I stood in the doorway, looking at the commoner’s blood which covered the altar in scarlet red. I felt sick. Yes, we were superior, our powers proved that, but in recent months I had grown uncertain of our cause. The world had indeed been dying from its persistent lack of competent leadership, but at least its people were, at least legally, free.

I walked up to the altar. The commoner’s eyes looked at me in terror. Terror that would be extinguished soon. I whispered, too low for anyone else to hear, “I’m sorry”, and I unsheathed my dagger. He didn’t breathe again. I stalked away, back through the doorway, sickened. I found my way back to my room and puked on my linen sheets. I looked down warily. My sky-blue blood flowed from the place where the dagger had accidentally cut my thumb. I looked back up, tears welling in my eyes, but not from the pain. The poster with our motto was stuck to the wall. It read: “Make them bleed, let their true colours shine and when they finally fall, forge crowns from their skulls and rule!” I reached up and felt my skull crown on my head. I raised my hand and watched the poster disintegrate.

After a night of dreamless sleep, I awoke to find it was the day to pass in our skull crowns and have them polished by red-blooded servants, of course, specifically by the loved ones of the ‘skull donors’ to be extra cruel. And when they’re done polishing, their blood will be drained to restore the skulls’ sapphires. I silently hoped they’d lose my skull crown in the system.

Suddenly a servant saw my cut and swept me away for a long treatment of bandages, ointments, and probably premium alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. It was when I was standing on that marble balcony, looking out at crowds upon crowds of the red-blooded, preparing to drink my golden goblet of scarlet blood as a warning of sorts, that I got sick of it all. I dropped my goblet and tossed away my crown. I lunged to tackle Althath, my closest fellow blue-blooded, physically, certainly not emotionally and then they all closed in, raising their hands. The sapphires on their crowns started to glow. Blue light slammed into me from all sides. And then it all went black.

Maybe I shouldn’t have rebelled. No, it was the right choice, I just shouldn’t have rebelled when I was depressingly outnumbered. The blue-blooded can’t keep torturing the red-blooded.

Octoris, a peer who has always seemed to be out to get me, entered my shadow-strewn cell. “Hello Samanthia, how have you been. I do hope the cell has been hospitable for you. In case you were wondering, we won’t kill you. A few of us wanted to, but you’re blue-blooded, and we’re not barbarians, so instead you’ll serve a different sentence. We think you’ll really love it,” he leered.
“What is it?” I moaned.

“Well, that’s a wonderful question, Samanthia. You like our pets, do you not? You think they should be equal,” Octoris practically spat the word. “Yes, well then, we thought with our merciful hearts, why shouldn’t you get to promote your cause, screaming it at the top of your lungs.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

I asked, “How?”

“Good question. We just discovered the red-blooded have a rebel group and they plan to stage an attack in ten weeks. We want you to join and sabotage the attack.”

“Even with a disguise they’ll test my blood,” I murmured in shock. But he was prepared for that.

“Well, those smart, little red-blooded scientists discovered a way to channel our power into the ability of shapeshifting. The possibilities are quite intriguing, though for the time being it will require common refreshes and an arduous initial shift. We’ve captured a rebel who’s physically similar to you without their knowledge. Oh, and she has a husband in the rebellion, who will expect much kissing.” He left and I gulped.

She was bound in front of me; her body was slightly taller; her hair was slightly darker; her eyes were slightly greener; her muscles were slightly bigger; her mind was filled with the same amount of terror. The others’ faces strained with effort as their crowns hummed rhythmically. I tried to search for an escape route, but blue light surged towards me like a tide of writhing snakes, each eager to be first to pierce my flesh. And pierce my flesh they did.

 

The pain lasted for a few hours as my body was torn apart and reconstructed repeatedly. The woman’s fear turned to disgust, which turned to horror, which turned to shock, which turned to unconsciousness. They finally finished my right eye and made me wait ten minutes to see if I would drop dead. I swayed slightly in the moments when I truly felt like I was in somebody else’s body. I felt the way, for the first time in my life, that there was no itching power in my veins and arteries waiting to be channelled. I warily raised a hand that was not my own and focussed, but no blue light streamed out. I became dizzy and then everything went black.

I opened my eyes and found two tired, dirty men standing over me. One had a long greasy beard and the other wore stained surgical scrubs. Both looked like they had fought through an army to get here.

“Must’ve had a pretty damn bad mission to pass out like that on our doorstep, eh?” warmly chuckled the one in surgical scrubs with a layer of cold seriousness underneath.

The man with the beard exhaled deeply, he had obviously been holding his breath. “Oh, thank god!” he exclaimed in a voice like jagged rock before leaning down and kissing me. His lips were coarse and uncomfortable, but if I resisted, the rebellion might become suspicious.

The weeks passed quickly. I was sent on missions, which generally meant sabotaging officials, but occasionally involved actually attacking them.  Every few days I would sneak away and have my rapidly unravelling form repaired with, thankfully, less pain. I even came to appreciate my so called ‘husband’ for his various merits, such as his expert blacksmithing and his bright sense of humour. I could see how the woman I was imitating had fallen in love with him. I was starting to fall in love with him too.

One late night, he and I were discussing the attack, which was three weeks away. We lay on a vast, vibrant field of flowers, gazing at the sky, stars scattered like swans on a pond after a disturbance.

“Can’t wait for the attack, to be honest, can you?” he whispered.

I didn’t want him to suspect anything, so I just mumbled: “Absolutely thrilled.”

“I just am so ready to tear off Octoris’s head for taking away our daughter. You go for Samanthia and avenge our son honey.”

My heart went cold and I remembered the initial takeover where we revealed ourselves to the world. Two young twins had risen rose to fight us, which had led Octoris to decapitate the girl while I plucked out the boy’s heart, both of us laughing madly. More distantly, I recalled the screaming of their mother and father.

“Indeed, Elliot. They must die” I responded in dread.

It was the day of the attack. We were hiding under the stage as the blue-blooded gave an announcement on new laws forbidding the red-blooded from even thinking poorly of them. It was oppressive and I was here to allow it to happen. I took the sword from an unconscious guard we had beaten up. I was supposed to start the stabbing now, but I didn’t.

I walked out with the rest and attacked the screaming blue-blooded. I watched Elliot, the man I had fallen in love with just weeks before, fill with hatred. He swung at Octoris’s stupid, smirking face, but he missed and jagged blue light reached for him. In that moment something overtook me and I launched myself in front of him. In a blur of movement I was on the ground, my intestines in pieces beside me. I realised that my form had unravelled. Elliot looked shocked as he stood over me.

He suddenly roared, “You’re Samanthia! You killed my son! Where’s my wife? Where is she? Tell me one thing you twisted, murderous, little freak! How long have you been her? How long has the love been fake?”

“The love was real, Elliot.” I whispered with a weak smile. His face lost its redness at that. He paused then leaned down and let me have one last kiss. I wasn’t alive to see it end.