She was back at the village, once again a little girl. The village was in an uproar. Why? The Matriarch's statue at the local church had been defaced. Why was it defaced? She didn't now, she wasn't the one who did it. But then, why was she being made to cross the tightrope above the pit? She must have been guilty of something, after all that's what she had been taught: Only the guilty were punished. When the defaced stature was discovered, the village fell into despair. It was a serious offense, the Matriarch was more important than anything else on this earth: She was to be loved and worshiped above all, even one's own children. To deface the Matriarch's statue put the continued existence of the whole village in jeopardy, so the whole village lost control of itself.

“Hurry! The Matriarch has no patience for those who take too long to root out the sinner!” The Matriarch's teachings were clear, the guilty must be found. Accusations flew from different directions as the different families tried to deflect the suspicion from themselves. Only the guilty were punished, but that didn't mean that someone who had not done the crime couldn't be guilty. Guilty was whoever the Matriarch determined to be so. Angry and in need of a conclusion, the local priest and the village chief decided that if nobody was forthcoming, then a collective punishment would be in order until the truth was found. Every day that the culprit wasn't found, a lottery would be used to determine a sacrifice for an oracle, and eventually the Matriarch would tell them who needed to be punished for their transgressions.

It was an ugly and brutal course of action, but ultimately useless and unnecessary. But how did the little girl know? That's right, the Matriarch knew and so did the little girl, because the little girl wasn't actually a little girl, she was an Heir Maiden, one of the agents of the Matriarch's will, she knew who had defaced the statue from one of her eyes, one of the people whose freedom was even less than that of others. The person herself didn't know, after all, what would be the fun in that? It was not about punishing the transgressor, it was about punishing the whole village for the possibility of transgression, the temerity of wanting to live. The Heir Maiden saw the people flagellate each other in an attempt to placate this existence which had only scorn for them.

Motivated by hopelessness and bravery beyond words, the mother of the prankster boy who had done it announced her own guilt. She saw no way out but to volunteer her own life for that of her clearly terrified son. The poor boy had only done it because his father had recently disappeared, taken by the Matriarch, or so the rumors went. Long past the point of caring about the truth, a sense of relief could be felt among the people even as they worked themselves into a frenzy, calling for her punishment. “Have her cross the rope! The Matriarch will have mercy and let her live if she so wishes!” The people shouted. Of course, nobody had ever been shown mercy and crossed the rope alive. The little girl was horrified, how could they so easily call for a person's death? The people shouted and grabbed the woman, lifting her from the floor and separating her for the crying boy, who had his eyes shielded by a very afraid uncle. At the very least, the boy did not have to see it happen, or so the uncle thought.

The woman was taken to the village pit, a thirty meters wide hole with a single rope across. In the hole were many of the Matriarch's servants, every single guilty person in the village who ever deserved punishment. Anyone who were able to cross the rope would have any crimes forgiven and forgotten, or so it was said.

As the people set the woman down near of the ends of the rope, the Heir Maiden intervened. It wasn't an act of mercy or to admonish the people's cruelty, but to inflict another torment, another needless cruelty. “Why do you punish this woman for a crime that was not her own?” The people stopped, stunned, didn't she confess? Wasn't it enough if they punished her? The Heir Maiden pointed at the woman. “You are right that she is guilty, but not of defacing the Holy Matriarch's statue.” The Heir Maiden pointed at the woman's son and smiled, delighted at the opportunity to torment all of these people. “She is guilty of trying to take the blame from her son, who is the one who actually defaced the statue.” The horror could be felt. People gasped and gnashed their teeth, horrified not that they were about to punish the wrong person, but that they had not done what the Matriarch wished of them. “The Matriarch is patient and merciful, but does not tolerate untruth. Do punish the guilty, but make sure it is for the appropriate crimes!” People cried for clemency towards their error, but the Matriarch would not be satisfied with only the lives of the woman and child. One more person would have to cross the rope.

