Ben was dragged into slumber. He did not want to sleep, but it came for him anyways. And with sleep came dreams he had not had for several years. He was in his mother’s art room, a place he had visited often. There were many familiar pictures in the room but only one caught his eye. In the center of the room, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A painting of a single white lily, held in a transparent glass vase. The flower had a long stem, aproximately thirteen inches in length with a dark green hue. Perched atop the stem were six ivory petals pealed so far back they nearly made a circle, as if to reveal a hidden treasure. Six golden bulbs stretched out, all with their own pale green stems luring him in with the sweetest aroma he had ever smelled. He went to grab the aromatic painting, to take it with him, but as soon as he touched the it, the bulbs turned a sickly brown. The smell that had been so sweet betrayed him, it was now so noisome that it sent him reeling back so fast he lost his footing, colliding with the ground. From his new perspective he could see that not only the bulbs had changed, the rest of the plant was darkening too. A hungry circle that spread radially outward consuming the whole flower, but it didn’t stop there. The easel was next, blackening before crumbling to the ground, a heap of dust. The wave of decay crept along the floor, devouring all that would fit into it’s gaping maw, filling the air with the stench of death and particles of dust. Ben began to wonder if the whole world would be consumed. The mouth was nearly upon him and in fear he closed his eyes, and thought of his mother.

When he opened his eyes he was no longer in his mother’s old art room. Instead he was in his foyer. He was lounging in a chair next to a lit fireplace. His parents were there sitting of the sofa with a small wooden table that had a glass top seperating them from the fireplace. On the tabletop was a glass of amber liquid, his father’s favored nighttime drink. His mother was softly sobbing into his fathers’ chest as she had done many times. Ben didn’t know how he knew, but he could tell that this was because of another episode that he had brought on. When she saw Ben she began to wail, and flail, lashing out at everything in her reach. Her screams were delirious, being punctuated by the repeated blows she dealt to his father. In her frenzy she managed to spill the glass of amber liquid on to the table before it dripped onto the floor. Growing angry, his father stuck her to the ground and pulled a sewing needle out of his pocket. He mounted on top of her, knees pinning her arms to the ground, and began to stitched her mouth shut. He started with pulling on the bottom lip so that he could pierce all the way through the tissues, blood and screams spurting into his face. She bit at his fingers so he bashed her head into the floor, before continuing his perverted tailoring. Ben was frozen despite the raging fire next to him. Fear had stolen all the heat and passion out of his body, leaving nothing but terror behind. His father had finished mutilating his mother and began to drag her out the front door, into a room that had pillows for walls where he forced her into a suit made of leather straps, all the while her screaming was muffled, but unbroken.

Ben reached out, calling “Mother!” but this only drew the ire of his father. The man whipped around staring Ben down, blood covering his face like a lion after a fresh kill. His father was looming over him, howling while fire spewed from his father’s mouth, scorching the house as he began to transform. His eyes turned red with, slitted black pupils. His face grew into a long muzzle with teeth streching until they were bigger than daggers. Black scales shredded his skin, tearing it to pieces from beneath. His arms shifting into large velvety wings that created gusts of wind so powerful that Ben could not stand in their wake. The creature that was once his father opened it’s mouth and lunged for Ben.

The last thing Bedisa remembered was how terrible she felt. A fever so hot she thought her eyes would melt. Even now, comatose she could the burning. The burning of the fever but also a blazing rage inside her. She needed vengeance, only that would extinguish this fire. The screams and smoke still filled her memories. An inferno of a thousand tongues licked the sky the day her family died. She could still see the banners waving, embroidered with a red, headless ox on a black field. Could still see her father begging with the one-eyed man for mercy, not for himself but for us. Could still see the sword sticking out his back, slick and red with blood. Her mother screamed “Run Bedisa, Run!” Bedisa turned and as she ran out the back door, her mother’s shriek pierced the air. Bedisa wanted desperately to stop but knew that if she did she would not escape. Another cry from her mother went out. They had not killed her yet, instead, they would have their amusement with her. Bedisa didn’t think, her legs knew where to go, her head would only get in the way. Minutes may as well have been hours or seconds, Bedisa couldn’t tell the amount of time she spent sprinting through the city streets and alleys, all she knew was she needed to run. She managed to escape the city but still, she ran, until her legs felt like rubber, bending and swaying. Only then did she stop. Only then did she cry.

The one-eyed man was all she could see after that. Every detail of his had been seared into her brain. A full head and a half taller than her father, an admittedly short man. Brown, flowing hair down to his midchest with his one eye matching it. A scar running vertically across his face where his other eye had been. And a banner with a red, headless ox on a black field.