It is me who shall win

 

It Is Me Who Shall Win 

      It ascends in the twilight, the circus with its mists of notoriety swirling in the air, capturing the attention of all. The circus is a wide array of black and white tents, shrouded by trees, pre-eminent in the dark. Tonight it would happen, anew as it continues to happen every twilight. The daily awaited duel between the two sorceresses. Today was not different. This nightly occurrence was no put on show to evince their powers but a loathing ushered by pure drops of vengeance. 

     The rivalry between each mage had been a dawdling process. Inchmeal, the hatred had built up until one day the two lost it. "I will avenge you hard for what you did, whether I slit my dagger down your throat or drown you in your bathtub. Anything I may do, to just hear gasps of agony ripple through your mouth." Each had said to each other, animosity evident in their voice. That day, the duel began, a proceeding so unsettling but beguiling to all. 

      The bystanders surround the dais which was carefully levitated up high by the law lord. He too had been enthralled by the duel and every night his chubby self could be seen perched on a velvet chair, popcorn in hand. What each sorceress was capable of when in rage, no one could fathom but everyone was willing to risk it for the sake of this duel. Men and women young and old, some hand in hand with children were anticipating the sorceress' arrival. In a shower of extravagant brilliance would each mage arrive and position themselves on the dais. Wands at hand and their relics drawn, each would look terrifying, unnerving all bystanders. 

      Duvessa, the Queen of the Crown elegantly sauntered onto the dais. Gasps of wonderment reverberated around the circus. Accoutered in burgundy maroon, Duvessa looked like she was dripping in blood. Her sandals too were merlot. A sheer veil shrouded most of her raven hair. If it were not for the constant flitting of her hair, The spectators would have thought her as a long since ghost. 

     Hecate followed. She was pure brilliance. Her gown looked like starlight spun in threads and silk. It crystallized along her waist adding to its beauty. Unlike Duvessa, her face was openly visible exposing her high prominent cheekbones and flawless skin. Each faced the other, an inferno of loathing burning in their eyes. With a swish and an elaborate bow, they drew out their wands. The duel had begun. Whether they would draw as they had for so long or claim victory, it would be known when the morning hues of colour would gather in the sky. It was the hope of all and sundry that they would draw. Again. 

        Hecate radiated confident energy. She waved her wand, conjuring up a fleet of flying ice swans. It circled the tent, its wings shedding bits of feather. Then it headed straight towards Duvessa, the edges of its wings sharp as a blade. The bystanders ducked away and hid their faces. Each was on the edge of their seat. Duvessa flicked her wand and the ice swans disappeared. She then retaliated, conjuring up gryphons. We all knew what would happen now. This was the trick that they began their duel with every time. And yet, it never failed to beguile us. Before the brown beasts neared Hecate, a strange white light gathered on the dais. Whisperings followed from the crowd, and parents held their children tight. A gasp so shrill echoed around that it felt as if our eardrums would split open. And yet, no single person left the dais no matter how unforeseeable this was. Who had screamed so loud? Was it Duvessa or Hecate? We soon found out. 

        The white light was now strewn all over the place. Each sorceress was now on view. Except, except, someone had ripped off Duvessa's veil that she had never failed to adorn to the duel. It must have been Hecate. Duvessa stood silent as if the very act of her veil being taken off had numbed her. Maybe it had, as it should. Thin scars ran down her face and her neck. Most of her hair was missing leaving shiny bare patches. Even her neck was placed at a slightly tilted angle. Her eyes were bloodshot, whether, from terror or fury, one could not guess. But the worst was yet to come. Her eyelashes plucked off her eye one by one and sprinkled around the stage. Duvessa flicked her wrist and Hecate suddenly moved, drawing the attention of the assemblage. Even people who had children with them made no attempt to hide such a hideous sight. All stood silent, their heads tilted with focus and their mouths agape. 

     Hecate started dancing. Music rang around the stage and she waltzed to every humming beat. Again and again, she swayed from side to side, up to down, side to side and repeat. Her steps were elegant and sure. Her eyes were a swirling milky blue, staring at nothing in particular. With another sway, she gracefully dipped into the most complicated of waltzing postures. One leg was straight, the other bent. She leaned back, at such an angle that her hair touched the dais floor. She looked unnatural, possessed. 

     The morning hues gathered in the sky. The Law Lord stood up from his seat on the dais, officially ending the day's duel. This night had been most riveting. You may be wondering, what happened to the two sorceresses. They were left there. They were left there as they were, no questions asked. Hecate still waltzes every twilight, to the same music, over and over. With each passing year, wrinkles add to her face. But she never stops. Duvessa stands there just like how she did when her real looks were exposed. With each passing night, her piercing stare turns even more terrifying. She looks right through you and it sends chills down your spine. 

     Not until centuries later was it revealed that these two deathly sorceresses had been twins. They had wronged each other in the past but instead of talking it out and settling down the problem, they were led by vengeance. They were lost in vengeance. And vengeance, a poison so savage, retaliated and did this to them.