The Doves of Winter

Sissy raised the bright blade, over the infant. Then turned, and with both hands, plunged it into the leader. In the candlelight a deep red stain blossomed from the center of the scarlet robe. It grew quickly. He tried to hold it in, with stiff, gold-ringed hands, but the crimson flower burst. Something deep within Sissy began to scream-as her white robe became drenched with a pulsing fountain of warm sticky blood. It splashed over her face, through her hair, ran in rivers down her pale robe. The scarlet robe bent over, scattered red into the earth like a wilting dream, until his head slid to the mud and his eyes stared frozen into darkness. His exposed face became a white skull-she could see bones rise beneath the skin.