Many people looked at the uncle who now backed away from the boy who he had been holding until moments ago, thorn between the instinct to protect a close relative and self-preservation. He was saved by the little girl who in all innocence said something unthinkable. “Why do we have to be punished? We didn't do anything wrong?” She knew what was inside the little girl's mind, foolish as she was. Weren't they all trying their best to please the Matriarch? Didn't they find a guilty person fast? Wasn't this okay all the other times that someone was punished in the village before? Why not now? How was this fair? It was the truth, but it was not something to be said. But the little girl didn't know, even if she should have known, after all she was the Heir maiden, wasn't she? She knew that fairness or justice wasn't the point. Only the punishment.

Horrified by the little girl's words and fearing further reprisal, the people offered her as the third person to be punished and the Heir Maiden, filled by the Matriarch's will, accepted. First was the boy, after all his crime was the first. Mother and child protested. “Mommy, mommy!” The boy cried with tears in his eyes as he was pushed onto the rope by pitchforks and cattle prods. He couldn't stand and from the start crawled along the rope. Then, a stray hand emerged from the pit, lightly tugging the boy's shirt. His cries changed, no longer did he call for his mother. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I wont do it again.” He tried approaching the close side, but was met with pitchforks and cattle prods. If he wanted to get away from that rope, he would have to get to the other side.

Meanwhile, the woman cried for mercy, but not for herself, who would soon share the same fate with her son. “Please! Please! Let him get back! Please! He's only a boy, he didn't know! He was only angry!” But it was all in vain. Under the cold and steely gaze of the the Heir Maiden, none dared to say anything, nobody dared to even apologize, even if many wished to do so. To apologize, much less speak directly to a guilty person was a grave sin. So the people resigned themselves to merely hold the woman and the little girl down, while making sure the boy attempted his crossing of the rope. Met with only pricks and pushes, the boy, still crying and sobbing started moving towards the other side, however that only led him closer to his doom. As he moved, he inched closer and closer to the lower part of the rope, allowing more and more hands to tug at him. Eventually, one hand grabbed his arm. Overtaken by terror, the boy froze, so another hand grabbed him, and another. A moment later, he could no longer hold on to the rope and was pulled down into the pit. “Nooooooooo!” The woman's harrowing wail dominated everything, as if she tried to drown her son's cries of agony as the servants of the Matriarch sunk their teeth into him, and she could no longer be held down. However, she did not run away from the pit, instead, overtaken by a strength and obstinacy she had never known before, she jumped into the pit, perhaps taken by the delusion that with that strength she could save her son.

It was said that everyone who was in the pit were those considered guilty by the Matriarch, but that wasn't entirely true, as the Heir Maiden knew herself knew. Sometimes, the Matriarch decided to just not let enough of a corpse survive to constitute a new servant, she could on a whim be more or less cruel to the people thrown on the pit. She could have the person killed in a moment or have their agonizing end extend through hours. Considering the cries and moans of pain coming from the pit, she knew the Matriarch was feeling especially cruel that day. Even before the people started pushing her, the little girl had already started sobbing. “I'm sorry! I was wrong! Please, forgive me!” But as before, these pleas for mercy would not be answered by anyone. Just as they did to the boy, the people pushed her with pitchforks and cattle prods. Unlike the boy, she just moved far away enough the the people's tools could not reach her, but not so far that she was low enough to be grabbed by the hands from the pit. She simply stayed there, in that same place, that limbo between life and death, waiting for what, she did not know. Perhaps her parents would conjure a tenth of the courage that the woman who jumped after her child did and maybe would try to save her? Perhaps the people would grow a conscience? Perhaps she hoped that the Matriarch, who orchestrated all of this might finally show an ounce of mercy which she was said to have so much of, in direct contradiction of all her actions.

She looked at herself. The little girl looked at the Heir Maiden. The Heir Maiden looked at the little girl. They pitied and hated each other. The Heir Maiden glided towards the little girl. No, she wasn't gliding, hands and heads emerged from the pit, creating steps in the air for the Heir Maiden. It was all a sham, the hands reached everywhere, they could take the little girl whenever the Matriarch wanted, but there was something more fun prepared. The Heir Maiden lowered herself near the little girl and smiled. It was a cold smile. The heir Maiden knew the little girl had done terrible things to her, or was that in the future still? The Heir Maiden couldn't forgive the little girl, because she was the little girl and the little girl was the Heir Maiden. Or were they actually one and the same? It did not truly matter. The heir maiden gently but firmly pulled one of her finger off the rope, then another, then another. She was slowly losing her grip, but could not resist. She could no longer articulate her thoughts into words, but pleaded for mercy with her eyes. It was useless, as she was made to let go of the rope with her hands. But she still had her legs. She felt the Heir maiden's hands grab her ankles and force them apart. The little girl no longer touched the rope, her lifeline. She was mercilessly thrown into the darkness.

