[Shh]: 58.Miscellaneous. At the Altar

   The smell of incense was strong all about me. I could see the thick wisps of smoke curling up in the air, creating an orange haze in the dimly lit chamber. My lungs were filled with it; I could barely breathe. Or perhaps it was the fear choking me. I couldn’t tell anymore

   I was going to die. I knew that absolutely, completely, beyond any doubt. The cold certainty of it filled my mind, my soul, till I wanted to scream in terror, horror, pure animal desperation. There was no escaping it.

   They had strapped me to their altar; my arms, my legs securely tied to the blood-stained stone. I could feel the blood on my flesh, I could feel it slipping sickeningly from under me; horribly warm, horribly slow. I could hear it dripping to the ground in thick, wet droplets. I could see it in my mind pooling on the cold stone and I knew that soon, my blood would do the same.

   There was no escaping it.

   I wanted to scream, I wanted to faint, I wanted to go insane; anything to escape the cold reality of what was happening to me.

   A door opened, and chanting filled the room. They walked in, their steps slow and measured, the low chanting unbroken and incomprehensible. I started sobbing, silently, tearlessly, in desperation. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel them moving beyond the incense haze. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to die!

   Abruptly, there was silence. I felt their eyes on me, their attention focused on my helpless form. A new wave of fear swept over me; my mind threatened to break, and for one blissful instant, I thought it would.

   Then, out of the silence I heard footsteps approaching and I knew my end would not come so easily. The silhouette of a man appeared from the haze. He approached slowly, reverently, green-robed and solemn-faced, a slender, wickedly sharp blade in hand. My eyes fixed on him, as though by that I could stop him. He came on; panic and desperation rose in me. He stopped by the altar, gazing down at me, his eyes kind and understanding. For a moment, hope flared within me, and I started shaking with relief but then his hand rose and he poised the fine blade above my heart. Crushed, I shook my head violently, struggling against the metal bonds cutting into my flesh. Oh Gods, no!

   He smiled with awful kindness. “Be honoured,” he said soothingly. “Your soul was chosen to be saved. From now on, you shall forever be protected by our Great Lord.”

   Before I could protest, he raised the blade up high and stabbed down once, cleanly, mortally.

   I died instantly, but even though I felt no bodily pain, my soul was scarred forever. Now, in death, I remember what they did to me. I’ll never forget. I’ll never forgive. Sooner or later, they’ll join me, and then it will be my turn…