Volume 2 - Interlude 76.5 - Speculum
| The garden had always been her favorite place. Artificial sunlight filtered down in warm, golden sheets, soft enough to kiss the skin but never burn. The air smelled of fresh petals and faint sugar. Flowers in every color imaginable stretched endlessly in neat rows—crimson, cobalt, lilac, gold—each one sculpted to impossible perfection. Bees hummed lazily between blossoms that glowed faintly with internal light. Her mother held her hand as they walked down the winding stone path. “You’re growing so quickly,” her mother said gently, her voice warm and proud. “Six already. I can still remember when you were barely larger than my forearm, honey…” They passed beneath an arch of incandescent flowers, their petals shimmering like glass caught in sunlight, and stepped into a pagoda at the center of the field. The structure was carved from pale wood and gold inlay, wind chimes ringing softly in the artificial breeze. Inside, seven figures knelt in a perfect row. Their hands were bound behind their backs. Their ankles were fastened to durasteel loops set into the polished floor. Dark hoods covered their heads. Their breathing came quick and ragged. When they heard footsteps, they began to squirm, muffled cries pressing against the fabric over their mouths. The girl tightened her grip on her mother’s hand. Her mother knelt in front of her, smiling sweetly. “Congratulations, honey. You are old enough now to learn the first true steps of the family business.” From within her sleeve, she produced a knife. It was not one of the dull, balanced training blades the girl had practiced with since she could stand. This one was ornate—iridiscent filigree along the hilt, a polished black grip, and a blade so clean it mirrored the colourful flowers behind them. She placed it into the girl’s hands. “Now,” her mother said softly, a large smile on her face, turning her toward the kneeling line, “let me teach you how to kill a man.” The hooded figures began to thrash harder, desperate sounds pushing through their gags. Her mother’s tone remained calm and clinical as ever. But most importantly, loving. “There are many ways. If you cut here—” she guided the girl’s small hand toward the side of the first captive’s neck—“the carotid artery. It’s quick and efficient. Blood loss is rapid. The drawback? It’s very messy and has a bit of a habit of spraying.” She tilted the girl’s wrist slightly. “Alternatively, under the arm. The axillary artery. Harder to access. Slower bleed but grants more control.” She traced down to the inner thigh. “The femoral. Very reliable. But you must be precise. Too shallow and they linger. Too deep and you lose control of the blade.” The girl listened. Her mother leaned closer. “Do not worry, honey. These are all criminals. Every one of them. You are not doing something wrong. You are helping make the universe a better place.” The girl nodded. She obeyed. The first cut was hesitant but clinically accurate, just as she had been taught. Her mother did not even need to correct her grip. The second was cleaner still. By the third, the girl’s hands were fully steady. Her mother explained nerve clusters. Explained shock. Explained the balance between speed, silence and mess. Pros and cons of vertical versus lateral incisions. How long each method would take. How to prevent, hide and mask arterial spray. The cries grew weaker with each lesson, the hooded things stopped squirming as much—accepting. Petals drifted in the artificial breeze. The girl obeyed again. And again. Until only one remained. Her mother stopped her before the final hooded figure. She wiped the blade gently with a cloth and smiled. “Perfect form,” she murmured, wrapping her daughter in a tight embrace. “Not a single missed cut. I’m so proud of you, honey.” The girl leaned into her, breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine. “As a reward,” her mother said lightly, “I saved something special for last.” She stepped forward and pulled the hood away. The girl blinked. The captive’s eyes glowed. Her mother chuckled softly. “I had this one imported from the Midworlds. Rare. Very rare, this far in. But nothing we cannot afford. A treat for my favorite little girl.” The bound figure trembled, breathing shallow and fast. “Be careful when looking into its eyes,” her mother added, adjusting the girl’s grip on the knife. “They are not human eyes. They belong to a beast. They can be… deeply unsettling.” The girl stepped closer. She hesitated, her mother’s words making her apprehensive. But curiosity won out—she looked. Her breath stocked. Not because she was scared. But because she did not see a beast. She saw beauty. Galaxies spiraled within an infinite void. Nebulas bloomed in silent color. Points of light flickered like gemstones suspended in endless darkness. It was not unsettling in the least. It was the most beautiful thing the girl had ever seen. Her mother’s voice reached her then, patient and encouraging. “There is one more technique I haven’t shown you yet. This one is delicate. Step forward, honey. Place the blade just here—” The girl did not move. The knife felt heavy in her hands. The cyan-coloured eyes held hers, tears streaming down the thing’s—person’s face. Her mother’s voice sharpened, only slightly. “Go on, honey. Finish your lesson.” The girl did not obey… — [Memory Excerpt: “First Lesson in Bloom”, PFC930]
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