Act 2: Bloody Martyrdom, Bloody Mary | Ch. 9: The Golden Clown

Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary.
Tell me this horror isn’t real.

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

Vaeloria—holy grace incarnate—
reborn as a Bloody Mary of martyrdom.

“Save yourself, burnt man. I’ve killed enough already.”
“I know you didn’t kill Geppetto. He used the knife himself—
a blade of Khal-ruun, god of death. Sculptor of the Stonehenge soldiers.”

“That knife only cuts inward.
It was never meant to harm another,
only the one who dares to wield it.”

The wind stirs the flames,
as if she’s telling a campfire story to corpses.
The horizon glows—pure yellow,
washed in gold and crimson undertones.

As if the sky itself has muscle beneath its beauty—
a sunset cog turning slowly...
The same cog that powers our world.
The same cog that watches.
That deceives those who wake.
That feeds on light.

Light—stolen. Created. Rewritten.

She lowers herself to her knees, voice cracking:
“I destroyed my own world...
but I am not the only one who sinned.”

She points at me.
Her head lowers in disgust.
“The boy,” she says.
“The child... Geppetto’s son.
The one who existed before I breathed for him.
The last remnant of the man you failed. Return him to me.”

I stare at her, disbelief thick in my throat.
Until finally—
“I don’t... I don’t know where he is.
If he’s still... there.”

Guilt folds around me like smoke.
In the distance, I hear the screams—
children, broken families.
And faintly, among them...
Geppetto’s son. Still chained. Still waiting.

I left him to die.

Does doing nothing make me a murderer?
Can ignorance kill?
Sloth?
Greed?
Even wrath?

Pity me. I can’t even change.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.
I don’t know!”

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

“Understood. As biblical you have been presented to me, without use—you isolate me even more from Geppetto.”

She grabs a resting blade by the chair, embedded in the skull of a stone villager.

“Farewell, human.”

She dashes, precise footing.

I can’t do anything.
I can’t fight.
I can’t help.
I’m helpless.
I don’t...
know.

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

I crumble beneath her double jeopardy blade.

Have I not repented?
What was it all for?

The Stonehenge crucified forced martyr scenery,
above the Nokrovis cry melody that highlights the hidden sunset.
The everlasting clouds behind—raining.

For their souls are pavement for her suffering.

And if, “darling”, you need my soul—go away with me.

Repentance.
Such a pity I have forgotten my other oath.
That fox behind me, I will protect him.
To show him the hidden gems of a world I can’t comprehend.

My breath is short.
Fix.
It.
Because I want to be.
To exist.

My pavement will be one built on my dreams.
Not others.

I turn my back to the now dashing Vaeloria, pull Emnu close to my chest.

“I’m sorry if... everything was short-lived.”

“Emnu.”

My finger grips his fur.

I clench my teeth.

But the blade never reaches me.

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

I look behind me.

She’s walking toward me. Sword sheathed.

“My Geppetto used to say: everyone’s a hypocrite.”

She wipes a tear.

“I believed him. Especially on this planet. Vireth.
You know, deep down I know this village didn’t deserve anything.
Those children who brought me flowers every day, the parents who cared for me.
I transformed into them, made them think everyone hated them... then killed them.
Crucified them.
Because... it was righteous in the moment.
It was my human factor.
My wish.
My desire.”

She explains.

“Everyone on this planet. Maybe it’s the air, the water, the very ground we walk on.
But at some point, we lose our memories.
Geppetto wrote about it: compared it to dementia.
But it isn’t from old age here.
Anger, resentment, sin—it causes us to lose everything.
Taste. Touch. Smell. Vision. Everything is lost.
We call it Nivora Syndrome.
Named after the scientist who discovered it.”

“Cain. I am forgetting. I’ve been forgetting.
Each time I killed...
I lost it. My memory of what I sacrificed to become a martyr.
I couldn’t forgive them.”

She laughs.

“I went insane.”

“Geppetto, do you hear that!? I went insane.”

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

Emnu struggles in my grasp, finally waking from his fainted status.

“Clown!”

“I dreamt of a clown, a golden one.”

I whisper to Emnu.

“Not the time.”

He recites.

“Gold. Vireth doesn’t have gold. I know... because he told me. Because he spoke to me.”

