"What is this...?" the child asks intrigued, reaching out...

Corpulent drops of rain slid down the leaden glass panes of the window in
thick, greasy rivulets. The staccato beat of the drops lulled me as I leaned my
brow against the cool glass, narrowing my eyes to transiently look up at the
dense, roiling clouds that darkened the sky as well as my mood.

Exhaling sharply, I shifted my gaze to the panoramic vista of the western
coast permitted by my lofty elevation. The churning, murky steel waters of the
sea were white-capped and heaving to the grey, rocky shore by a violent easterly
wind. I certainly was narcissistic enough to believe that it was my erratic
mood alone that caused such a rarity of tumultuous weather.

Agitated, I straightened, licking the faint, saccharine traces of the
vestiges of my success from my lips, refocusing my gaze on my pallid reflection
distorted and blurred in the grimy glass. I flexed my fingers; unaware that I
had been clenching them so rigidly my knuckles were still bloodless from the
exertion. I was eager for what was to come, although displeased with being made
to wait for the source of my irritation to manifest.

A noise below the window caught my attention. Annoyed, I arrogantly
examined the streets for the disturbance. The gas lamps lining the street
flickered behind their soiled patina in the turbulent winds, illuminating the
vaporous bank of low-lying fog that undulated across the cobbled road in
voluminous swells with eerie phosphorescence.

Several yards down the road a Trill male flailed pathetically in a vain
attempt to remain upright. Correction, I thought derisively, a Trill bard. He
tumbled and lurched awkwardly to the ground, the breath knocked from him with an
audible whoosh that could be heard over the keening dirge of the winds. Several
cheap, decrepit instruments were strewn about in disarray from an even cheaper,
threadbare satchel. It was oft like this in the city when a storm came, however
rare, the unremitting sooty skies congealing with the rain to slick the streets
with an iridescent oily
residue.

A shame, I thought pensively. Utterly disappointing. If only this
lumbering fool had fallen just so, his head finding a violent purchase upon the
black stones, depleted off all its secrets in vast red torrents, the glistening
ivory of the split skull, the rent flesh, the phantoms of steam rising from
freshly spilled blood...

"I knew I would find ye 'ere, ye squanderin' brat," came a grating, shrill
voice from behind me, interrupting my reverie. I regrettably stiffened in
response but did not turn to confront the intrusion. The corners of my eyes
tightened with provocation, belying my otherwise vacant expression.

"Mistress i'Xiia will no' tolerate bein' made ta wait, ye good fa nothin',
spoiled brat."

I worked to temper my breathing as the inane litany of unsolicited opinions
pertaining to my character persisted, watching as the Trill loped maladroitly
down the street. A shame indeed, I thought wistfully.

I pivoted flawlessly on my toes with an effortless grace the most
consummate of dancers would envy and internally fought down the sour, lurching
revulsion that curdled my stomach.

Sister Leinen was a revolting beast of glutinous flesh with pinched, beady
black eyes set in a rotund, doughy face. Contempt contorted a too large mouth
and resentment constantly shook her sagging jowls. Oily, stringy hair stuck to
her sweaty face, which she often would free with a violent shake of her head, a
look of utter aggravation governing her pockmarked face. It could be reasonably
argued that she made Lord Gorgulu pale in comparison to her putrescence. I
detested being in her presence, I wasn't especially fond of having to hold my
breath that
long.

I found her irrefutably deplorable.

"Yes, of course Sister," I said in a hard voice, sarcasm marring the polite
tone, though the simpleton would never recognize it for such.

I clasped my hands before me as I met her narrowed, disapproving gaze
evenly with a detached, vacuous stare. Time grew lethargic and rapt I held her
focus. Her mouth slowly fell agape, her eyes rolling as she began to tilt her
portly body towards me, my features rearranging into a nigh on imperceptible
mask of smug conceit.

She forcibly reeled back and blinked slowly, an exaggerated performance
that amused me. Her brow knitted and she averted her eyes, the insipid little
specks darting every which way anxiously before meeting my once again blank
visage. She spluttered and launched into her condescending tirade once more.
I had seen such reactions before in others, though they were ignorantly
oblivious. Most thought of me as inconsequential, which I often saw as an
advantage.

I interrupted her with an abrupt gesture, raising my hand to point to a
significant package wrapped in dark crimson parchment that sat upon a small side
table beneath one of the windows. She arched an eyebrow, planting her meaty
fists on her hips, staring at me dumbfounded before glancing in the indicated
direction.

"Please, Sister. Forgive me of my slovenly ways. There, I have procured
you the chocolates you are so fond of," I said contritely.

Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' as she dragged her bulk over to the table,
her sausage like fingers wriggling in anticipation. Silently I glided past her,
briefly glancing at her as her stubby fingers decimated the stiff crimson
parchment that wrapped the small box, euphoric malevolence contorting my face.
I stood with my back to the door of the chamber, closing it quietly and turning
the key in the lock. Leinen turned and stared contemptuously at me, snorting
and harrumphing in between stuffing dark candies into her gaping maw.

"Don' ye need ta be gettin' on ye snivelin' wastrel?" she said as the half
masticated candy rolled about visibly in her mouth.

As I stood unmoving, impassively watching the revolting beast cram her
mouth full of sweets, I reflected on events past and present. Sister Leinen was
secure enough to ascertain that I would not run spineless to my mother and
inform her of the mistreatment I supposedly suffered at her hands. In this she
was correct; but not for the reasons she believed.

I had been careless, I thought with a hint of derision. Leinen had
unwittingly come across my prohibited experimentation. There were edicts in
place, abilities that should have been restricted and inaccessible to me. She
had shaken with furious indignation when she discovered me; engrossed in
necromantic practices, delving deep into my tainted being with my subconscious.
I had known she was envious, having perfected skills that she coveted, unable to
learn due to her own ineptitude.

She had threatened to bring me before the Fold and consequently my mother,
exposing my theoretical dereliction. I wasn't overly concerned about being
exposed to my mother, I knew undoubtedly that the sovereignty of her eyes would
be pride. However, my supposed transgressions would have caused pandemonium
and accusations of nepotism and I would not jeopardize her office.

Leinen had always been acrimoniously envious of my mother and the esteem
and affluence of my family. Although born Viscanti, her lot in life had been
one of impoverishment and bereft of education. She had joined the Fold
concurrently with my mother, hoping to garner a vast array of knowledge and a
set of tools to benefit her cause in attaining a more fortuitous standing in
life.

Leinen was a complete failure. She lacked discipline and self-control and
possessed a feeble mind unable to grasp the most basic of instruction. She
watched on helplessly in her impotence as my mother ascended the ranks of the
Fold, achieving the exalted station of Mystagogue and subsequently Heresiarch at
a remarkably tender age, all the while Leinen struggled with the initial duties
of Seminary.

And there she remained, fraught with the difficulties of Seminary,
exhausting her miniscule reserves of acumen, her jealousy and hatred being
cultivated upon the fertile soil of the accomplishments of my family. When she
discovered my machinations, she thought she had gained an advantage, a fraction
of intrigue with which to blackmail my mother and exact her covetous reprisal.
But as she took in the fine cut and opulence of my silken dress, the gems that
adorned my fingers, the finely tailored cloak settled on my shoulders, her greed
overshadowed her hatred. She was virtually destitute, while I being born of
noble blood had bottomless
coffers.

I surmised He would be amused by her envy, greed and hatred, I thought
contemplatively as I watched Leinen gorge herself. Leinen's enormity of greed
and hatred was tenacious. However, my hatred was a barely contained, seething
conflagration of abhorrence that was eternal and she did not have what it took
to see that her schemes were advantageous in the long run.

After being revealed by Leinen, my research had lapsed, the foolish cow
kept me under a near perpetual surveillance. She had stipulated levies of gold
and gems, bolts of fine silk, and various material objects that she believed
would bring her some measure of perceived success, items I could ten times over
afford to part with. She was notably partial to sugared confections, the
gluttonous swine.

With my research and studies interrupted I sought additional avenues upon
which to foster my voracious thirst for knowledge. This had led me to the tower
of Snaikka i'Xiia. Snaikka was a remarkably astute woman, charismatic and
endowed with a sharp, crude tongue that could flay the flesh from your bones.
She was an enigma, her physical appearance betrayed by her audacious, brash
personality that was laced generously with arrogance. I had immediately liked
her.

Snaikka vacillated on whether to sanction my admittance to the tower for
reasons not disclosed to me, however she eventually conceded and permitted me to
perform minor tasks for her and her assistants. After all, I was
inconsequential, innocuous in their eyes.

It was during my tenure in the i'Xiia tower that I had discovered the
resolution to my hindrance. Having a talent for being unassuming and
inconspicuous and furtively prying into conversations overheard from the shadows
I had learned of the subtlety of poisoning, the delicate art of persecuting the
cells of the internal organs to produce a satisfying variety of consequences.

I had begun to secret away small packets of an assortment of poisons,
experimenting with them when I could steal some time from Leinen's vigilant
scrutiny. It had been arduous and harrowing, I thought as my lips curled back to
bare my teeth as I watched Leinen finish the box of sweets. The months had
begun to move sluggishly and drag on, further inciting my desire exact my
requital on Leinen. I brooded over a provisional remedy to the time constraints
placed upon my privacy.