It was supposed to be dark, yet the little girl could see among the the damned the figures of the woman and her son, both being made to see each other tortured and eaten to death, neither could scream anymore, yet their expression still showed their terror and agony, it was something to behold. The little girl braced for pain of her own, yet it never came. She wasn't getting bit, she was just caressed, here, there and everywhere, she was licked and tickled and pinched, lightly scratched. The expected pain never came, yet she eventually found herself to be screaming. When would she be killed? She did not know. No, she did, the Heir Maiden knew, and delighted at it. An eternity passed and she was not killed. The little girl eventually started wishing for it. At least, the woman and child were long dead now, when she still had to endure this unendurable fate. She was so afraid of being eaten, but she wished they would go on and actually do it. But they didn't, they merely did those other disgusting or annoying things, reminding her of the terrifying fact that she was alive and that at any moment she could be completely destroyed. She couldn't even properly struggle. Then it ended, but she was not eaten, she was “spit” out by the pit.

“Behold, all of you of little faith! The Matriarch has showed her mercy!” The Heir Maiden announced, but both her and the little girl knew that this was a lie. The girl's body may have left the pit, but her soul never did. She may have had her guilt “washed away” by the Matriarch's “mercy”, but nobody dared to have contact with her ever again, not even her own family. Not that the little girl cared, all human contact reminded her of the pit. Years passed and she grew. Many times did the girl try to take her own life, but she was never able to, not because of lack of will, but almost miraculous interventions of different people and sometimes even some servants of the Matriarch came from outside or the pit to save her. Eventually, the village was asked to give up a sacrifice in honor of the Matriarch. To everyone involved, it was obvious who should be chosen. The young woman said nothing, but did not resist either. She was taken away.

Months later, the entire village was thrown into the pit. Among them, a new Heir Maiden, hugged and and beloved by her people, which she so loved back.

Delilah found herself I'm a half-awakened state, in which she struggled with a question. Had that been a memory? Whose memory? Just a dream? Was that the past or the future? Had she been victim, executioner or both? She tried to move, but trapped between sleep and wakefulness she couldn't really move herself. Hands, she felt hands, she knew hands were there, they held her down. She tried to struggle, but her body wouldn't move. In panic, she wanted to scream, but she couldn't even open her own mouth. Her body didn't move by her will.

Lost! She was lost! Her body had been taken from her. That could only mean one thing: She had come for Delilah, She had already taken Delilah's body back, how long before She would take Delilah's mind back? No! She couldn't, she wouldn't accept it. Adrenaline flooded her body. She fell from the bed she had been sleeping in, she threw herself around in a frenzy, taken by her own panic. The old combat instincts kicked in, her nails became horrible claws, her senses sharpened incredibly.

My body is mine again! With no hesitation, she was about to make use of that opportunity to slash her own throat when. “What are you doing?” That man stood at the entrance to the, now mostly destroyed, room. Then Delilah realized: She had just panicked.

“Ah! I'm... sorry, I think I panicked a little...”

The eyes of Richard Lewis looked intently at her, perhaps waiting for further explanation. When none was forthcoming, he just sighed.

“The dawn is here. We are going to be arriving at the Capital soon. Try to hold your nerves a bit.”

“OK, thanks. I'll try to get myself under control.”

But it had nothing to do with that, or so Delilah thought. Sure, combat and killing people were one of the things She made Delilah do the most, but she thought, or would at least like to think that war would not carry that kind of malice. Or did it? What had the voices told her? She didn't care. She didn't need the knowledge she had acquired while under Her, not if it meant looking back at those times. Having dreams like the one she just did was more than enough. Her hands trembled terribly. She didn't feel like she could get herself under control.