1 Bluebeard

If Bluebeard were to be honest with himself he would admit that Alyssa had resisted the urge to go inside one of the mansion's rooms for more time than he had ever imagined possible and in that time she hadn't dared utter a single word about his interdiction. It was a miracle she hadn't opened one of those doors the second they were married. How she lasted for ten years he would never know. All he knew was that - according to his spies - she was frantically trying to escape. If Moustafa hadn't been clipping the bushes yesterday she might have escaped, flying off to The Emperor to tell him what she thought she had seen. He wasn't sure he could convince her of the truth but he at least owed it to her to try and explain. Good help was hard to find these days and good wives were even harder. They just refused to grow on trees. Alyssa was probably in the garden, trying to make sense of the image imprinted in her mind and his heart thumped wildly at the thought that she would never understand him.

One-by-one, twenty wives had loathed him and his distinctive blue beard, abusing him and his kindness until he was left with no other choice. He had tried to welcome each one into his home, showing them nothing else but kindness and love and instead, he had gotten mistrust, judgment, and disgust from all of them. And Bluebeard was not a man any woman was allowed to walk over. His chest tightened as his thoughts circled back to Alyssa. What if he could make an exception just this time? Would she be willing to forgive and forget? Could she? Or was she just like the others? Time to find out I guess.

The salty breeze of Midland ruffled his beard and tickled his nose, helping him remember how he had laid the first stones of the mansion. The trees, ancient as The Emperor himself, loomed over the sandy path, directing his steps to a lonely bench on which Alyssa stood with head resting in her palms. He hadn't had the heart to protest when her father had offered his smallest in return for a tax-pardon; in his heart, he had hoped she would be better off with him. What a fool he'd been.

Much to his distaste, Alyssa's body lay sprawled on the sandy path in a pool of crimson blood. Despite her modest lineage, she had been a better wife to him than all those courteous ladies who prided themselves so much with their blue blood. It was a shame she had eventually let herself guided by curiosity and found the twenty corpses in the High Chamber; all his wives, neatly displayed in an orderly fashion had stared at her with dull eyes, driving her to her untimely death. How fitting. It was the only way it could end really. But if my beard turns red then they will know what I have done. Nobody has seen a red dye in this realm for a thousand years. Even a blue one seemed far-fetched. I won't be able to hide this. The only option he had left was not to consume her life force, as he had done with the others but instead to just dispose of the body as if nothing had happened. His breath quickened as his pulse skyrocketed. If he made her disappear he might not have enough time to find another willing to marry him so soon. He'd have to play the widower all over again. Stifling the urge to vomit while trying to lower his heart rate, he looked at Alyssa's pale form and grudgingly knelt next to her. There was one other option left but neither of them would like it.

"I have no choice" he tried convincing himself, but all reasons seemed weak when faced with the certainty his immortality depended on the mortality of others. He clenched his teeth as he picked up a portion of the coagulating blood with his hands, smearing it inside his beard. His whole body tingled as blue and red started a deadly dance inside him, heightening his senses to the point he was sure he saw Alyssa's aura flying off into the horizon. Even as one of the immortals he was not allowed to see The Passing, chained to an unbreakable curse cast eons before his time. The only way he would be able to find a way to break it was if he mixed his blood with a pagan's. And Alyssa was definitely a pagan. He chuckled at the memory of them dining together, at their discussion about The Gods.

"If it weren't for them you wouldn't be eating with me tonight" he had told her, hiding a mischievous smile.

"If it weren't for my father, I wouldn't have been here at all" she had retorted, thrusting a secret pang of guilt he had harbored for accepting to buy her off from her family. "I've told you this before. The Gods don't exist. The Holy Church created them to indoctrinate the population. Why else would The Emperor be the Headmaster of The Church? He hardly seems the religious type."

"Because the Emperor is a power-hungry mongrel who doesn't trust any of his men. And for good reason. There have been ten mutinies in less than a decade."

"There will always be riots. You can't please everyone and the measures he's been taking are too hard on the majority of this population."

"The Emperor is immortal Alyssa. He doesn't care."

"He should."

"Why? He is one of The Gods and it's his rightful place to decide what happens with the low-folk."

"I refuse to discuss this with you anymore. You'll never understand."

"How so?"

"Because you're not one of the low-folk! I could bypass the fact you live in a mansion but that blue dye is outrageous! My family could have survived ten more winters to come if you would have lessened the taxes, even a little bit. But no...You need your money to dye your beard."

She had stormed off that night, leaving him in a dark mood. And, in defiance, she had entered the High Chamber, stumbling upon his little secret. If Moustafa hadn't managed to stop her he would be in chains.

His head spun with the new information all his senses registered but he knew it wasn't enough. If only he could get the dosage right...Then his beard wouldn't turn red but purple and he would finally be able to confront the Emperor. After all those years spent in hiding, he would, at last, be able to find out more. he picked up another portion of her blood and smeared it directly on his face, this time feeling his skin tightening and burning. He could taste it in his mouth as his vision dimmed and blurred, the image of the sea turning a vague shade of pink. He knew he had gotten it right the moment he felt his heart melt and implode at the same time, purple blood oozing from his nose in perfect, glistening rivulets and everything around him was veiled in a deep shade of violet. The Emperor's aura, visible from thousands of miles away, fragmented his vision in rich molten gold and he felt his lips break into a wolfish grin.

The time had finally arrived. The time to find out if he could really kill the man responsible for the curse who had enslaved him and let to so many unnecessary deaths. He was, at last, going to confront his father. And there was only one end in sight.