I could feel it starting again. Feel it bubbling under my skin like lava. Heat ripped through to my core. I staggered and dropped down to the ground on one knee. Sweat beaded my face, I clenched my eyelids shut. I had tried so hard to control it, tried so hard to keep the demon buried. It had been so long, so long now that I thought that all the mind and body exercises the monks had given me had held it at bay. I had spent most of my waking days in meditation, mindfully controlling every single thought, every single motion. I was told not to think of the beast, that even the very thought of it could cause a manifestation. Anger. Greed. Malice. All could cause the beast to rise. Even positive heightened emotions could. Love. Excitement. Ecstasy. Passion. All were banned, all were taboo. The first time the demon had manifested I had killed my own mother in a fit of rage. When the demon takes over it cares not for family, for love, for bonds. It cares for naught but death and destruction. It despises humanity. To the demon, humanity reeks of disease, filth and decay. It only wants to destroy, to annihilate. It needs blood. It must have the blood. The most sickening part is I don't just black out when the demon rises, I rise with it. I want the blood too, and I remember. I remember every detail. And while I know what I have done is horrific and it brings a great icy sadness to my heart, I can only perceive the memory the way the demon does. And the memory of blood tastes sweet in my mouth. After I killed my mother, the Priests found me. My mutilated and bloodied mother still in my arms, her blood dripping warm from my mouth, my hair and face wet with tears. They took me. Took me to the Church. They tied my hands behind my back, washed me and fed me. Then they locked me in a cold dark cell and I waited. Under the Reverend’s commands they tortured me each day, willing the demon to come back out, and finally it surfaced. And he named himself, Rothar, a crowned Prince of Hell. One of the sons of Death herself. I was locked back in my cell. I did not understand. Why did they not kill me? I did not know it then, but they had spoken to the King. While the demon itself was pure evil, my soul remained good and true. But the demon made me stronger. By the gods it made me strong. And intelligent. And fast. The King wanted to use me, another piece on his chest board. I was only eleven, but I was given over to the monks for mind training. My Keeper, the Knight Osath, was always by my side, watching for any signs of the demon stirring. Always present, always on guard. I was treated by the Priests as a weapon, as a possession, not a child. I was stripped of my humanity, I lost my sense of self. The only kind words I ever heard were from Osath and always in secret. The Priests had many highly proficient masters of war train me. A monk by the name of San trained me in martial arts, a burly female Warrior, Chikra, trained me in weapons and the King’s First Knight, Quin, taught me strategy and tactics and battle etiquette. The second time a true manifestation occurred was when I was fourteen. My carefully controlled thoughts had slipped. I had felt…anger. Since the beginning I had tried not to question. I had always believed the Priests had been trying to help me. But I began to question if forming me into a weapon was really for the Greater Good they preached about. It did not take much anger to loose the demon. He had slept long and was hungry. When the demon was finally sated I had a young boy in my arms, a great gash from my sword across his face. I felt nauseous. I looked up, my stomach clenched. To my horror I found that I was in one of the smaller Churches, situated just beyond the compound where the Priests kept me. The boy in my arms was not Rothar’s only victim. The bloody, broken corpses of many innocent men, women and children were strewn about me like rags. I could not stop staring at the dead lifeless eyes. The icy fingers of dread gripped my heart. Had I really done this? My hands? I felt horror, but the memory of spilling their blood, of sating myself, felt so right. I thought the Priests would have killed me then. But again they took me and cleaned me and fed me. The next day they executed Osath. They made me watch, and when I looked away, the Reverend himself whipped me. The Reverend became my new Keeper. I had never known a crueller man alive. He was young, maybe thirty, powerfully built and dark and handsome, but with ice blue eyes. Under his hand my training increased and I was ready for war within a year. I was only fifteen. To him I became truly loyal; I had wanted to prove him wrong of his intrinsic disdain for me. I began to do whatever it was that he requested of me. I stole for him, I lied for him, I killed for him. I worshipped him, not the gods the Priests commanded me to. And a fire inside me began to burn for him. The monks warned me, they could feel my stillness quavering. They cautioned the Reverend, but he waved them away in annoyance. He would train with me and I would never tire of it. His proficiency with a sword was unhuman. He was faster and stronger even than me. He constantly berated me, telling me I would never be enough. The fire inside me grew, the ache for him grew. But his eyes were always cold, and the colder they were, the more my hunger for him grew. The day of my presentation grew closer. On my eighteenth birthday I was to be presented to the King at a formal ceremony in the throne room. A lot of important officials would be there, as well as the King and Queen themselves. I stood behind the red curtain which walled off the entry hall from the throne room. I stood so close to the curtain I could feel the coarseness of it scratch against my nose. My wrists were shackled behind my back - a Church requirement if I left the compound. I felt Raen’s presence behind me before he spoke. He was so close to me that I could feel his warm breath on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. ‘Your training is complete Mara. You are the strongest weapon this city has and I’m about to prove this to our King. This moment is your moment; the last seven years have all been for this presentation.’ Fire was bursting inside me. He was standing so close. My palms were sweating and my heart thudded in my chest. I tried to block him out, tried to focus only on calming my breath. The demon was stirring. My passionate emotions had woken him. ‘Mara?’ I turned to face him. My heart pounding in my chest. The urge to let the demon loose was hard to control. A tear ran down my cheek from the effort it took to reign myself in. Raen reached out a hand to touch it. I pulled away coldly, looking away from him, putting on a mask of indifference. He grabbed my chin in his hand and forced me to look at him. He instantly recoiled. He could feel the heat of my boiling skin. A small smile crossed his lips. It’s started. For the first time he truly looked into my eyes. He pressed his lips against mine and he kissed me deeply and all thoughts disappeared. My skin heated and rippled beneath his touch. I broke the chains of my shackles behind my back so I could touch his face, run a hand through his dark hair. All the carefully laid walls the monks had built in my mind were shattered with that one touch. I had craved. I had wanted. I had lusted. And now my passion had awoken the demon. The feeling ripped through me. The urge to let the demon free was too much, too tantalising. I wanted to feel its power in me again. I dropped to the ground on one knee, my breath ragged and heavy. Raen reached a hand down, cupped my chin and lifted my head. ‘Don’t hold it back. This is who you are. This is your destiny.’ He let go of my chin and beckoned me, holding out his hand for me. I gripped it and stood up, power radiating off me, the blood lust rising. He turned me around to face the curtain once more. I could see people through the gap in the curtain. Blood lust burst through me. Raen gripped my shoulders. ‘They are but sheep. You are a goddess. Nobody is safe….not from you.’