the 'best' people, and never had needed to hurt a single person at all. I would cause no deaths. On the other hand, I might have just been dead myself.
There are so many variables in the world. Belthasar always told me that. He used to say that one small thing, like a sound or a motion, could change what happens in someone's life completely. He said to me, "Marcella, you are too young to be thinking about such large matters." Though I was a spoiled brat, I was always quite mature for my age.
I was always 'the young one' at Viper Manor. I was supposed to be innocent; I was supposed to need to be shielded from the world. They really didn't know me all that well. When I was an adult, I was still misunderstood. Sometimes I wondered if Van or Mel, the two closest friends I had ever had, knew the slightest thing about me. The 'me' beyond my duty and front. I supposed Van did, but that's because I told him many things when we were alone.
I began to apply pressure to Trip's wounds. He looked so much like Van it was terrifying. If it were not for the hair color and glasses, they could have easily been mistaken for eachother. "Who… the bar…" he stutters. I know he shouldn't waste his breath. He needs air.
I don't know if how he reminded me of Van was what struck the guilt factor. Maybe it was the realization that the enemy, too, was human. That took away all the faith in what I did. The honor was gone.
"Shut up and don't die on me, kid!" I demanded as I tried to aid him. I was bossing around a dying man; how damn noble is that? I made sure the pressure was steady and I attempted to wrap his wounds. He slipped too fast. I knew in my head there was nothing I could do. He was gonna die.
And it was all my fault.
"You're… Acacians…" He stammered. He was going. He gasped for air. "I'm… so.. stupid."
I heard once from Belthasar that the loss of air is similar in feel to drowning. Both are slow, and deliver no ending peace. All he said that afternoon flashed through my head. He's got a family, people that matter to him. He's an actual person. He had a life he could have salvaged. He had oppurtunities.
I, Marcella Zane, stripped him of that chance.
I felt a migraine as it grew in temples. My mind couldn't stand the torment. It was all too hard to process. My mind was screaming in agony from the pain that lay within it, though my soul told me to bury the mental knife farther into the wound within my spirit.
He was dead. His eyes rolled back in his head no longer exposing the cornea. I lowered his eyelids. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I leaned over his corpse and picked up my sword. I inspected the blood that ran off the blade, and placed it back into my scabbard. As the droplets of blood fell through the grated catwalk, I stepped over Trip's body to Karsh. Each drop echoed quietly as it hit the cement floor below.
I nearly screamed at the memory. I had never felt such unbearable pain surging through me. It felt like I was hit with several fire pillars inside and out. My eyes and mouth were dry. I shook uncontrolably in my bed and somehow fell asleep.
This pain that ached me so was not just brought on by my guilt and mental anguish; I was suffering from severe dehydration.