vierra forrester. d7. || cbd2. fin.

Blood.

It’s sharp smell fills the room. The room is a void of darkness, only dimly lit by the candles that are strategically placed in a diamond around me. Their lights flicker in the darkness, casting ominous shadows along the ceiling and walls. Most would be afraid.

But I know they are my friends.

The sheep lay in front of me, tied down so it has no means of escape. I slowly pick up the knife by my side and plunge it into it’s heart. Blood splatters onto the floor and onto the tips of my fingers, but nothing touches the pure ness of my white dress.

I plunge my hand into it’s chest and rip its heart from its body. Carefully, I take the blood and draw a line up both my arms, down my legs, and across my cheeks.

They taught me how to give Her a proper sacrifice. They taught me how to survive. Kill or be killed.

I will not be somebody’s sacrifice.

Not like Vargen, not like the animals that I have been taught to so carefully kill.

Blood.

It is other’s who will be spilled.