I drop my spell of invisibility. It’s no longer necessary, and as I’m dragging the princess, my presence is obvious. I don’t repeat the same intellectual lapses. I whistle a cheery tune, put a hop and skip into my passage over the crimson marble floors, and burst into song: “Sh-boom, sh-boom, sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, sh-boom, sh-boom…”
Expediency is priority. I will kill the princess once I reach the boudoir, while simultaneously summoning the Seelie Queen. The fool king didn’t realize how much of his own knowledge he was passing into me the day he created me. I know precisely where he once placed his palm on the wall in the concubine’s chamber to call his lover so he need not search his demesne for her.
Two swift strikes with the spear: princess then queen. Then I’ll sift out instantly to the Fae court to drink the Elixir of Life, the location of which will become known to me once I acquire the True Magic from the queen.
Then off to see the wizard, as MacKayla would say, to snatch aside his curtain and reveal him as the charlatan he is compared to the REAL power I am. Then I will kill the bastard king who made and abandoned me so long ago.
A giggle escapes me. It has all been so SERIOUS up until now. I’ve been so focused on my goals, I’ve not gotten to PLAY, haven’t permitted myself the opportunity to display my most dazzling powers, as I’ve required things on this world expediently, but that will soon be rectified. Then I can take my time, trot out my favorite spells. I will torture the vile, privileged, soft Seelie before I leave this world, mutilate and mutate them, leaving them hideous, deformed, amputated bits and pieces, hobble them and turn them inside out. Show them what it is to live in Hell forever. “SH-BOOM!” I punctuate the arousing thought with a shout. Then I will fuck Jericho Barrons to death. Over and over, amid much blood and torture, I will flay his skin from his bones while I fuck him. I will experience LUST to its fullest degree in every capacity possible.
Then I will sink within and torment the mouse in my house, the pathetic, fragile, morally castrated MacKayla who has already been so undone by weakness that she’s withdrawn into a catatonic, fetal ball inside me.
And all it took to reduce her to such a state was allowing her to see herself torture and kill, get a small taste of the delights in which her body had been indulging. I should have permitted her to watch all along. I giggle and burst into another song as I skip down the corridor. “B-B-Baby you ain’t seen nothing yet! Here’s something you’re NEVER gonna forget BABY.”
Such as when I force her to watch her own hand feeding starry runes to the black holes, exponentially expanding their growth, destroying her planet in a matter of mere days, instead of the months it might currently take.
WAKE THE FUCK UP. THERE ARE ALWAYS MORE WORLDS.
I will rule all of them.
I will be feared, revered, obeyed, got-it-made in the motherfucking shade.
Fragile MacKayla, so easily broken. She gets attached to things: people, places, even pieces of clothing, as if it fucking matters what she wears, where she lives. As if any of the people around her are actually real. No one is real but me. They are things, not alive. Not like I am.
I’m disappointed she buckled so soon. I’d indulged myself in additional festivities en route to the White Mansion, the results of which, sadly, she didn’t get to see. I’d wanted her to watch the splendid feats I’d done with her hands but she’d been GONE, so near to DEAD I’ve begun to wonder if I’ll even get the chance to torture her more.
I’ll revive her. She can’t escape me. That’s a certainty in my world: we will ALWAYS be together. I will always have my sad little horse to break and repair, break and repair.
She will watch me K’Vruck her world and everything in it. Brilliance such as mine demands an audience. I won’t be cheated of my chance to watch her do what she does best—BLEEDBLEEDBLEED—and revel in being ME not It as It spews emotion all over the place. I won’t be deprived of the opportunity to see It realize, fully understand, how clever, powerful, and brilliant I am. One of those priceless, perfect moments I gather like luminous pearls where, in the horrified comprehension in It’s gaze I know It KNOWS It helped orchestrate It’s own destruction. That’s the moment I crave, desire, lust for, when my toys realize THEY are to BLAME for their own fucking fate. I wonder if anyone drank my poisoned water at the abbey and bled out, ruing that I wasn’t there at the moment they realized what they’d done to themselves. They didn’t HAVE to take a drink. They CHOSE to. I am not to blame. THEY KILLED THEMSELVES. But there will be endless opportunities for such rich experiences soon.
When I kick open the door to the boudoir, I draw up, surprised into a moment of near-immobility.
Triumph saturates my being.
Again I’m vindicated by the universe.
Chance favors the prepared mind. The universe adores the bold, fearless conqueror and seeks to aid him.
No need to summon the queen.
She’s already here.
I leap into the room, drag the princess in behind me, slam the door, and exclaim brightly, “SH-BOOM!”
AOIBHEAL