Lair

When I was younger and less wise to the world, cattle had always confused me. It was no secret that they were born just to die, yet they never seemed to vie for escape. Ramshackle fences and rust-ravaged gates were enough to keep them trapped their entire lives, despite their great size. Each year, their young would be abducted and slaughtered, and each year they would mourn. Then, when the season returned, their yearning for offspring would be indulged. For this, I thought them foolish. In my juvenile mind, a cow was a mindless beast controlled by impulse and incapable of rational thought. Naively, I believed that is what separated animal from man.

A scarlet red carpet, embroidered with a yellow boar motif, guides my path through the manor. Rain patters on the window at the far end of the corridor, its droplets trickling down the pane like a child's tears. Behind it, a blurry grey sky distantly rumbles. The estate is quiet at this time of year, with only a skeleton crew of servants present. They have failed to keep this hallway lit. Other Towerborn might take offence at such negligence, but I never minded a gentle darkness. I came here to escape the blinding lights of the Hearthkeepers' towers after all. Furthermore, there is something introspective about the soft blue hue that has filled the corridor. I turn left.

People might claim they can rise above their instincts, but so few truly can. Like the cows are content to be butchered so long as the bulls are strong and the grass is green, the masses will stay inside their pens so long as the gate remains closed. They will whine and lament and shake their fist at the fence whilst failing to realise how easily they could clamber over it.

The drawing room in the eastern wing is quiet. Large armchairs face an unlit marble fireplace, with no company to comment on the chill. Above the mantlepiece, the regal face of Emperor Venaeos casts a cold and aloof stare across the room. His blood runs through my veins, albeit too dilute for me to be a true grandson of his. I snap my gaze away with haste. Self-pity was not why I was here. I head to the bookcase in the corner and open the secret passage.

Livestock are so grateful for so little. It is endearing, if a bit pathetic. Offer them a derelict barn when the weather turns dour, and they will thank you for it. To them, it does not matter that the farmer sleeps in fine sheets whilst they huddle together on frayed straw. People are not too different. Grant the lowest amongst them stale bread and they label you a saint. Then retire home to a meal worth more than all that they own.

Stone steps descend into darkness before me. As I venture down into the belly of the manor, I feel my own stomach begin to ache. Hunger pangs stab at me from within, cajoling me to indulge their desires. They will be sated shortly. My steps echo through the dismal passageways, steadily creeping towards my destination.

The only real difference is that people do not forget as readily as cattle do. As such, one must be much more careful when dealing with people. A mother whose baby is abducted will always remember the loss, and will go to great lengths to recover her offspring. Despite this minor difference however, the principle remains the same: out of sight, out of mind.

Finally, I reach her. A heavy iron door stands sunken into the wall, a vault from which nothing could escape. By the door, a small table sits. Upon it, a lantern, a key, and a set of knives wait for me. Sharp blades glisten in the light, their ravenous edges as eager as myself. It would be cruel not to indulge their appetite. Unwaveringly, I take the key and unlock the door, to the sounds of panicked grunting inside. The calf was ready. Sweet and tender, and unblemished by time. For this, I would owe them all a substantial favour, but for now, I would enjoy their offering. I could see in her eyes that she knew what was about to happen. I approached with blade in hand, my eyes tracing the incision I would soon make. Desperately, the young one thrashed against the chains and let out a muffled wail into her gag. It would be cruel to prolong this any further.