Straight

Dodging potholes and the occasional piece of airborne garbage, Saedra quietly made her way through the quaint little town, arriving at last at the cemetery. Without gate or guard, the cemetery jutted out naked–marble offset from the dead landscape.

She picked her way through the weeds and scrub, the grassy tendrils like sandpaper against her exposed flesh. She felt shivers running up her net-laced legs, and ice radiating out from between her breasts. She was at long last astride the family plot.

With Mother on her left and Father on her right, Saedra crumpled to the depleted soil, her shawl billowing around her. She felt their power rushing through her, and without cause, she plunged her hands into the ground.

They clenched around cool–almost liquid–metal, and she withdrew them slowly. In her hands were twin silver daggers, their auras dancing in the rising sun.

Upon their blades was Father's blood–

And in her soul was Mother's blessing–

Vengeance would be hers.