The Snake and the Moon

Blind Hemingway

Ancient Iwaku Scum from 2006.
Original poster
Posting Speed
  1. Slow As Molasses
Online Availability
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Douche
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Female
Surrealism, Surreal Horror (Think Tim Burton), Steampunk, Sci-Fi Fantasy, Spaghetti Westerns, Mercenaries, Dieselpunk, Cyberpunk, Historical fantasies
Chapter One: Yearning for the Hand of Freedom​

I've lost track of how many days I've spent in this castle. It might have been a week, it might have been a month. Either way, I feel like I've been trapped here for years. I didn't know where I was going; I wasn't headed anywhere in particular. The moment I stepped foot on this territory, I knew I should have turned back. Something told me to keep going, though. I could hear the cries of troubled souls; the mourns of those in need.

Before I could investigate further, I was greeted by an old aged man. I was too confused to hear what it was he said, but I believe it was something religious. Seconds later, I was forced into a cart, trapped by barred walls. My sword was confiscated, too. There was nothing I could do to escape in such a limited amount of space.


There's insanity in this castle. Killers, sinners, schizophrenics... They're everywhere. I've done my share of killing, but it was all deserved. I'm a server of justice; a protector of the good. I've been betrayed and left for dead by my closest allies, whom also deserve to die. God will banish them to Hell when their day of death arrives. He won't accept back stabbers into his paradise.

I now sit in this plain prison of a room. My bed is surprisingly comfortable and is made for me every morning. Otherwise, I hate it here. There's no window in my room because I'm not allowed to see the outside world. The walls are dense so I can't hear anyone speak outside of my room. People seem paranoid that I'll somehow tear a hole in my room and get genocidal. That is foolish... I'd bruise my knuckles attempting such a thing. I've no strength of a brute.

Some of the male Doctors look at me like they've never seen a woman before. I suppose that's not surprising... Some of the captives must have lost their charm since coming here. Others look at me suspiciously, though. It's rumoured that I'm crazy; that I don't understand what's going on. They call me dangerous. Well, that's one thing they have right. I'm not a warrior to be trifled with. I proved this one day when I punched one of the Doctors in the eye for touching me where I did not wish to be touched. Since then, some enter wearing masks with angry expressions, hoping to defend themselves from my wrath.

They say I need to "keep the monster under control".


Goddammit, I'm not insane. I do not belong here. I'm... I'm not a monster. Am I?

No. It can't be.

I'll free myself from this place, with the rest of the prisoners following me, if they wish to escape as well. Locking a person like this is madness. It's unfair. So I will be these peoples' saviour.

Even if that means if I see them again in the future, I will strike them with my righteous blade.

Behold. Damascus will cease to be a city; it shall become a heap of ruins!

I am the reaper of this land; an angel of death sent by the LORD to remove sinners from the world. Such is the lot of our despoilers, the portion of them that plunder us.


I rest calm and confident in my habitation. These white walls mean nothing to me. Everyday, they bring in food and fix up my bed as if I am their little pet. I see right through them...I do. There is nothing remotely human about them....I know this for many reasons.

They believe that I am nothing more than a frail little girl that cannot defend herself. Kekekkekek. Such arrogance. I am not a mere little girl. I am WILLIAM, SAINT OF CONQUEST! I must make up for my sins in life in order to become whom I once was. My punishment could be much worse, after all. I am just waiting for the day the Knight arrives. SHE will be the hour of their doom. This is why they fear her.

The LORD tells me so. Kekekekekek.

There was once a prophet that knew of the evils of the Reds and their Castle. It went something like this: They had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal--the redness and the horror of blood!"


Everyday, the demons in their masks appear. They have no shape or souls. They are little more than pointless devils that do the bidding for their master, the Queen of these lands. They come and say "Control the Monster Within." I shall not stand for such foolishness. They are sinners.

So I yell back at them, “Every head is ailing, every heart is sick. From head to foot no sport is sound: all bruises and welt and festering sores-Not pressed out, not bound up, not softened with oil. Your land is waste, your cities brunt down; before your eyes, the yield of your soil is consumed by strangers-A WASTELAND AS OVERTHROWN BY STRANGERS!”

