Past the horizon, the scarlet stars glimpse at the world from their little cloud up in the folds of the Milky Way, dusting the realms with clandestine tales. It will only end in tragedy.
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One day in the not too far past
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It is my firmest belief that the stars are the most despicable of all the celestial bodies - I do not think they would take kindly to that if they were to find out but I do not say lies.
They like to remind people of what happens when they are ungrateful for their circumstances. Even ones of starvation, constant war, unpaid labor, and being forced to live in the slumps, but those are not the stories I am here to share.
Though, in essence, that is unfortunately what happened to this young lady turned murderer at night (occasionally that is) when her churlish young mind made the mistake of asking for more than what was predestined for her.
Some may argue it was years ago, (10 to be exact) but the stars never forget. That is exactly why they are cruel.
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☽
The old grass crunched beneath her black boots as she heaved the Prince’s body away from his sanctuary. She could feel the grin on her face, content to have ended so many lives, yet bore a chest so heavy she may have grown a heart of stone.
At least with a heart of that caliber, the excuse to kill would come much easier.
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No doubt, newspapers will be flying around town about the scattered blood that would only be found in the morning.
She didn’t like it. At all.
She wished she could wash away her sins, but alas as previously stated she has been forsaken.
Worse - Her aching legs were ready to collapse but she couldn’t get caught. Not yet.
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As if hearing her fears, the prince’s wounded body left a trail of blood behind him. Her frustration with the waning night and him only adding to it led to the long nails of her inky veined hand clutching his foot until new blood flushed out.
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Once sure she was far from the palace’s reach, she set his leg down and looked into the prince’s glass eyes, wondering if they once gleamed with happiness or were filled with love for those he cared for. Nevertheless, that didn’t matter now, he was gone.
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It’s important to mention there was something severely wrong with the girl. The way she laughed about the situation was depressing. A laugh of someone tired. Or perhaps even insane.
For a moment she let herself sink to the ground, lifting her veil to let the night creatures get a glimpse of a deformed face and pitch-black eyes. She looked like a demon, hunting for people to drag into hell with her. Yet what choice did one have when the stars have deemed them this fate? To turn into a killer when the hurt of their lives becomes too much to bear.
As the night aged and the Prince’s body halted its bleeding, footsteps started approaching. Another pair followed, then another and another. At some point, one loses count and for that, the girl ought to have run. Taking down just one prince was easy but a group of men (especially if they were well-trained) was probably too much for a normal serial killer.
She stood, adjusting the veil over her head to cover the true face of her notorious second identity because when all is done, the black deformation that covers her body will vanish to nothing and she shall be back to normal.
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Drawing out a sword (one taken from a guard that is long since dead now, his blood now dried over top of many others) from the belt around her waist, she spun it around with a stained hand waiting for the owners of the footsteps to appear.
The anticipation wasn’t what made her nauseous. It was how wrongly familiar it all felt. To be in the dead of night with the smell of blood relieving her nostrils. It was an uninterrupted repeated cycle.
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When the personnels finally appeared there would be no mistake that these were palace guards (even through a dark veil). The royal crest printed on their uniforms was a half-moon with a sword going through it and a crown on top. They wore it with pride.
Their heads didn’t turn to the blood-oozed prince below; they simply glared at the murder, their faces stripped of any fear but if one paid close attention they could see the slight tremble of soldiers’ hands.
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“Killer,” one said through gritted teeth.
They unsheathed their swords in unison. Daring to point their silver tips at her.
The one in the front came forth “In the name of King Alexander and the heavenly bodies we command you to surrender!” He demanded.
Was the palace drafting fools now?
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She refused to comply.
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“Will you surrender?” He called out again. After a matter of seconds, his patients grew weary. “Very well.” He gave the signal and they were all heading straight at her with contorted expressions.
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The leader reached her first, bringing his sword down, and cutting right through her shoulder. She winced — particularly the only concept of humanity she had shown that night — but it was soon overtaken by a ravenous scowl followed by an upward blow. His blood splattered all over her veil and some made it through to her face. Seeing the blood, tasting it, brought her enough joy to start to laugh hysterically.
The others halted to a stop, gawking.
“She truly is insane.” Another said.
By the time they could understand her acknowledgment of the comment, they had already collapsed on the cold ground with their necks bleeding out.
The meaty flesh stenches the air around, some even clumping together into a small pile in the dirt.
It was disgusting to her, yes, but it wasn’t her job to clean up after them. That was the helpless detectives’ job.
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When backup still hadn’t arrived, the veil had been lifted again and her legs were finally given a true break. The curse was breaking for the night, affirmed by her camouflage withering away, and a wave of panic crashed over her as her deformed figure returned to normal. No long claws but rather soot-covered fingers. Clear mind instead of one clogged with ideas of killing. Her hair on the other hand that now fell in curls around her shoulder had stayed the same in its white sheen, marking her a citizen of the Celestial kingdom.
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The night is now quiet except for the girl’s routinely indescribable murmurs that left her tongue far too rapid.
At times like these, it was clear the thirst for blood was devouring her soul more and more, as she seemed less psychologically human.
Leading only to more bodies being killed off and more blood-filled yards, thinning out the Celestial population.
She sat in silence for a while. No real tears or sobs.
I supposed she had gotten used to this and retired from the act of sympathy.
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Slowly the souls of the dead detached from their bodies, joining the girl’s collection of shadows gathered over the years. They were menacing to those who could see them, though she had yet to meet a person who truly could.
The gruesome presence of those who were killed by the fated murderer was more or less a constant reminder to the girl of what could happen if the stars were defied. So now everywhere she goes, the shadows trail and latch onto every word and thought spoken to or about her, hoping to twist them.
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Thus, dear readers, I present to you with the story of the notorious Celestial Murderer
Her name is Zurine.
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And woefully, her story is one I must share
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