“Hey mister, I’m a Kitsune! I would’ve known if it was just a dream.”

A tune of a simple bassoon whispers into our ears behind Vaeloria.

It seems so real. Shows us the duality of what’s real and fake.

Vaeloria looks behind her, allowing me to see too.

A clown. Golden.

He sits on Vaeloria's chair. It makes her question.

“Who are you? Noble clown.”

He places the gilded bassoon onto a golden latch, he smiles, then speaks:

“I am Elagabalus the nomadic clown! An entertainer if you would.”

An uncanny smile.

Vaeloria gets anxious and responds:

“Clown! Gold at that, mimicry of a god? Kitsune, look at him, is that your god?”

It confuses me, but Emnu responds:

“I—I—I can’t tell.”

Vaeloria gets angered.

“God of Entertainment, illusion, ignorance, even dreams. Tell us if you are real.”

“Give us that... pity.”

The Nokrovis fall and surround him as if he held bread.

And his gold hand simply shushes her over his mouth.

His gold embroidered fabric wrinkles around his gold skin.
He holds both ledges of the chair, turning the chair to gold.

As he stands he poses, mocking those who were crucified.

The sunset is his golden cross.

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

The clown lifts his head above ours, as tall as Geppetto. A frame of pure gold.

Makeup of oxidized gold. Clothing of gold fabric; jester uniform. A bassoon of gilded gold.

He waves his hand and gold dust blooms through the air.

Behind him an orchestra of those stone villagers plays a requiem of the damned.

The Nokrovis flower over them.

“I am Elagabalus, god? Creator of those Katsune? A golden man? For now I am a simple entertainer. However, aren’t you tired? Walking this endless road? Aren’t you tired of knowing nothing? But seemingly everything? Well, I am the catalyst of your destiny. At this pace, you’d be dead before reaching her.”

“Before reaching them.”

He laughs. “Pity you're so blind.”

He stretches his golden finger, as if drawing a golden rainbow in the air.

“Your name’s ‘Cain’, are you to repent for others? Sacrifice others? Murder out of jealousy?”

“It’s quite biblical. But for now your purpose... exterminate the parasites in the Garden of Eden. For the original sin is spreading.”

“Two men, similar to you. Humans. You should remember bumping into them. I mean you read it in that letter. You are to make them repent.”

I spit out, “Kill?”

“It doesn’t matter how.”

I question, “But what do I get in return? You ask for such a high request.”

He smiles.

“You get your family. Even that boy you chose to abandon. For now, he’s been abandoned for a year. He’s waiting... for you.”

I imagine him, in a metal suit. Oxidized now. Stone now.

Emnu jumps out and speaks,

“My family. Do you know where they went? I lost them in the forest.”

He folds his hand over his mouth. From a smile to a frown.

“They’re all dead. Poached and gone.”

Emnu cries out, “It can’t be. I saw that a couple days ago.”

He acts as if crying, then points to the forest. The Morrowmire.

“It wasn’t the Morrowmire that took your memory, it was Nivora Syndrome. Temporary and cured after finding Cain here.”

“And Vaeloria, your kindest boyfriend, Geppetto, lost his memory of you in such poetry. Fitting for a deep love, he was so angry. He forgot what he was fighting for.”

The orchestra of stone villagers stops.

“If you haven’t understood it yet. Simply fix your mistake nesting in Caeloria.”

“That is the Garden of Eden.”

“Walk this path behind me. To the sunset. There you’ll find it.”

He stands up completely, and poses vanishing into dust.

The statues behind him crumble, the Nokrovis flutter away.

And there lies a gold flower.

— ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ —

I pick up the gold flower, passing Vaeloria.

We match our gaze for a second.

Emnu behind me speaks, “So... hey mister! I guess we’re heading to Caeloria.”

I respond, “I guess we are.”

Vaeloria behind me as well answers, “I’m also headed there. Geppetto and I have promised to start anew there, but I’ll likely have a bounty. While I personally haven’t gone, we should meet at the church beside a bar—as I’m told to meet at. I know people there, I’ll assist you. Because it seems like we’re aligned in the same path.”

I spin the gold flower,

“See you there, I guess.”

We head out.