Record: Around Noon
Sun Oxen Year & ¾ , Eighthday
It was when I pressed my hand on the crystal ball that I saw.
It was dark.
The moon cast her luminous strings, twisting the forest and filling the land with shadow and twilight. A night breeze made the trees dance and send their leaves to the hungry soil.
There was light coming from the top tower of the castle. A dim candle melting by the window, shaped a pale structure of the room, making the old wooden furniture look like oddly dressed tree-men. Inside the colors of gold and black painted curtains and sheets. The great chandelier on the ceiling hanged upon claret walls which carried portraits of insignificant dead folks. Intoxicating odors from the perfumes of lustful women decorated the air with a feel of decadent aristocracy.
“You sleepy?” said White with a naughty smile. Her red lips, tender and alluring, pressed together and sent Alice a kiss. Gods and mortals alike were slaves to her soft breath touching the air.
She knew that.
“No. Not really.” answered the girl. “What do you have in mind?”
White waved at the pillowcase she was dragging along. Her sister looked at it curiously with her deep blue eyes. Like a pair of sapphires, they penetrated any man's clothes and flesh carving inside their souls an everlasting scar. Untouchable by the hourglass of time, like her. Kings had been drifted away lost in that gaze. She smiled back.
And there, sitting by the bed, with the the moon reflecting their luscious half naked bodies, I saw them.
Holding their pillowcases, ready to fulfill every man's dark desire. But the pillows were not of the everyday-goose-plumage kind. They looked bulky and heavy. Gooses were hard to come by in this place. Alice rearranged hers. A sound of metal, moving and colliding, broke the silence. The maces and flails, hammerheads and morningstars all belonged to heroes of ages long past. Thor and Ali Pasha laughed from under the ragged cloth. Jeanne d'Arc's headcrusher was painted crimson by the divine punishment it delivered to the heads of her enemies. No paradise held room for such bloody hands. No matter how graceful they were.
Two ravens took away the moon for a moment. As they flew before it, a light gust of wind came from the window and in the moonlight, I watched as the two sisters standing before each other, with gleaming skins and waving hair, locked eyes.
Inside White's handwoven linen pillowcase, the sharpened steel of blades and the pointy edges of swords and knives rattled like a thousand rattlesnakes. And the Vorpal sword, once Alice's was in there and Tyrfing who caused the three great evils, and also, a very significant demon barber's bloody razor.
“You know you want to, love.” said White and winked at her sister.
“Loser gets pointy ears.” announced Alice. “Winner gets a fur.”
And then both lifted their pillows like they were indeed filled with goose feathers. They swinged once and aimed for the head.
I kept watching while Masamune and Sharur from inside the pillowcases attacked the sisters' pretty faces.
Razors met cheekbones, prison balls met perfectly shaped noses, steel met skin. Time froze, as the disgusting sounds of bashing bones and tearing flesh made Huginn and Muninn, who were standing at the windowpane, startle and fly away.
It all went down in one hit.
Alice was still on her knees with her her arms limb on her thighs, her head looking down covered by her blood-soaked hair. Someone could think she looked like she was praying from a distance, but even if she wanted now, it was to late. Her right eye hang lifeless by a little red string down to her chin. There wasn't much left of her left one.
White was looking at the ceiling. Looking was maybe the only thing she could do now with the half bottom of her face gone. Her tongue was still there and a part of her nose too, what used to be her jaw lied on the crimson floor.
I averted my eyes from the crystal ball.
These girls and their silly sleepovers.