Page 29 of The Sanguine Selection
Eventually, he stops, setting me down once more. There’s a rattle and creak as he opens yet another door, and then, silence. Only the sound of my panting fills the space. I sit there for a small eternity, too scared to move, when a light pierces my eyes.
It’s Jasper, returning with a lantern. He uses it to prop open the door before turning back to light the others in the chamber. When he’s finished, Jasper once more picks me up without complaint—nor permission, but I’m too weak to argue.
Despite being in the bowels of the castle, the room Jasper walks into iscavernous, the ceiling so high that it disappears into darkness above our heads. The chamber itself is filled with stone pillars that stretch upward, all made of the same smooth, white stone of palatial structure.
In the center of the room sits an enormous circular dais made of stone. On the smooth, pale surface, intricately carved symbols dance in the lantern light. Although I can’t read what it says, my already heaving stomach twists at the sight of them.
As Jasper approaches the dais, I sense the subtle vibration emanating from the stone—like the heartbeat of the castle itself. The carvings on the stone begin to glow, their otherworldly light casting strange shadows on the walls.
The very air hums with a mysterious energy, and I can feel the weight of centuries pressing down upon us. It's as if we're on the cusp of unveiling a long-forgotten secret, a revelation that has been hidden from the world for far too long.
And there, atop of the raised dais, is a massive gold sarcophagus, from where all the shadows of the room stretch out. It’s as if the tomb is a beacon for them, calling the darkness inside while the light is repelled.
I shudder, half in pain, half in premonition. If Jasper notices, he says nothing, just continues the silent trek that brings us ever closer to this macabre throne. It’s then that I realize who rests inside the sarcophagus.
“J-Jasper, put me down. I want to go back upstairs.”
Again, he ignores me. I struggle in his hold, my anger and fear giving me the strength to fight back, but my bravado is ill-matched for the man. He simply weathers my attempt with a stoic expression until I tire. Eventually, I go limp, the rush of energy leaving me spent and aching. The pain I had forgotten for a moment returns.
A guttural scream escapes my lips, echoing through the chamber's ancient stone walls. My world narrows to a single, excruciating point of suffering. I double over, clutching my abdomen as if trying to quell the relentless turmoil within.
Jasper's voice is a distant murmur, lost in the tempest of my pain. He counsels me to breathe, but the waves of agony threaten to drown out all reason. The room itself seems to pulse in time with my torment, as if its ancient energy amplifying the intensity of my misery.
Desperate and helpless, I screech at him to save me—anything. He nods, marching the rest of the way to the dais and stepping onto the flat surface. With surprising gentleness, he places me on top of the massive stone sarcophagus, its cool surface a stark contrast to the searing fire within me.
I writhe and fall to my knees upon the ancient tomb, the pain reaching an unbearable crescendo. Suddenly, I can see myself above my body, as if my spirit has left me. I’m detached from my pain and note that the sarcophagus is actually two joined together in the middle. Each is a compartment for one twin king, but the tomb itself is one to forever unite them in their death. Demonic faces peer up from each tomb gaping maws filled with sharp teeth. My knees in the center of each mouth, easy prey for such a predator. The tombs tremble as if ready to close their jaws on my skin at any moment.
Take me.
Kill me.
I willingly join them.
With this thought, something dark and tumultuous breaks free inside of me, like a burst dam, releasing a flood of surging water. Another wave of pain has me arching my back as rivers of blood empty from inside of me, flowing down my spread thighs to where my knees are braced on the twin tombs. Everything hurts, even the clothes on my skin ache as I tug at the fabric restricting me. I tilt my head back and keen into the darkness around me, both in relief and in torment before my world grows hazy. This is it. I’m going to bleed to death. “I love you, Papa,” I mumble as I collapse backwards, my head resting on the cool stone, my submission to death.
My only prayer—that it ends this misery.
14
Mikhail
Blood.
Food.
Salvation.
Something drips on my withered bones, waking me from the mania which has become my existence. A tonic? No. Anelixir.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
My mouth is a desert endlessly filling with sand, my body frozen as if bound in clay at the bottom of a breadth of quicksand. I cannot move. Cannot think. Only desperate desire, the basic needs of survival urges my bones to move.
Hungry.
