I strode into my my manse, the doors swinging open as I approached, then slamming shut behind me. I glanced at the serving boy bowed respectfully yet poised for instructions, noting that he had not flinched when the doors moved on their own - that habit was trained out early.
I pointed my staff at him. "You - boy! Tell me, where is the serving girl they call Amara? She failed to polish my boots properly."
He trembled before me, more out of fear for her health than for anything else. Wise of him, he had good reason to fear.
"I... I don't know. There's nothing I can tell you... Please, sir, please spare me."
I grunted as I considered him. He spoke the truth. And yet - he had failed at the task I had assigned him, failed to answer my question, and I was not in a merciful mood.
The power coursed through me, that of the void, that of cold, and pain - that of death, and darkness, and nothingness. The boy flinched, and then screamed - though he hardly had a chance to let out one ragged, bloodcurling scream before he was unconscious.
I nodded once. You see? I could be merciful, he had only suffered briefly, though the girl Amara will get none of that mercy. No, she shall truly suffer for what she had done.
I walked on, my staff rapping against the marble floor as a went. Hmm, if the boy didn't know where she was... I looked.
Ah yes, in the parlor, shining some of the less... dangerous relics I kept there. An excellent activity for a servant while her master was out, though if she did as bad of job on they as she had on my shoes -
I studiously ignored her past history of always polishing everything to a nice shine - there was a reason I bothered to know her name, something which couldn't be said for most of my servants, inconsequential as they were.
I walked up the stairs leisurely, never pausing nor hesitating, neither slowing nor hastening as a lesser man might have done.
And into the room I walked. Immediately she lowered the relic she was holding - gently of course, for her sake more than its - and sank into a curtsy. "Master. Wh- Wh- What can I do for you?"
I considered her stooped form, inwardly amused at her obvious fear. Had she been this careful earlier, there would never have been need for such a thing, but alas, it had to be.
I stepped forward. "Do you recognize these shoes?"
"I- Of course, these are the ones I pol-"
She shook as she noticed the slight scuff marks, as she realized her mistake.
"Have you anything to say for yourself?"
"No, Master."
I nodded once, pleased. That, at least, was a point in her favor.
And then the screams began anew. This time, however, they did not cut off for a long, long time.
-hyperbole out.
Picture from pixabay, not really sure what it has to do with the story, but it somehow called to me.
