Fabric Dyed in Blood

Yet Another Visitor
The woman could not help but unleash yet another heavy sigh. While she was usually incapable of expressing any emotion at all, the lax state her master apparently was in at the moment allowed her to regain some control of her facial muscles. But the rest of her body... Rigid. Rigid as ever before. Her arms were hanging alongside her body, not limp, but perplexingly stiff, just like usual. And her legs... She did not even start to talk about them. They were even more rigid than her arms, actually. All the while she contemplated this, the peculiar servant stared at the scene which was being acted out in front of her. The same monotonous scene which she had seen quite a fe-- No, countless times before. The same smile, the same movements; even the same words. It felt oddly boring to the inflexible servant, despite the situation's apparent severity. After all, what she was witnessing could be described as a murder according to the laws which applied to humans.

Alas, all the deceased girl could think was "What a pity" without virtually any compassion in her internal voice. Almost as dead and monotone as her body, this voice reflected the morosity she was currently embodying. Then again, who wouldn't be morose if they had turned into a living puppet post-mortem? Constantly aware of one's surroundings while an outside force commanded one's body... Put simply, it could induce madness to even the most sane of men. The blue-haired ingenue with blank eyes was, luckily, some of the most sane of men in her life. Now... Not so much. Her sanity had without a doubt wavered quite a lot. But she was still present; here at the moment. She had not yet disappeared. Her mind was intact. Unlike the ones of the others. They were mere dolls; dolls that their master forced to dance whenever she wanted a show.

This too applied to the observer of the incident that was now taking place. Muttering "ah" under her breath, the woman had just come to the realization that the routine was about to take an interesting turn. This is the part where her master would ask her subject about their identity. She was benevolent like that, supposed the blue-haired individual. Benevolent... Or just plain egoistic. She was obviously bored. If there was something the marionette knew, then it was that her master did not fancy boredom at all. Always fluttering, prancing, floating; her master never really seemed to settle down. Even when she seemed calm, there was always that impatient habit of tapping her fingers on a random object in her vicinity. Behind those closed eyes, the wide smile without a grin; behind the facade of petite chin resting on the slim fingers, proper hair and beautiful dress, there was always restlessness.

"Oh, uhm... Why do you ask?" Once more attentively listening to the voice of the burly male hilariously sipping tea from the feminine cup provided to him by her master, the slave's eyes remained veiled, but were now fixed on the muscular figure situated in the divan belonging to her master. "How foolish", the girl thought. "My master asks because she can. Because she always asks. Because she's polite and it's the proper thing to do. But most importantly, because she's curious; because she hopes that you, specifically you, can ease her boredom." Convinced that so was indeed the case, she believed that she could at least say that much about her master. Because there was not much else to be said. Frankly, the pixie-like superior of the cold slave was a walking esoterica. Everything unspoken remained cryptic, everything spoken considered dubious. Truly baffling.

As expected, her master only giggled at the confusion regarding her inquisitive behavior. "Ah~ It was just curiosity. Is there something wrong with inquiring about your life? You're my guest, after all." The perpetual smile was without a doubt charming to strangers, but to someone accustomed to the flattering behavior and constant blitheness, the entirety would without any difficulties be discerned as a mere facade. And to the slave, this act the master was putting up could easily be discerned as what it was: just an act. But the guest thought that the affable attitude was genuine. "What a fool", thought the slave as a slight smirk overtook the corner of her mouth.

"Well, since yer all polite and that... I usually hike mountains and look for treasure. I didn't even know that this place was here. It just whisked me away... And now we're in the sky 'n all." the male slurped tea as if had not been granted liquid from the gods themselves. Struggling with controlling her facial musculature, the slave managed to lower her eyebrows slightly "Bad move", she determined. "Master is particularly unforgiving towards the rude ones." While his speech was by no means rude or anything, the usage of "yer" would indubitably provoke some sort of reaction. Yet, her master's expression remained unchanged. The plastic smile was still plastered across her stupendous face.

"I see. So you're hoping to find something valuable in this palace as well, I take it? Despite the fact that there are people who live here." Gesticulating with her left hand to the side, the master was obviously referring to the golden floor of the artificially uplit floor. Indeed, the room could bring forth reactions of awe in humans who still knew greed. This man, who held a profession based on greed, was obviously an example of this. The servant noticed that the gluttonous man nodded violently, causing fluids to spill in his beard and on the divan. "Now he has really done it... Spilling something on master's divan. This won't end well for him."