They pin me down and lock me in a jacket with chains and weights, so that I cannot harm them. They try to tell me that my views on the LORD are wrong. Kekekekeke, such fools. For they are wrong!

Their castle is meant to keep sickness out from the country side, so the "doctors" say. It is ultimately an oppressive structure, there are few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

[BG="black"]W I L L I E [/BG]

The day started as it always did on Level C of the Castle. Surrounding the white padded cells of the most dangerous members of society were large metal doors that looked like hatches of submarines. These were made of a reinforced metal that made break outs extremely difficult.

One of the workmen of the facility entered the scene. He was carting the morning meals for the patients of the hospital. Next to him was a stern looking guard wearing a dark blue uniform. The workman was wearing a padded suit that had leather reinforcements and a wire mask just in case any of the patients decided to lash out at any given moment.

“This your first time with Willie, correct?” The guard asked.

“Yes.” The workman said.

“Then let me give you the low down on this gal. She is a cold and cunning little brat that believes that she is really some man named Willie. Apparently, God is punishing William by forcing him to live out the life of a seemingly defenseless girl. However to atone for his sins, he must slay all the sinners that he comes across. I honestly feel sorry for the little bitch; a fucking sociopath, if you ask me.”

“Sorry to ramble on, but we are here,” The guard mentioned, “Do you want to see what she looks like?”

The workman nodded and the guard opened a slit on the door. The workman looked inside and saw a young woman, who was not very tall, with messy brown hair. She hid in the corner. She seemed like she was scared. Her eyes were distant and her expression was bereft.

“Is she always like this?” The workman asked the guard, while he peeped through the little slot.

“They took him from me…They took him from me….” The girl swayed back and forth. “Willie…Come back…”

“Oh. For the past few days, the Boss said that her progress was not improving fast enough. So they took the red cloak she had came to this place in. My guess is that they believed that she was using it as a means to latch on to someone she lost. Not that it really matters. That little bitch killed over ten guards. It’s good to see her suffer.”

“But how do they know that she’s not faking? From the rumors I’ve heard, she’s a cunning little witch….”

“Feh, you make me laugh.” The guard said as he pressed a lever to slowly open the door. “My men can get inside this room and not get attacked. That means she is under control.”

As the workman entered the room, his heart began to race. Of all the cells, he visited this was only his second time in this room. The girl that was in front of him was clearly a being of great power.

“Sir…Have you seen Willie?” The girl asked with pleading eyes.

The workman ignored her. He then moved as quickly as possible to give Willie her food.

She then stood up next to him and place her hand on his arm.

”Please be careful! We have to get out of here!”

She thought of ways to escape and frantically looked back at the workman and his companions.

If they don't recognize me or take any notice, I can make my way to the Knight and we can get out of here! I don't know what's going on, but I can feel so much magic hovering in the air that there must be danger!

Willie was panicking; she could sense the evil flowing around the entire room, possibly the reason why there was no light. She didn't want to be at this hospital anymore. She was afraid of what would happen if they stayed any longer.

“Help me, please”

The workman shook his head and moved her hand off his arm. “You are safer here than in the wilds. Don’t worry with more progress, you’ll be free.”

He then left the room. The workman felt that God was on his side this day…
"Welcome Daughter of Israel. We've been expecting you for some time."

The man was ancient, she could tell. His wisdom was way beyond anyone else Wilma had ever met; she could see it in his eyes. There was a seriousness to him that prevented her from accusing him of being a crazy old man. Maybe he really was expecting her all this time. She could believe in fortune telling, but why was she here? Why didn't she turn back when she had the chance?

"The Lord spoke of an angel who will save us all. An angel who will bring justice to the poor souls of the damned."

He talked of angels. Angels? She was just a knight; a bringer of good. If justice needed to be served or a crowd needed rescuing, all they had to do was ask. Wilma could have been spared the complicating, religious speeches. Talking only wasted time!

"What is your name, child?" he asked, a pair of strong men appearing beside him with a prison cart in tow. The knight took a couple steps back, her armoured hand reaching for the hilt of her sword.

