Act One On How To Dethrone Someone

"Agnes, are you there," I asked quietly.

She replied immediately. "ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ."

"You are, huh," I nodded, "that is right, you always are. And we will be together from now on too."

"ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴇᴇᴍ sᴏ."

"Then," I paused, "were you also there when Estella died?"

She had her arms crossed, and her eyelids shut. She seemed to be contemplating, "ʏᴇs, ɪ ᴡᴀs."

I laughed, "ah, I knew it. I am sorry."

She knitted her brows, "sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ?"

"I'm sorry, to have let her die. You liked her, right?"

"ʜᴍᴍ, ᴡʜʏ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ sᴀʏ sᴏ," she asked me and her eyes slightly widened.

"Well, you knew her. You said so when we met her sister."

"ʏᴇs, sᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ?"

"I'm just thinking, our minds are connected, which is why we can read each other's thoughts. But when we speak about minds, it isn't really just the thoughts, isn't it? There's also sensation, cognition, perception and of course emotion."

"ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs?"

"I was wondering, just before that fateful day, the thing I dreamed about was you. Afterwards, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to control my temper. It was really surprising for me, do you understand? Never in my life had I been so influenced by emotions. It was as if I was burdened with the emotions from someone else."

"ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ," she said with a slight timbre in her voice as she stared at Raya, "ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ."

"I see," I followed her faze, "then that intense hatred I feel right now, are you telling me it also comes sorely from me?"

"ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡs," she said silently and shrugged her shoulders. The conversation ended at that.

The hits left Raya on the ground, while everyone around her faced the girl, unable to peel their eyes away. It was the same for me.

There was just something so compelling about violence, which kept us humans interested.

I think everyone needed something that made them feel alive. Something that made them understand, they aren't only surviving, but really living life. Seeing another person less fortunate would usually do the trick.

Violence had that tasteful contrast between that which overstepped simple curiosity —but was not quite gloating and guilt, or fear even, fear of being in the victims position.

It was a good spice, just like hot peppers that gave our monotonous lives an additional fire, until the reaper, not the Californian one, came and stashed us away in his little pocket filled with other kinds of delicacy.

Her father had stopped after a while.

I said a while, when it was a rather short time, mostly occupied not by his fist connecting with her supple cheeks, but with Raya having to find the inexplicable willpower to stand up only to be thrown down again.

At most, they were five hits, but it wasn't about the quantity which made everyone squirm.

"All this time, I have been very lenient with you," her father said, the cloudy haze covering his eyes eroding, leaving a little warmth, like the warmth of a cars motor which refused to start in all those horror movies, until the very last second.

Or maybe it was only the candles which reflected in his iris, twice on each side, dwelling behind his dim gaze.

Raya raised her head and faced him, and his eyes moved (or at least they seemed to move). She had an extremely complicated expression on her face, which was wearied from experience. It was a mixture, of anger, sadness, regret, desperation, all pooled into a barrel and ripened with time.

He continued without worries, "you told me that you didn't want to get married, and every time I offered you a suitable partner, you adamantly turned them down. Now look at you, 17 and still living in this household, leeching off of my goodwill. But I imagine you don't really need your face, if you don't want to settle down, which makes it a bit easier on me to deliver punishment."

Wait she really was voluntarily single? From all the things that had happened, this was the biggest surprise.

"Hhhng," Raya groaned and wanted to curl up, but in the last second decided not to do so.

Her fathers smile collapsed into watchful reproach, "my dearest, you should count yourself lucky that I did not strip you naked and spank your bum. As I also do not want to shame my daughter in front of our kin."

Too bad, I would have liked to see that.

She gripped her hair moving to her ears and reluctantly covered them with her palms. Her fingers dribbled around, like she was playing the flute, unsure whether she should just zone out or return to the reality she was residing in.

With a desperate face, she shuddered.

Even the paintings seemed to have grown eyes, as the portraits stared down at her like vultures did at a man turning into a corpse.

In the meanwhile, her father reached behind his back, rummaging around. It was the first time he moved, apart from occasionally tilting his head to the left or right.

The darkness made it hard to make out what exactly he was trying to search for, but the moment he found it, it was displayed for everyone to see.

A blurry, silver gleam was refracted once around the whole room and when he threw it to the ground, it bounced very lightly, sounding like a tupperware. It was then embedded into the floor.

It was a knife.

A small ornamental knife, with more design than sharpness, the golden shine and carvings made it a sight to behold.

Still, it was a knife.

The sound caught Rayas attention and she directed her sight towards it. She, just like everyone else, was confused by what she was looking at.

Her father then kindly explained, "since you do not wish to be wed, there's no need for you to leave your hair this long, cut it off."

The crowd murmured.

Rayas eyes trembled, "father, you can't possibly!"

He frowned, "it won't be me, do it yourself."