"I see, I see..." The otherworldly pixie floating in the air muttered something to herself. Seemingly content with the answer, she repeated the answer one more time, louder and clearer this time. "I see." Finally opening her eyes, the woman now held out her hands in front of her. "I see who you are now, man of avarice." The servant found the transition between the man's content expression and confused to be interesting to observe. Putting down the teacup, the bearded giant looked like he was about to say something, but the hostess spoke before him. "Pillaging our home is not the most polite action, you know~?"

Now the man seemed plain speechless. The blue-haired servant in the corner pondered whether it was due to the fact that the jovial hostess had just insulted him and the very foundation of his existence or if it was because of the arrogant glare the hostess was sending in his direction. "I suppose a combination of both would be more plausible." concluded the girl as her master continued her speech. "And since most of my guests usually are not the nicest of persons, I have a tendency to... Repay their kindness with more kindness." Reaching into the pocket of the vest she was wearing, the slender fingers pulled out a petite bottle containing an extract as blue as her very being. What was inside the bottle was made pretty obvious by the skull symbol printed on a piece of paper wrapped around the bottle; it was lethal poison.

Just as the man realized the sobriety of the situation. He was going to die. The kind hostess was not kind, not at all. She had poisoned him, betrayed him and insulted everything he stood for. That was how the slave perceived the situation by judging the overwhelming anger welling in his eyes. And then, as expected, violence ensued. Tossing the cup across the room, the man started to scream at her master. "Where is the antidote?! I will kill you if you don't tell me!" But such a reaction yielded nothing but a partly stifled giggle from her master, for she had witnessed this kind of reaction quite a few times prior to this man lashing out at her.

"There's no antidote. Why would there be? And go ahead. Kill me if you can." The invitation spoken calmly was not unlike anything the servant had heard before. In fact, it was quite similar to the other occasions where the "guests" had been betrayed. Not wasting any time, the man leaped forwards, on top of the table and kicked the pixie's teacup away in the process. The sound of glass shattering accompanied by the sound of wood giving in to pressure reverberated through the hall. To the servant, it appeared as if the end was indeed approaching rapidly for the man in front of her and her master. Her suspicions were confirmed as her master muttered the command.

"Sheema." Immediately after having heard her name, the body of the undead slave Sheema Kobanette started moving on its own. Jumping forwards, the rigid flesh in movement still felt unnatural, even after all these years of enslavement. Sheema felt her left arm being pulled back slightly, before it was launched forwards, straight through the man's chest cavity without any effort. Being an undead had some benefits, after all. Pulling out quickly, Sheema noticed that her arm was covered in remains of what she assumed to be his heart, pieces of bone and blood. The gaping hole which she had left in the man's chest stood out akin to a fountain in a plaza. Pouring blood out, the doomed fool gasped for a few moments before he collapsed and fell down a few meters in front of Sūmi Masēn.

Smiling as blood continued to pour out of the massive hole in the now-deceased man, the Wicked Hermit covered her mouth and stifled yet another giggle. "My, my. I suspect Blair is not looking forwards to cleaning up that... Or you for that sake, Sheema." It was true, regardless of how odd it seemed. Her arm was soaked in different materials all hailing from a human body, which the old Sheema would have found repulsive. But now? She hardly batted an eyelash at this waste. Not like she could, either. Bound to the will of her master, she could do nothing but obey the commands of her master. At least this man wouldn't get the honor of experiencing such a fate. He was dead and would remain so.

"What do you want to do with the body?" These words were the first Sheema had spoken since her master had started conversing with her massacred guest. Receiving yet another content smile from her master, Sheema again pondered whether her master truly was happy or just a very proficient actress. "I am going to chop it up and keep the head, as is standard procedure. But the rest... I'll let dearest Blair handle it." Pausing briefly in her speech, the Wicked Hermit smiled with her teeth exposed for the first time this evening. "After all, she is assigned to dispose of these things."

While staring at the white shirt of the man which gradually became redder and redder in terms of color, Sheema mechanically grabbed the corpse's right ankle and started dragging him towards the passage leading out of the room. This very same routine had been repeated countless times before and this time would be no different. Her master would wait for her with a perpetual grin dominating her face while the only remainder of the victim's life would be the blood trail the perforated body left behind. As she had almost reached the archway and exited the room, the slave could hear her master saying:

"I hope it we are having steak this time."

End of Chapter 1.