"Wilma," she answered gruffly.

"...Wilma. Wilma!"

The auburn haired woman opened her eyes with a gasp, since the first thing she saw was a masked man standing above her. He was foolish to wake her from her slumber... That memory always showed up in her dreams for an important reason, she just knew it. Every time she dreamed of it, she noticed something different. More words of that old man that she didn't remember, were coming back to her. At the same time, they were starting to actually make sense.

With a yawn, she sat up from the bed, making a glare to the red cloaked Doctor when she did. For some reason, seeing those sad and angry faces kept her from hurting them. Wilma was convinced there was magic at work. A fake facial expression shouldn't keep her fist from going into someone's face! That was just absurd.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, the irritation in her voice scaring the Doctor enough to step away from her. "Why. Are. You. HERE?" Wilma asked again, more viciously. She hated it when they entered her room; it made the setting more depressing for her.

Shakily, a tray of food was presented to her and then set onto the table beside her bed. "Th-That's all I was doing. Please, keep the monster under control," he pleaded, putting his palms together and making a respectful bow.

Wilma groaned in response to that, still uncertain of what he meant. Taking advantage of the silence, the Doctor left her room, shutting and locking the door behind him. When he left, the knight noticed something...different about her room. Underneath her pillow, she spotted something velvety and red. She instantly snatched it up, recognizing the hood from first glance. No one except the Doctors wore this colour or style!

'Why is this here?' she wondered, examining it for anything suspicious. There were a few strands of brown hair inside the hood, which certainly didn't match her own hair colour. To her memory, she didn't steal it from anyone or strip it off one of those Reds. Some of the Doctors might have longed for such a pleasure, but she never would give it. The very thought of that made her stomach sick!

So, somebody must have left it behind for some important reason.
[BG="black"]Location: Wilma's Room. Time: Late Night. [/BG]
[BG="black"]Wilma kept her eyes on the red cape for several hours. There was something about it that made her uneasy. Was there some kind of sick joke?

She had avoided touching it, using her pillow she was able to fling it into the corner of the room. And there it rested in a neat pile.


She was now lying down on her bed. There wasn't much too look at in this room. Unlike the patients kept down in the lower levels of the Castle, Wilma was living in a tranquil room. Potted grasses adorned the room and next to her bed was a series of selves that held several baskets for her personal belongings. The walls were all painted in a creamy color.

Whomever was in charge of this Castle seemed to be going out of there way to make her fell like she was at home. Wilma's room had no window. If she did, Wilma would have noticed that she was in one of the towers. It was now night and the moon glowed brightly over the peaceful forest that surrounded the grounds.

It was around eleven at night. While normally this wouldn't have been a time that Wilma would have started dozing off, not really awake nor asleep. She had entered the stage of awareness called hypnagogia. Her mind still focused on the red cape. The one thing to keep in mind...Snatches of imagined speech are common under her state. While typically nonsensical and fragmented, these speech events can occasionally strike the individual as apt comments on—or summations of—their thoughts at the time...They often contain word play, neologisms and made-up names. Hypnagogic speech may manifest as the subject's own "inner voice", or as the voices of others: familiar people or strangers.

"I will rejoice and exult in You, singing a hymn to Your name...."

"Who's there?" Wilma asked upon hearing the voice of a little girl. However, it sounded raspy and was more harsh than cute.

"When my enemies retreat they stumble to their doom at your presence. For you uphold my right and claim., enthroned as the righteous judge. You blast the nations, destroy the wicked; you blot out the their name forever. You have torn down their cities; their very names are last!"

"I'll ask you again. Who are you?" Wilma spoke again.

Wilma caught a glimpse of the voice. It was a little girl, though the darkness of the room concealed the girl's face. There was just enough light to give her a basic outline. She didn't want to yell at a child, like she would against the doctors. Though how she got in this place confused her greatly. Hadn't the last minion that came in her room locked the door upon leaving?

"Kekekekekekeke. You ask whom we are? Well, then I guess that we are obliged to say. The faithful are no more; the loyal have vanished from the among man.All have turned bad, altogether foul, there is none who does good...They will be seized with fright, when I come for them..."

