Blood Ransom
It's too evident, the dark shadows around her head. It's the significant other she can never divorce who screams vengeance and cries for death. It's the ashes of turbulence used to paint sorrow; the vultures, the vermin, the craws nipping the flesh off her bones until there's nothing left to feast.
It hangs above her head like a ten-gallon hat blinding her vision, redirecting her tracks and assisting her back to the river of fire, floating her through the ends of the forbidden, cursed forest of Eirene, a noble from Horae.
The voyage was abandoned in conquering the lands stolen from her not halfway through hell. The captain wouldn't speak her lies, her truth, her demons. She refused to be known. The Kingdom Eirene wasn't ready for an incendiary either, a rabble-rouser. They demand her to be captured, to be enslaved by force and power.
She's had enough, the only way to break through is ending the chains of tyranny—or serving her last breath and there's nothing much left to escape, but to present her death by clothing her skin with her own blood.
YOU ARE READING
Mistress of the Bleeding Soul
RandomThrough the ends of the rope, Lies the hope she's sought to cope. Through the beds of glistening fantasy, Sleeps a maiden of misery. She is, the mistress of the bleeding soul. ANTHOLOGY
