A Daughter's Vengeance

Sonya Lano | 01/08/2011

She’d known once it was proposed that this was a bad idea, but it was too late to pull out now.
Not that the deed itself was a bad idea – she’d trained for this her entire life – but its execution was anything but subtle; on the contrary, everything was too blatant and open…nothing sly or secretive about it, which meant that at any given moment anyone could recognize her – anyone who knew what he’d done to her mother all those years ago…and many had known.
So far, however, things had gone smoothly: she had been sold at the slave market and transferred in a jolting cage to the harem, where she had been bathed and perfumed, her hair perfectly styled and her eyes lined with kohl, then she had been dressed in the gauzy, flowing skirts and tight, glittering bodice he liked so much. She had danced for the chief eunuch, had passed the test for his approval and been announced fit to perform and pleasure him.
But now the final trial was to come…the telling moment when all could still come crashing down around her head…when she could still fail her mother.
As she walked down the mosaic-inlaid corridors, the tiles cool on her bare feet, she tried to suppress the doubt congealing within her.
He would recognize her mother in her, whispered a perverse voice at the back of her mind. She looked too much like her. Too much like the woman whose home he had razed to the ground, whose family he had slaughtered, whose body he had raped and brutalized…the woman he had left as fodder for carrion birds and flies.
What he didn’t know was that she and her daughter had survived. Her mother had dragged herself back from the throes of death, burning hatred keeping her alive. But she had come back as something no longer entirely human. Her soul had been seared free of any mercy, hardened to an empty husk no longer capable of love, and she had raised her daughter to feel no pity, suffer no compassion, grant no forgiveness. Instead of tutoring her in the usual skills, she had hired the most ruthless men to instruct her daughter to kill and the most sensual women to train her in cunning seduction.
She would need them both to succeed.
And now the culmination of those years of priming had arrived.
The chief eunuch swung open a jeweled door and motioned her inside, his dark eyes following her as if suspecting something wasn’t right; but her face was calm, even serene, a flawlessly assumed mask of innocence, and he could find naught amiss.
The door shut behind her.
She found him lounging on a divan, a corpulent blob of hideousness spilling over the cushioned edges and leering as it popped a grape into its mouth from a couch-side tray.
She smiled and began to sashay her way toward him, excitement welling up within her when she saw no recognition in his eyes. Her smile widened as she knelt next to him and gently placed one hand under his chin and the other on the top of his head. Holding him still with a wiry strength that was his first warning, she looked hard into his eyes…and let her mask drop.
Recognition flared, and in that instant, she twisted.
The satisfying crack echoed in the room and his head lolled to the side, life draining from his puffy features and his staring eyes becoming glassy and lifeless.
Rising to her feet, she spat on the fleshy mound.
“Rot in hell…Father.”

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