Page 81 of House of Crimson Kisses
“She happened,” he says without even looking up. Instead, he raises his finger towards a statue in the middle of the market.
I glance at the statue, and my blood turns to ice. It’s a porcelain figure of a face I recognise: mine.
“I don’t understand,” I say. But he’s no longer responsive.
I speed around the market, and each stall I reach is more of the same. Starving humans and barely a passing trade, the market is still like death. The city seems drained of its life source. Drained of...
“No. It can’t be. I would never.”
I grab a woman shuffling past me. She, too, doesn’t raise her eyes to peer up at me. At least the humans in my Sangui City glance up and then run away, horrified. These people are so... hopeless.
It’s like someone has crushed their spirit.
“What. Happened?” I command.
She trembles against my grip but raises her other hand to the statue.
“Explain,” I bark, and try to keep the anger out of my voice.
“She won the trials and became queen and then broke every promise. It was all lies. Everything she ever said was a lie. She is the monster we all feared she was.”
“No. I... I mean, she wouldn’t do that.”
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I know this can’t be real, that I don’t belong in this city. But this city seems solid. The air is cool in my lungs, her arms wrinkled and leathery under my touch. Is this real? Did I fuck everything up?
I was certain the plans I had would help. We’d have a fair city that welcomed everyone. Where did I go wrong? Why can’t I remember what I did?
The woman’s gaunt face twists into a snarl.
“But you fucked up, Octavia. You ruined this city. You drained it of life and love and let your siblings drink us dry. Well now, we’re all going to die because there isn’t enough blood.”
Her eyes widen. She grabs me and shakes me. “Are you listening, Octavia? There’s never enough blood.”
She screams, shaking me by the arms, gloopy spittle flecking my chest and face. She shakes and shakes until she shakes her skin away, and all that’s left of her are her bones that clatter against the cobbles.
My skin prickles like I’m being watched. Every market seller has turned to face me.
“Monster,” they whisper in unison.
Faster and faster, they repeat it until someone screams the word, and another follows.
Louder.
Louder.
Until I fall to my knees, clutching my ears.
“I’m not a monster.” I rock myself forward and back, saying it over and over until a scream silences the market.
Then every single market seller and shopper runs. They all head out of the square. And I’m up and running and screaming at them to wait. To tell me what’s going on. To beg them to tell what they are running from.
“She’s coming,” someone shrieks.
“The monster is coming.”
“Demon.”
More voices shriek until they’re all running and pointing at me.
