Bellona (Part 1.5 of The Saskia Trilogy) by Aoife Marie Sheridan

wants to finish what he started. He wants to hurt me as I have hurt him. But no one but Nierra will put their hands on me. I turn to the maid, closing my fists tightly and hit her hard across the face. She cries out in pain and I hit her again and again. Until everything ceases and the only sound is of flesh pounding flesh that fills the room. I don’t stop or pause, my vision is filled with blood, so much blood. When the maid falls to the ground, so do I, and I don’t stop, I continue to pound my fist into her now soft head, I can’t feel my hands. They don’t belong to me , I tell myself as they continue to break bones and my blood mixes with hers. The side of her skull that is weakened from her falling to the floor caves under my fist, and I scream into the air, but don’t stop. “I hate you,” I scream, my fist hitting harder, faster. Blood splashes up my arms, onto my chest and I can feel lumps of flesh tear away from her face. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” The pain in my chest grows and the tears come, my fists slow, as my cries grew louder. “I... hate... you …mother…” I sob, lowering my head onto the maids still chest. I curl myself into a tight ball. My bloody hands stroking a lock of the maid’s hair. “I hate you, I hate you,” my words come out as a whisper as I look at Ace and my mother. Ace’s face is wet with tears, shame and guilt are visible there. But I can’t see anything in my mother’s eyes as she turns and leaves the room with Ace on her heels.
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
                                              The Clown
    After killing the maid I had taken a bell that had sat around her neck, I don’t know why I took it, maybe it would serve as a reminder of what I had done. It had taken four baths to clean all of the blood from my body; the maids didn’t question me, but the fear was there in every one of their gazes. I didn’t blame them, I was a monster. I hadn’t see Nierra in a few days, my face was healing but my heart wasn’t. The anger that still lay in me was consuming me, and my thoughts made me believe that I was losing my mind slowly. The monster that lived inside me was taking over and I couldn’t do one thing about it. I stare at the bell now, seeing a disfigured face looking back at me. The eyes are too huge, the nose too big, the mouth too stretched. I look away and stare at the bland white ceiling.
    I don’t move as Bea enters, pulling the drapes open, then the noise of her cleaning out the fireplace. It grates on me. She is irritating me humming a song. My eyes shoot to her and I can see her pure white spirit. That isn’t fair. As if sensing me, Bea looks up, her doe eyes all wide and she smiles and it makes me want to rip the smile from her face. I don’t smile back and she stands, then moves towards me. I freeze when her hand touches the bell and then she picks it up. “What a pretty trinket, did Nierra get it for you?” She has referred to the whore’s bell as pretty and said Nierra bought it, as if he had no taste, as if such a thing was fit for a princess; she is insinuating that I am no more than a whore, one who deserves a whore’s gift. She’s the whore, not me. Maybe she should wear the bell.
    “You should wear it.”
    She moves back slightly. “No. But thank you, Princess.”
    “It wasn’t a request.” I sit up, puffing my pillows as Bea takes the bell off the table. Her hands tremble slightly as she pulls the chain on over her head, it rings with each movement. She stands still now, unsure, afraid. I smile.
    “Is that all, Princess?” Her voice holds a hint of anger and aggravation.
    “No, that’s not all. Take off your clothes.”
    Her jaw clenches, her eyes shoot around the room; I wonder what she is thinking? What she fears most? What would snuff out her white spark? I smile, knowing the answer is me. “I won’t ask twice.”
    She pleads with her eyes as her hand unties her apron,