"N, no, I can't do it," she shook her head.

He turned louder, "are you disobeying me?"

Raya grew a tone paler, even though she had been ashen already. She was like a russian nesting doll. It was like watching the moon, only to realize it was only a reflection. There was always a new layer to be discovered when it came to her.

She stared at the knife warily, like it would escape if she were to do any unnecessary movements; maybe she even hoped that it would do so.

The doll-like girl squinted her eyes tight, gnashing her teeth in frustration.

Afterwards there was nothing.

The same nothingness that came in a starless night, where there was neither a reflection nor the real moon, but undoubtedly it was still there, only hidden— hidden far, far away.

Her face was much of a person who had forgotten themselves, devoid of any sustaining emotions or thoughts.

She was at the moment really a doll: solid, clayey and as rigid as wood.

As if stringed to do so, she moved her fingers tiptoeing them on the floor and when she touched it, she did not flinch back, instead she used the momentum to grab it at once, so that any rightful regrets that came later, would also be too late.

Her father observed her movements carefully, not wanting to miss a single thing. He tapped his fingers in peremptory fashion to indicate time was still moving in this space.

She moved her hands, and undid her bun, revealing her long, luscious black hair. It had an orangey tint due to the flames and seemed to be glistening just like they would under the sunlight.

With a very swift motion, she not only cut the furthermost edges of her hair, but also the dazed admiration anyone paid it.

Some people exclaimed, hiding their heads behind their hands.

The strands fell down just like the feathers of a bird, gliding innocently to the ground. Every cut she made was also cutting the strings that were attached to her body, moving her around like a marionette in a play.

Her blue, lackluster eyes turned watery and her mouth opened, but there was nothing that left from her lips.

She continued, relentlessly mowing down like she was getting rid of overgrown grass.

When she reached her shoulders, she abruptly stopped. Her hand halted in place, bolted next to her hair.

It was around the same time that my palm started to throb from pain, as I had grabbed the sharp knife she was holding.

I didn't realize until I stopped her. I did it subconsciously.

She stared at me, her glistening eyes widened, and her mouth stood agape. I didn't mind her reaction, the same way I didn't mind the reactions from the crowd, which I couldn't even remember. But I was sure it was the same kind of shock they always showed.

I brushed her tear that had almost formed away and said, "isn't it funny, the last time we stood here, I also wiped the tears off your eyes."

Her astonishment quickly devolved into irritation, as she grumbled, "what do you want."

"All the eyes are focused on you, currently, you are the star of the show," I pointed at her with both hands.

"I'm sure you just came here to gloat. Just leave."

"You aren't thinking wrongly," I told her. I then lifted her head and inadvertently smeared blood on her chin, "a one inch contusion on the left side of your cheek, numerous abrasions and from the looks of it, you might be suffering from a concussion. They may look bad, but are at most superficial wounds; given enough time, they should heal properly."

Even though it may not have looked like it, Agnes' uncle held back on the barrage. But for me it was a sign of the worse, as it showed that he had gotten used to accurately measure his strength, so not to leave lasting effects on her. That could only be learned with practice.

Rayas head was filled with question marks when I listed her wounds, "what are you doing?"

I gently traced her face with my hands and a trail of red painted her face, resembling old tribal marks, "I told you that I liked your hair, right? So it pains me greatly to see when you cut it off like that, so I came here to protect you."

"ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛɪᴇs ᴀʟʟ sᴄʀᴇᴡᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ." Agnes interjected.

Raya bit her lips and broke eye contact, "just leave, you are the last person I want to see me like that," her mouth hurt as she talked.

I rested her head in my bosom, by pushing her nape with my hand, "I don't feel like it," I told her.

Her hands intertwined in my dress and she trembled. She wanted to cry, but there were no tears that came out, so it was only her dry voice that screamed, "leave, leave, leave," while she weakly hit my belly.

I rested my chin on her head and didn't reply. Her hits lessened as I tightened my arms.

"H. . . elp me," she whispered very quietly, right next to my heart.

I answered, "no."

She flinched and lost the little courage she found, but I wasn't finished yet, "help yourself."

My command seemed to have resonated with her, but there was no way to fulfill it, "I can't," she whispered again, "you don't understand, I cannot go against my father. I do not have what it takes. If I had, I would have done so a long time already."

Like a cue, her father reacted, "what are you two mumbling about."

"Nothing which requires too much attention."

He laughed, "I was sure you would come to her rescue. Since small, you would always reach out your hand for my daughter. Are you trying to be a hero? I appreciate it, but leave the education to a proper adult."

My mouth hung low by the most unexpected description for me. I sighed, "it pains me that you have reached the right conclusion, with such faulty observation. Your luck must be great," I then indicated with my fingers, "but I think it is time for your to step down. You can call this education too."

Dethroning someone? That just happened to be my expertise.