Lyra danced with a bold elegance in front of the audience. Her red and gold silk costume swayed gracefully around her. Her perfected grace on the stage made it seem like she was a willow tree gently swaying in the breeze. She reveled in the overwhelming amount of feeling she was experiencing. Lyra moved her hands teasingly through her black locks and removed the jeweled ornament that held her hair in place. Her hair lazily tumbled down her back in nigh perfect curls. She did a slow twirl and found herself enjoying the presence of the audience, awaiting her command and admiring her beauty.
Lyra closed her eyes just feeling the energy.
When she re-opened them, Lyra peered into the awaiting audience and found her eyes meeting those of a dashing man. His enchanting blue eyes meeting hers in return, steadily holding her gaze. She sent him a small flirtatious smile and beckoned him forward.
He glided towards her with quiet steps, the audiences stepping apart to allow him through. Lyra's eyes never left his until she was face-to-face with him. The man opened his mouth to speak but was swiftly silenced with a deep kiss. Lyra gently kissed the man, embracing him as if it were life or death. But wasn't it?
That's when she felt the urge overtake her.
The familiar hunger. Not for food or drink but for him. For his life.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, locking him in place, as she took one breath from the man's lips and then another. She could feel the twinge of regret at having taken another life but was quickly lost in the overwhelming sensation of this man's very essence draining from his body.
Finally, she'd been freed from hunger, if only for a brief time.
Lyra woke from her sleep with a sharp cry, her breath coming in short pants. She blinked wildly as the light shone brightly into her home.
Another one of those dreams.
She always dreamed of the men. Some days it was the blue-eyed man, like tonight, with his dark ink colored hair and large frame. His deep baritone voice often echoed through her head after the dreams. In other dreams, the man with black-inking would come to her. The tattoos would cover him from head to toe with intricate designs. Designs that must have taken days or even months to form. His red hair would often be the reason he stood out from the audience in the first place. And, on rare-occasions, it was the one with the exotic white hair and deeply tanned skin. He was the most intriguing of them all. He never spoke and always seemed unfazed by the ending of the dream. In fact, Lyra had noticed that when he appeared, if he did at all, he'd find his own way to her without her needing to lure him in like the others. He always appeared to look at her with some longing that never seemed to match the mood.
But no matter what strange event happened one rule always remained the same. Lyra never dreamed of anything other than these men, and that it always ended with one of them dying. Always.
She'd suffered through these dreams for the last seven years, it began when she was 15 after she'd reached full maturity.
Lyra pushed the blankets from her body and sat up looking over her small house. It was a one-room cottage that resided near the outskirts of Das'mahla, a small town in the frozen part of the continent. Lyra felt a harsh breeze run through the cracks in her walls and shivered violently. She padded across the room to the small hearth and struck up a small fire.
Her cottage consisted of a small table near the hearth, where she ate her meals, a small wooden bed in the corner, and lastly a chamber pot and small bathing tub, which she'd saved up and spent a fortune on, to the left of her bed.
She'd saved all of her younger years living under the tyranny of her father and even into adulthood to afford this home without the aid of marriage, not that she'd had that particular option anyways, being low-born and without a dowry didn't attract many suitors. But she'd made it this far on her own despite the odds.
Lyra made herself a small meal of porridge, all the while still pondering her nightmares, as always. Strange things they were, they made her feel things she sure as hell had never felt around any man ever before, not Ronald Strumpette, who had tried to bed her too many times to count when she'd been at a prime age for marriage, and for sure not like Pete Grastly did, who she'd met her first day after moving to her small little cottage. Pete Grastly was by far the vilest person she'd ever met. He was a pig and often showed up at her front door when he'd had far too much drink.
Lyra was startled from her thoughts at the sound of three brief raps on her door. She stood from her seat and grabbed her sword from beside her bed. A woman could never be too careful when she lived alone and a good distance from any village. She strapped the weapon to her side and carefully crept up to the door before shouting out to her visitor.
"Who is it?"
"Karren...from the village." A small voice softly called out.
Lyra immediately pulled open the door, a frown etched onto her face, at once recognizing the young woman. Karren was a young lass from Das'Mahla who ran the local bakery with her father.
"What are ye doing here, Karren?"
"A delivery Ms." Lyra's frown only deepened further. She never got an unexpected delivery unless it was from the vile pig Pete Grastly.
"From who?" Lyra questioned. Karren handed her the small basket in her hands.
"Don't know ma'am. It was an anonymous order. Papa said he doesn't know either." Lyra looked in the basket finding a loaf of bread and a small piece of parchment tucked to the side of it.
"Also.." Karren hesitated before continuing, "Mr. Grastly sent these too. He said that he hopes you enjoy it as much as he would you." Karren said her tone growing quieter the more of his message she relayed before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a cherry branch. Karren's face heated with embarrassment while Lyra's heated with rage. A cherry branch. A fucking cherry branch used to represent a won conquest. Cherry trees were sacred to the country. They represented conquest and battle and victory. As if she was something to be won. She took the small branch and snapped it in half. That was it, she'd put the pig in his place once and for all. Her temper had finally reached its breaking point and she'd not be mocked by this man anymore. He'd harassed her since she'd moved here and she'd rejected him on many occasions, but this was a statement. He intended to claim her as his own, to marry her, for her to have his children. No, she was no wife and certainly, she was no child-bearer.
Before she could stop herself, Lyra gripped the young girl by her simple gray dress and pulled her close.
"You tell Mr. Grastly, that if wants a conquest he must earn it and if that is his intention then he should go to Sepherants Tavern and wait for me there tonight at dusk." The girl stared at her with wide eyes until Lyra pushed her away and sent her on her way with fearful swiftness to her feet.
Oh, Lyra would show him just how much he would regret this act.
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