Her body didn't shift completely. Only claws shot from her nails, as if it were primed and ready for her to unleash all of her anger and rage on the world. The two guards jumped back in shock right before she slashes her claws against the first ones throat, the one who spit on her. She felt her smile widen in his face as his throat cleaves open, as his blood wets her skin and he chokes on it. The second guard didn't make it more than a foot before she was on top of him, slashing his throat quickly, not wanting him to suffer as the other did. Violet watched one of the guards escape the alleyway, eyes narrowing in on the slower one, who had just made it towards the end...
She lifts her hand and pointed a single finger. The guard drops dead with a splitting crack. Violet smiles, a breathy laugh pushing through her lips as she looks at the carnage around her. As she looked at what she did.
She did this. Violet had just killed three men without blinking an eye. The adrenaline drained from her, taking the euphoria with it as she stares at the guard who finally stopped choking on his own lifeblood. As she stared at what she had just done, at what she had just become.
She sinks to her knees, the pool of blood wetting her trousers. She knew she needed to leave, to run and hide and get the hell out of here. She was on borrowed time. But the blood soaking her clothes, the blood making her skin itch, it wasn't hers. She scratches at her face furiously, as if she could rip off her skin and knit something new in place, as if she could become something else. Something that didn't do what she just did. Violet sold books she didn't murder people—she didn't—
She dug her nails into her cheek, scratching until she drew blood.
Violet rips the sleeve of her tunic off, digging her nail into her bicep and dragging it across until she made three lines. She would never forget what she had done. She wouldn't let herself.
Closing her eyes, the shift didn't resist her for once. As if it too wanted to hide from what she had done. Her claws retracted into nails, her ears turning back into that of a fae and her smell and eyesight transitioning to something lesser. She wondered if her eyes still glowed, or if the weaken vision meant she could have been safe. That they could have been safe.
Violet stands, her eyes falling onto the drunk fae who had pressed himself into the corner near a small set of stairs. His skin was wan, his dark eyes wide with fear. Her nose twitched and she realized he had wet himself.
She had done this to him, too.
"I'm sorry." Violet whispers, her voice sounding detached, faraway. "You need to run before they blame this on you." His eyes flickered behind her. Slowly, Violet turns, her heart slamming into the pit of her stomach as she gazes straight at Prince Sinclair and the guard who had escaped.
He is devastatingly handsome. He wears a grey doublet, the emblem of the royal wolves threaded in silver over his left breastbone, a midnight cloak that fell around him as if a second skin and clenched in his hand, a sword with emeralds embedded in the hilt. The surviving guard snaps out of his stupor, his skin blanching as he lifts his sword and levels it at Violet. "Your orders prince?" Violet watches his arm shake, the sword bobbing. Her eyes lift to Prince Sinclair's, his shuddered gaze unreadable but if the tick of his jaw was any inclination, or the way his knuckles stretched in his skin as he clutched the sword, she knew his verdict.
Violet welcomed it.
She took a step forward, startling the guard who yells at her to stay still. "Your orders prince?" He repeats frantically. Violet keeps her gaze on Prince Sinclair as she walks towards the sword, the air still until finally, the tip touchs her chest. She closes her eyes, readying herself—
"Take her alive." The Prince barks out, the sword yanking from her chest in seconds. Violet was thrown on the ground, more guards appearing from gods know where to enchant iron chains around her wrists. She almost laughs at them. Iron wasn't her weakness, but she felt exhausted. She felt the weight of what she had done crash over her, the lives she took without remorse, the thing she had become. That was what weighed on her the heaviest.
Violet would kill them all again in a heartbeat.
It was the fact that this morning, she never would have thought herself capable of that. Somehow the Violet that woke up, confused over dream-walking and preparing to move kingdoms and the Violet that was drenched in blood wore the same skin, held the same beating heart.
Violet halfheartedly tested her chains and knew even at her full strength; she wouldn't be able to get out of them. She was exhausted, drained, and numb. The guards hoist her to her swaying feet and she doesn't fight, wondering if they took her alive to kill her publicly. Wondering if her mother and brother would watch. The Prince turns his back on her, walking ahead of the group as Violet was lifted under her arms, her legs dangling beneath her as they escorted her out of the bloody alleyway.
Her eyes met Rodrick's, the bow and arrow gone, his face a greenish hue and eyes horrified. Something surged inside her then and she pointed a chained hand at Rodrick, her lips curving into a smile made of nightmares. Dark tendrils sprung from her finger, quickly pushing into Rodrick's open mouth as he screamed, sliding down his throat.
"What the fuck did you do?" A guard yells. "Knock her out!" Another adds. Violet starts laughing. She watches Rodrick upend his stomach, clawing at his own throat as her shadows dug deep into his veins, turned his body against himself. She laughed and laughed; a smile plastered on her face even after they knocked her out.