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If Samarie were to live, she would have to spend her whole life living with a hole through her, so she would rather die.
Holes defined her existence.
In the ninth circle, the dark priests explained their function and purpose to the children. Girls were holes; the ancient people venerated holes because life came out of them, but holes were mere receptacles to the masculine divine force. Sylvian received the seed of Gro-goroth to give birth to a failed project of humanity, and Alll-mer subjugated this flawed humanity with his holy sword.
Thus, what mattered in Samarie was the hole. She would practice Gro-goroth’s blood magic and Sylvian’s self-indulgence until it came the day when one of the priests would put his blessed seed inside her.
The day blood dripped from within her hole, Samarie thought she received the blessings of Gro-goroth, only to find the blood that came from within women’s holes is tainted and useless. The dark priests forbade her from coming close to the summoning circles whenever she had blood coming out of her. It made no sense, for Sylvian’s “self-love” was constantly mixed with Gro-goroth’s “self-harm”, but the priests were emphatic that “blood from a womb is stagnant.”
Her frail body ached, and she hid in the Vatican City passageways during those days. That was when she first met Marina.
Marina was a really short girl, much shorter than Samarie. Yet, she strutted the corridors with the confidence of an adult and answered to no one. Marina didn’t seem to have any master; her knowledge came from spending hours inside the library. During curfew, she would go back to her dorm, and then back again to the library through a blood portal.
Samarie learned how to do that very quickly, too, but the only time she used a blood portal to leave Vatican City, the sun was so bright and hurtful to her skin and eyes that she retreated to the basements, like a hairless rat.
But Marina, Marina could walk wherever she pleased. She didn’t flinch when talking to other people, and didn’t fear physical retaliation for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. She wasn’t living in fear of being crushed by the weight of the world; rather, she was learning how to make the world bend to her will.
Realistically, Samarie could also learn how to bend the world to her will, but it was rather difficult to find what that was. “Will” was not something reserved for the children of the ninth circle; they were carefully selected as vessels for the older gods and, thus, the will of the gods was their will. Samarie slashed her limbs and masturbated for the will of Gro-goroth and Sylvian only.
The first time things went wrong in those basements, the girl who was Rher’s vessel clawed her eyes out after her skin flaked off like paper.
The other children watched as the dark priests beheaded her, trying to drain her blood on a Gro-goroth’s circle, but her skin was too brittle, and her veins had dried. One of them kicked her corpse in frustration and gave orders to the others to burn it.
It would become an ordinary occurrence. The bodies of gifted children didn’t seem to hold past nineteen years, whether because of a long life of sacrifices for divine affinity or the nature of the gift itself.
The dark priests started hurrying. They wanted to put meat on Samarie’s bones and breasts to hold onto a pregnancy, but time was running out. They waited for another blood cycle to be over and tied her to a Sylvian circle; the priests started chanting around her while one of them shed his cloak and readied his sword.
It pierced through her hole like a knife cutting her insides, but Samarie didn’t shed a tear. She refused to shed any tears for them and always did.
One by one, they pierced her and spilled their seeds. After the ritual, she used a blood passage to go to the bathroom with the intent of getting rid of all the blood and gunk. (Good blood. This was good, virgin blood. Not the tainted blood from inside the womb.)
Marina was there, too.
She didn’t see her, of course. Samarie never let Marina see her abhorrent existence.
Marina was there, taking a bath late at night, much past curfew. Her curls were tied in a bun, and her face looked pinker than usual. When she left the tub, Samarie held her gasp back in her throat, for Marina didn’t have a hole, but a sword.
Throughout her life, Samarie was taught by the occultists that women had holes and men had swords. But Marina was a woman, and she had a sword. Her body wasn’t much unlike Samarie’s; smaller breasts and buttocks than what was desirable. Her waist was a bit tinier, and she was, of course, of a shorter height. Yet, in the middle of her legs, she had the organ of a life bringer, not a life bearer.
Somehow, it all clicked inside Samarie’s head. Marina was so confident, smart, and beautiful because she was a special kind of woman. If there were life-bringer women as well as life-bearer women, then perhaps there could be a world populated only by girls, with no external influence from phallic gods and the decrepit men who worshiped them.
Somehow, that became Samarie’s will. A female world that no male hand could taint.
The first Sylvian fertility ritual didn’t work. The dark priests inside the ninth circle would try again, and again, and each time, Samarie would try to think of Marina to make the pain more bearable. Marina probably wouldn’t hurt her; she looked soft, small, and probably smelled nice.
Eventually, they got an occultist woman to examine Samarie because nothing would get her pregnant. The old lady, as decrepit as all the other priests, poked and probed her and said with a tsc,
“This one won’t do. Look at the coarse dark hair all over her body, at her wide shoulders and tiny tits. She can’t bear fruit, there’s too much masculine energy within her.”
It could have come as a relief to hear that she would never carry the demon spawn of an ugly dark priest, but it didn’t. In fact, a small part within Samarie’s core shattered upon hearing that.
Men had swords and women had holes. Women’s holes were meant to receive the seed of men and to carry their descendants. Men were life-bringers and women were life-bearers. Then there was the rare superwoman, like Marina, who was also a life-bringer.
Samarie was none. She was devoid of biological and divine purpose. Her womb could drip blood, but it couldn’t carry a baby from the gods, from anyone. Her insides were as empty and hollow as her existence.
Samarie had a hole running through her soul.
They stopped feeding her and providing for her at the ninth circle, for she had no use anymore. There was some debate about whether to kill her now, but it would be a waste of energy and resources, considering her body was getting close to the expiration date of all gifted children.
Thus, they didn’t even notice when she just left the basements. Granted, barely anyone in the outside world noticed her as well; understandably, for humans don’t usually pay attention to vermin. Marina certainly didn’t, far too busy packing and getting ready to go back to her hometown of Prehevil. And Samarie, well, she wandered and followed her. She didn’t mean to, but there was nothing left for her anyway, and that was the first time she saw Marina, ever so confident, looking worried about something.
That’s why Samarie now finds herself in the back of a train to Prehevil. As she looks through the window and observes the night sky and Vatican City being left behind, she ponders what her plan even is. Talk to Marina, mayhaps? Try to convince her of her vision of a feminine world? Learn how to speak to others without stuttering?
Either way, the night air smells of sulfur, and the night looks progressively purpler and greener. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Samarie wonders if she could use her time left in the world to shed her skin and become a beautiful butterfly. The idea of dying young doesn’t faze her much; for if Samarie were to live, she would have to spend her whole life living with a hole through her, so she would rather die.
Much more disturbing to Samarie is the thought of Marina looking at her hole with disgust.
“I've got a blister from/Touching everything I see/The abyss opens up/It steals everything from me.”