Title: There Will Be Blood
Rating: PG-15; rated for violence


Theme: Mother Confessors
Genre: General/Drama
Characters: Magda Searus (Bookverse character)
Timeline/Spoilers: About 3,000 years before the series

Prompt: Blood
Word Count: 631

Author's Notes: Magda is the first Confessor according to the novels, the series doesn't name one (that I know of) so I simply put Magda in the world of the series. And now, since Magda was the first, she must have experienced the first Con Dar...

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The man danced on the floor before her; a strange twitching dance of dark poses and darker colors as blood started to trickle from his nose.

“Gaa…”

It was simple thing really; a slight tweak here, a small twist there.

He didn’t even scream as more blood dripped from his ears and into a pattern on the cold stone floor, foretelling his future. Then he was still. Magda turned her attention to the next men. She stared at them with blue eyes gone pitch black.

“No man touches a Confessor,” the Mother Confessor said in a tone that shook like thunder and sizzled like lighting.

She reached further into their minds; twisted just so.

“To do so...” she said slowly, in a voice full of the quiet promise of death. “Without her consent...”

Magda knelt down next to where her torturers writhed on the chamber floor, careful to avoid the dark blood that was dripping from their noses and ears. For a moment, she watched it flow past her soiled white dress, its folds stained with her own blood.

“Mistress, please...” they begged painfully.

“To do so... is to invite death, instead of love,” Magda said in a low voice.

She looked to another solider that stood close by and rose to face him. She held out her hand for the daggers that he carried. He handed them to her wordlessly and the Mother Confessor used them in one swift motion.

“And no living man should want that,” she continued darkly, watching as the solider dropped between his fellows, dying with a wet rattling sound that slipped from his opened throat.

The two writhing men on the floor only had moments to roll their eyes helplessly before Magda used the blades on them as well.

“Should they?” She asked as she turned her attention to the next man in her path.

She stepped over the fallen soldiers with a dancer's grace as she came to stand before him, the bloodstained daggers held loosely in her hands.

“Command me Mistress,” the wizard said, falling to his knees.

Magda looked over the battered and bruised forms of her two fallen sisters lying a short distance away.

“Die,” the Mother Confessor replied simply, holding out one of the blades to him.

“Yes Mistress,” the corrupt wizard replied and took the dagger from her. Without another word, he plunged it into his chest and fell to the floor. Like the others, he died with a sickening rattle. Magda waited, watched. When he breathed no more, she reached down and retrieved the blade with a wet sound. She turned to the last man in the room.

“How may I serve you, Mother Confessor?” The king asked, falling to his knees before her as all the others had done.

Magda tilted her head, her ebony eyes flickering with barely contained rage. She twisted the daggers in her hands with a slow, familiar grace, drawing the monarch's attention to them.

“You, and all your blood will indeed serve me,” the Mother Confessor answered quietly. “'Til the end of all your days.”

She looked back over to her fallen sisters before turning the full weight of her attention back to the trembling man. She set one of the daggers beneath his chin, titling his eyes up to meet her own.

“This will never happen again...” Magda said in a low, dark voice. “You will see to it.”

“As my Lady wills it, so shall it be,” the former monarch vowed.

“Go now,” the Mother Confessor commanded, falling to her own knees as soon as he had gone. She buried her face in her hands and wept. “So shall it be...”