Once upon a time, Rixxan was a nice girl. She’d had very little knowledge of herself, very little knowledge of her life, and of the world itself. That was then. That was before everything that was just a “normal part of life” happened. Before she had met that boy, before their wild romance and love story, and before…
“Fuck it.” Rixxan kicked over a decorative plant, causing it to shatter against the side of the building. She whipped around to look for anyone to accuse or come after her, almost hoping for it. She could really use a good fight, but it didn’t seem like she’d be getting into one here in the dark backstreets of Vilpamolan. Growling now, she stalked around the back of the clamouring building, wringing the hilt of her sword mercilessly. The word ‘mad’ didn’t cut it. ‘Furious’ wasn’t the right brand of anger. It was complete disdain and hatred welling up in her, forcing over the brim and making it harder and harder to keep herself controlled. She used to have lots of control, in fact, more than she had ever thought she would have, but now she was always alone. Always alone. Because of it. It had taken away the only good thing in her life and left her alone. What was she supposed to do? Get over it? Not likely. She wasn’t quite the type to let things go.
Rixxan started back towards the front of the building. A dark vivacity grew in her eyes like flint and tinder trying to spark up an explosion, but this coming explosion was inevitable. She was consumed by everything inside of her, too much going on in her mind to process everything. She had already lost her mind to someone, but that wasn’t what this was. This was different. Like a steady slipping, exponentially gaining in speed until nothing was clear except for the emotions. But those, her feelings, they burned so bright within her that she could not even identify them anymore.
She opened the door, inconspicuous and unperceived to the patrons within who were too engaged with their drinking and reveling to even notice her. Her mind blacked out the world around her as it replayed everything she was striving to consign to her mental oblivion.
…One. She had loved him. Two. He was gone. Three. It was solely her fault. Four. Nothing could change the past. Five. Nothing could remove that guilt. Six. She was responsible. Seven. She needed to accept it, accept that it was all her fault, that her own selfishness had killed him. Eight. She was not a good person, she never was, and now she never would be. Nine. She had changed, and not simply because the demon had been ripped out of her. Ten. She had changed for the worse. Eleven. She had become what she hated more than anything, had become nearly the same. Twelve.
Rixxan lowered her sword, her mind clicked back to the present and her senses returned to analyzing her surroundings, first inspecting her sanguine-splattered hands. Strange to see such a rich, crimson colour on such paperlike skin. It was beautiful in a way that only Rixxan could think was beautiful, but in her eyes the colour complimented her nearly-translucent skin like a blood moon over the winter snow.
The last standing person in the room she had just ransacked, the barkeep of the tavern, trembled while crouching behind the bar. All she could see of him was the shine of his scalp under thinning hair and his shaking fingers on the edge of the bar. Gritting her teeth, Rixxan fumbled for whatever money she had and laid it hastily upon the counter, not terribly preoccupied with however much she was leaving… but it was the least she could do, seeing as this poor man was going to have a lot of explaining to do to the authorities, as well as a lot of cleaning up to do.
Rixxan had not started the day quite so volatile. She had a pleasant morning and afternoon, leading her to attempt a solitary dinner at this tavern, which had surprisingly filled with drunkards and scoundrels, and one of the fools had made the mistake of talking down to her, bothering and harassing her as she had tried to eat, as if she were a commonplace whore whose time could simply be paid for at the end of some disappointing and demoralizing encounter. Once he had tried to grab her arm, though, that was the end. Rixxan had lost it and shoved the man away, storming out and smashing the innocent potted plant.
That wasn’t what made her waste the tavern’s patrons. She killed them for no reason, at least not one connected to anyone of them. Trying to make sense of everything was driving her over the brink, pushing her farther and farther from herself. Was that her fault? No. It was the world’s fault, because it allowed such evil to grow within her, and that evil only existed because of an ever greater evil that had caused all of the ignominy and anguish in her life.
“Sorry for the mess,” she snapped without glancing at the man and turned to leave, riddled with disgust and the hate inside her only inflating. Nothing had any importance to her, nothing had any value. Her boots clunked down the steps of the tavern and she stood up straight, and inhaled deeply. Clearly no one of importance had been alerted to her actions yet. She ambled toward the exit of dragging her grisly sword behind her through the streets.
