Be By Blood #3
A woman is made of her honor, her dignity, her lust for blood. She is made of the love she gives and receives from others. She is made of the love she sustains for herself.
Her mother was one such person.
Kandrade’s heels seemed to split the marble as she stormed down the Salience Corridor of the Manor of Error. She cast her long hair over her shoulder, huffed out the details of her irritations. Little did those twerps back in the chamber know, but she was running low on her abilities to use the Summoner’s Repository. Worse, she had no idea why. She nearly slumped against the wall on her way to her room. In retrospect, wearing heels had been a bad idea for the occasion. In retrospect she didn’t care; they completed her outfit marvelously.
“Damn it.”
By luck or by will, she made it to her dingy quarters. The shell-white doorframe was marked by sigils and glyphs, each with intricate meanings and connections to one another. She had carved them each by hand, labored at them as if her life had depended on it. She still bore the scars, deep grooves in her hands that made them ugly and undesirable. She wore her gloves to hide them, from herself first and foremost.
“You have arrived later than expected, Madame Kandrade,” said the Manor. It was an eerie thing, hearing that disembodied voice, lacking inflection, yet… Yet there was something so alive about it. The house itself speaking to her as if it had a soul.