It was Leinen herself who provided me with the answer. Oftentimes she
would scornfully lecture me on what she perceived to be my greatest flaws. To
her I was indolent, spoiled and of little use to anyone but I was also the
manifestation of all she aspired to possess, though she did not vocally state
this, it was evident in her unguarded gaze. Unlike her son... The half breed
bastard. She would often extol his attributes with sickening flowery speech and
pitiable pride even though he was little more than a toddler.

The abomination was easy enough to locate. The repellent progeny of a
Merian sire was conventional in his choice of pastimes. I caught him down on
the rocky shores of the sea, laughing joyously as he ran up and down the coast
chasing the tide. He sickened me.

He had a petulant mouth and arrogance inherited from his mother and
fortuitously for me, the same predilection for sugar. It was easy enough to
lure him beneath the pier, with an amiable smile and honeyed words and the
promise of syrupy confections. I suppose I appeared harmless enough.

I smiled sweetly at him as I slid my father's sacrificial dagger from a
hidden pocket of my cloak. How appropriate, I had thought nonchalantly at the
time, that this atrocity should die by the blade of the Masque. Ignorant,
naïve Merian…

His globular fishy eyes widened with shock and terror. Panic seized him
and he dropped the package of caramels in his hands and turned to run. Damned,
ill-fated Merian…

The sharp blade easily sliced through his young, tender skin, the flesh
erupting in a vivid red scar rending his flesh as I drew the blade down. His
blood flowed freely, sluicing in great red torrents to the grey sand. The flesh
yielded over and over as I plunged the dagger into him, a great curtain of
crimson cascading over his flesh. The body was easy enough to dispose of seeing
as he was so small, his broken corpse laid upon the altar of the Lord. I took
two empty glass phials from my pockets and gathered some of his contemptible
blood.

With the disappearance of her child, Leinen began to largely ignore me.
When she was not berating me and demanding tokens she would be scouring the
basin for her child, I was free to once again perfect my plot. I drew immense
pleasure from her anguish, feeling no remorse.

“’ey, wot are ye smirkin’ at? Don‘ ya ‘ave some place ta be?”
Leinen asked brusquely.

“Dear Sister, I am quite curious. Is not the colour of the parchment
which prettily wrapped your gift the most lovely shade of scarlet?” I asked, a
cold sadistic smile gilding my lips.

Leinen arched a bushy eyebrow, looking down at the shreds of paper that
littered the floor by her feet. Slicking her lips with her bulbous tongue, she
lifted her head and looked at me with a pitifully dense expression on her face.

“Eh? Why do I care about the colour?” she asked, sneering arrogantly.

“The dye used came from an interesting source. It is unfortunate that it
caused the parchment to become so stiff, not efficient for wrapping a gift I
gather,” I said as I tapped my lips thoughtfully.

Leinen just stared at me, dumbfounded, and then coughed harshly. She
staggered, clutching her throat as a spasm seized her, sending her crashing to
her knees. Her voice was a dull confused murmuring, tears leaking from the
corners of her eyes.

“Merian blood provides for a wonderful dye. I gathered enough to dye
many pieces of parchment which I then used to wrap your demands,” I said,
smiling jovially down at the beast who lay prostrate at my feet.

I inhaled her scent, the intoxicating stench of fear in her perspiration,
the faint scent of forthcoming death clinging to her unkempt hair.

“It was a shame,” I said, shaking my head. “Your child didn’t even
scream…”

Her eyes widened with the realization of my words, swelling protuberances
that threatened to bulge out of their sockets. She coughed and expelled a tar
like phlegm. She looked frantic and vainly tried to escape the chamber but her
limbs commenced to atrophy and she began to violently vomit up stomach acids as
her internal organs began to corrode and liquefy.

“Did you enjoy your candies Sister? I spent quite a bit of time ensuring
that these particular candies were special enough for you,” I said callously
as her eyes glazed over and her bowels loosened.

I thought, with a measure of vexation, that the newly acquired rug in my
mother’s chambers would need replacing. I stepped back, not wanting to soil
my slippers in the fluids that now seeped from every orifice of Leinen’s
corpulent body.

It was then she found her voice, crying out in concentrated torment. It
was there she died, her face a gruesome caricature of torture, contorted into an
awful grimace, her black bloated tongue hanging limply between her swollen lips.
I nudged her corpse with a toe disdainfully and a cruel, vicious smile spread
slowly across my face.

I lowered myself to the ground, sitting cross legged a few feet from her
stiffening body. I sat there, mesmerized with the alacrity in which she met her
death. I heard a key being inserted into the door but I did not rise.

“Tsch, again daughter?” came an amused voice from behind me. “Most
children your age are content enough to play with dolls or other ordinary
playthings.”

I began to hum a soft tune, melodious and enthralling. I turned my head
slightly to let my eyes fall affectionately upon the benevolent face of my
mother.

“But mother, dolls and other such trite playthings do not scream.”

~Quilis, aged 7
Penned by my hand on the 6th of Urlachmar, in the year 218 CE