Darling Mine

Suspicious Events (Kane)

The slaves were planning something. 

It was obvious. They had been whispering for days. Passing notes between one another. They could have at least tried to be discrete. After all, such actions were practically a calling card for dissent.

Their commitment to such laughable attempts at an uprising was almost worthy of applause. Such actions happened every year. The humans got it into their heads that they could succeed in overthrowing us. 

Obviously, this information was not shared with the common rabble. No doubt they too would ignore the warnings of the past and rise up. The ensuing bloodshed would weaken the structure of this kingdom. And unfortunately, the rats were a necessity. 

The very idea of an uprising was ludicrous. After all, they were all well aware of the uprising that led to their present subjugation. So why they always thought that a few angry slave girls inside the castle could have any impact was beyond me. Perhaps the presence of some new, unknown blood spurred them on? Let the fresh ones rise up and die. It was amazing how much distance from those suffering could influence their mindsets. Given this, there was an amusing irony in the fact that they considered themselves to be much more empathetic and bonded together than my kind.

Of course, there were those who openly defied the antiquated rules of human society. Those who acted as informants. Their words had been the utter destruction of this folly of a revolt. Or maybe they were the true reflection of humanity? For had their kind not fought and betrayed each other long before we left the shadows?

Initially, we did not leave our sanctuary willingly. The shadows where humans never bothered to look, the cracks in the world, had protected us from prying eyes for millennia. Or so the stories went. But eventually, humanity's bloodlust clouded their judgement and they turned on each other. The battlefields had been miles of blood-soaked mud, littered with the brave and foolish. The glorious dead indeed. It was in this moment of turmoil that my father realised the potential of the situation. With humans at each other's throats, who would notice the other monsters? Those reckless fools had not noticed the danger until our jaws were locked around their necks.

Given all this, it might be expected that they stop. Stop the fighting, the blood flowing thick and red. But no. The tragic truth about humanity was that, just like a moth to a flame, they were drawn to their own demise.

My father had instructed the guards to go about their business as usual and let the humans think they could succeed for a time. The defeat was all the more crushing then. His orders were yet more evidence of his love of psychological torment, both in its infliction and in watching the fallout. He had once said that a person could only ever be considered truly dead if they had died broken.

So while the grunts were going about their rounds among the squalid ranks of humanity I was able to enjoy the peace of my tower in private.