The sword felt cold in my hands. It wasn’t cold like the the first frost covered morning of the season. Nor was it as cold as falling on the ice, even though it were just as dangerous. The cold I felt was one of the heart. The cold was something left behind by those my ancestors had murdered. After a few hundred years, I would have thought that it would be satisfied, but no. Blood only craves more blood.
I could feel the sword egging me on. It wanted me to join the ranks of my family. Hell, even I wanted to be accepted by my family. That was both the problem and not the problem at the same time. You see, in order for my family to accept me, I must kill a witch.
I know. Witches are these terrible monsters that prey on little children and sell their own souls. I can tell you that for the most part, they aren’t like that. Their powers don’t come from making a deal with Lucifer. They’re born, just like Witch Hunters and humans. They make their own path using the cards that they had been dealt.
Leaning back against the hard wall in my prepping room, I let out a huge sigh that echoed through the emptiness. None of this seemed right to me. I didn’t want to kill anyone, I never wanted this sword. But I also don’t want to be thrown out like a slice of moldy bread. I don’t want to be cut off from my family. Sixteen is far too young for me to be out on my own, especially when I have nobody to help me.
“Two minute warning,” a young boy said as he pounded on the door that seemed to stare straight through me. He sounded as though he were trying to knock it down, perhaps in an effort to drag me into this thing that I really don’t feel ready for. I almost envied the kid. He had a few more years to either decide to grow a backbone, or run away. I have what? A little less than two minutes?
Looking back down at the sword in my hand, I noticed my knuckles were turning even whiter than my already pale complexion. Was I really that nervous? Maybe it was just fear. Either way, I felt more numb than anything else.
However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I held a real weapon in my hands. A cold, glittering beauty designed to carry out one of the ugliest acts known to men. I found it amazing that after all these years of belonging to Witch Hunters who indiscriminately killed witches that the blade was actually silver instead of crimson.
A thought crossed my mind as I gently placed the sword on the dark wooden floor. There was a door to my room. This wasn’t a prison cell. I saw no bars, and I hoped there were no guards. Perhaps I actually could just run away. I could run right to her and we could both run far away from all of this madness.
Pushing against the wall, I slowly rose to my feet and inched my way to the door like a prisoner who’s just noticed the guard left his cell wide open. The knob felt warm with hope. I turned it carefully, trying not to make a sound, but of course every move I made sounded like a gunshot.
The door clicked open, revealing the dark hallway that would lead me out into the square. “Ready to go Daniel?” a man asked causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. Of course they wouldn't let me be.
“Um, yeah. Just let me grab the sword,” I said, trying to hide my shock at finding someone outside my door. I picked it up off the floor, and it seemed to know that it was about to be used. It became even colder in my hands. I would never call this sword my own. That life was not for me. That much I knew.
