Fighting for the PJV – Liz Strange’s Harshika
In the beginning I was an insignificant servant girl; weak, vulnerable, naïve. My head was filled with silly notions of kindness and love. I worshipped the gods blindly and believed in the inherent goodness of people, but no more. Now I know the truth. Human beings are cruel and thoughtless and deserve to be treated as they really are- food!
Narsimha wanted me and he would not take no for an answer, no matter how I begged. To him I was nothing more than a piece of property, his to use and abuse as he chose. After the ultimate violation he dumped me on the jungle floor like garbage. And Achyut, you thought you could save me? Nothing could save me, but my need for vengeance. How surprised Achyut and his men had been to see me again. Their deaths were just the beginning.
Now I am faster, stronger, better than any being that has ever walked the earth, more powerful than the gods even. My image has been worshipped the word over, inspiring legend, religion and culture. I take what I want and I kill anything that gets in my way. One look into my eyes and you are mine. You cannot resist and you will never escape me. I will always know where you are and my power cannot be matched.
You will love me, want me, even as I reduce you to a bloody, lifeless pile of meat.
Rachel, a vampire and victim of her sadistic ways, remembers the worst part of her ordeal:
My body contorted on the floor, bent at angles unnatural to any human and vampire alike. Blood poured from numerous wounds, from my mouth, nose and both ears. A shard of bone protruded from my left side. The whole scene played out devoid of sound. Her blows fell in eerie silence.
With lips pulled back in a savage snarl and hair flying like a wave of black silk, she struck me again and again. Even in her desperate, unrelenting fury she was breathtaking. A fine sheen covered her skin almost like perspiration, but what was in reality a physical manifestation of her power. Her violent state made it seem as though she were being viewed through a soft hazy light like some old Hollywood movie. The strange association struck me as funny and I attempted to laugh, but ended up coughing instead, which brought about a whole new level of agony.
I loved her once. More than my own life, but any love I had for her died with my mortality and, though I struggled for centuries to reconcile those feelings with the monster she has become, there was no use. There is nothing left in her to love. She is simply a walking embodiment of hatred and vengeance, and even her physical beauty is something that fills me with disgust now.
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