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To those whose stories are often told in whispers
Thus, the slums of Prane felt much like a realm caught between, in perpetual indecision, as if the skies couldn’t decide what they wanted to be. Never fully day. Never fully night. Never anything at all.
But begrudging contentment was not the same as happiness. At best it was familiarity, and at worst defeat. It certainly wasn’t the same as true fondness.
The worst of their job was the bleeding, which bloodmaids did frequently to satisfy the carnivorous appetites of the nobles, who relied on the healing properties of their blood as a lavish remedy for their varying ailments. According to the newspapers, blood was purported to cure a number of diseases including, but not limited to, tuberculosis, rubella, measles, syphilis, rickets, and arthritic pains. Some even believed that blood contained youth-preserving properties, especially when taken directly from the source and consumed while still warm.
Now, of the twenty-seven Houses, only four held any real power: the House of Hunger, the House of Fog, the House of Locusts, and the House of Mirrors.
True night is black too thick to see through. It’s a crescent moon and starless skies and the kind of cold that kills. You’ll know it when you feel it.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret that will serve you well in the North: The whole world runs on blood. Who has good blood. Who has bad blood. Whose blood is shed and whose isn’t. That’s what it all comes down to in the end. And you southerners like to pretend that isn’t true, but you’re just as bloodthirsty as the rest. Blood is everything in the South. It’s everything everywhere.”
“My father used to tell me I had eyes for the things I shouldn’t see.”
“No need to cry,” said the Countess, stepping out into the corridor. “He wasn’t worth mourning anyway.”
I can’t continue to fight my hunger for you, Marion. I want you near me. I would give you everything. All of me, if you’ll only let me have you.”
As I sit with the needle buried deep in my arm I wonder, do I empty myself in vain?
It is wise to retire facets of oneself before taking up the title of bloodmaid. Rebirth depends upon these small acts of suicide.