"I see....Could you come out so I could see whom you are?" Wilma asked as politely as possible.

"But of course...We have no objections to revealing ourselves to a fellow warrior of the LORD."

At first the being was crouched on all fours and then began to move forward on them like a cautious rodent. The girl went just far enough forward to reveal her face. Her eyes were full of anger and a faint scowl was on the girl's face. Wilma's heart began to race when she noticed that the red cloak was now draped around her.

"By the way, you can address me by the name of William.”

Then Wilma jumped up. Rubbing her eyes, the child was no longer in front of her....

The red cape must have belonged to the girl. It fit her in such a way that it was altered for someone her size. Not perfectly, of course. Such tailoring was probably done with bare hands, considering there were claw-like shreds on the fabric. At least now, that question was answered. Even though... More came to mind.

Wilma still sat on her bed, cautious eyes looking left and right, up and down, in search of the little girl. For a spooky child, she spoke somewhat religiously. What was she doing here, though? She had to have been a patient here. With an amused smirk, she wondered if 'Willie' was here to kill her. The poor thing probably took a life once or twice. There was hate in her eye, twinkling with malice.

"Hello, Willie," she said in a friendly voice, a surprising transition from the usual plainness her tone had. "You can call me Wilma."

Grim as the child's face looked, Wilma didn't look very intimidated. She'd seen scarier things before and frankly, having a non-Doctor visitor was a treat. If she had her sword on her, she'd probably try to strike the red caped little monster. Sadly, she was unarmed, and in a castle where that would get her in trouble. 'I don't know if I'd even have the strength to slay a kid. Lord have mercy.'

"What brings you here? Assuming that you're still here."

"To destroy the Red Ones."
Purple eyes scanned the lands before her window, observing the sky with a quaint expression. Aurora sat on her knees, watching, observing, waiting, wanting. The doctor who had bought her food, rose from her cot and shrugged into his clothes. As the man walked out without a backward glance, Aurora turned slowly to the door. Life here was boring, monotonous, and dull. She wished for something to happen constantly and oftentimes she wished for something that she couldn't predict. When the doctor arrived, Aurora could feel the sickness within him; she didn't need her powers to detect it. But she let him, let him bed her, let him take her virginity. There was pain, and pleasure, although she knew that the pleasure was tainted. It broke the monotony and that was all Aurora cared for.

But now he was gone and Aurora returned to watching life go on outside of the castle. The doctors thought to reward her good behavior by placing her in a room with a window. Her head bobbed from side to side to an invisible jingle. Aurora was never one for happy music, whenever she sang it was with great melancholy. But today was a day to rejoice. Perhaps now, she thought with her hand on her lower abdomen, she would be able to leave this place.


threnody (thrĕn'ə-dē)
pl. thren·o·dies
A poem or song of mourning or lamentation.

[Greek <tt>thr</tt>ē<tt>n</tt>ō<tt>idi</tt>ā : <tt>thr</tt>ē<tt>nos</tt>, lament + <tt>aoid</tt>ē<tt>, </tt>ō<tt>id</tt>ē, song; see ode.]

"Child, why do you cry?"

"I cry because I am lost."

"How did you lose your way?"

"I went into the forest."

"Why did you go to the forest, when you know the dangers it holds?"

"I must find a cure for the one I love, who has fallen very ill. There is a secret in the forest..."

"Didn't your mother tell you not to leave?"

"I am a very naughty girl."

Once upon a time, there was a Castle. In the Castle lived a Princess...

That was how all good fairy tales started, was it not?

The Red Warden's footsteps fell on the tiles without sound, but for the soft flutters of her skirt and the brush of her long hair against the back of her dress. The corridor was deserted as she passed the ward where those who cooperated with the Red Ones were kept, her gloved hand flirting with the wall as if she needed its guidance. Every so often she would pause, hand hovering supine before a door, seemingly considering the merits of what lay past the portal. Each time she turned her head away in dismissal and moved on.

What she sought lay on Level C...

"Which path will you take: the path of needles, or the path of pins?"
-The Path