The Blood Harem-Three Fates

Beads of sweat appeared on Alistair's forehead. 

“ a writer has no use for that” The voice spat with venom “ hand it over” she added, her voice tight 

Alistair awoke, his breath ragged as he struggled to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, his body stinging with unease.

The dream again. The woman …the locket. He sighed loudly. 

He stood up and stumbled towards the balcony, the city was still bustling as torch lights flickered. The scent of rancid grease and soured pork filled the air making his stomach growl with displeasure. 

He reached out to his pocket slowly bringing out the gold cladded locket. A mix of Scotland's ancient treasure and England's finest metallic mastery. 

Sleep had abandoned him ever since he got his hands on this useless piece. Not entirely useless but enough to drag his lazy writing self out into the world he wished to hide from. 

He sighed, looking down at the city with cold disgust. Only a stupid man wouldn't notice the shady deals that ran the night!

He glanced at the locket one more time, his pupils contracting as the gold flickered with the city’s touch. 

He had received this gift on a busy day when he was engrossed in his new art. To craft an ancient story enough to win a medal and feed his scorched appearance but instead, the locket appeared on his desk, covered in an envelope with a letter accompanying it. 

“ Your mother's gift to you. I haven't had the chance to give it to you since her death. Keep it save- mountain of regards, your uncle” 

He would have tossed the damn thing into the trash can if he had known it was from an uncle but …his mother ? The woman he never got to meet? She.. kept a gift for him ? 

He sighed softly as he slid the locket into his pocket whilst going through his works. He had just wanted to keep it safe as it was his mother's only gift to him …but things took a darker turn when a hooded lady approached him asking for a certain gold brimming locket.

“ I have no such thing” he had answered as he walked away, carrying his only piece of survival- his laptop and an old book featuring thousands of plots yet to be told. 

her heels echoed along the cobbled streets, the crunching of the gravel beneath her feet reminding him that he belonged under her shoes where the city would walk on him like an insignificant piece of rubbish, “ a writer has no use for that !” Her voice echoed throughout the night, scaring the night owls into exile.  

He paused his movement, the words reverberating through him. Who was she ? And …how did she know ? No one had seen him with the locket at noon so how…did she know?  

He felt a cold metallic object pressed to the crook of his neck and the weight of a woman pressed on him. His heart sank as his temperature dropped to the lowest centigrade. 

“ Who are ..you ?” His voice trembled, panic nestling in the pit of stomach. 

The metal clicked, silence consuming him. 

No! He wasn't going to die this way ! He was yet to complete his book and he wouldn't die now ! 

He grasped onto the lady’s hand, twisting it. She shrieked as the gun fell off her hands. His laptop dropped to the ground, the sound of a broken piece slashing at his very soul. 

He immediately kicked the woman, throwing her off balance as she landed softly to the ground. 

He caught onto the gun and pointed it at her , shocking the lady. Ofcourse, in order to survive in such a harsh place, he couldn't just be a writer right ?

“ You …” the lady’s eyes widened, multiple emotions flickering in her eyes “ how could you do that?” She asked, pointing at him. 

He glanced at the woman, his trembling gaze replaced by a cold one, “ I will do the question and you answer…but first, take off your hood” he said, his voice chilling. 

“ You ..” 

“ Take off your hood” he cut her off, his hands wrapped tightly around the gun. 

“ Why would I…” 

“ Take it off” he bit out, pointing the gun firmly towards her. 

The lady gritted her teeth and pulled down the hood and her face mask. Her gaze flickering with a dangerous light. 

Alistair's breath hitched, a look of surprise flickering onto his expression. She had a blonde hair of the thickest shade, a piercing hazel eye and a pink lips. 

She looked too…frail and innocent for an assassin. 

“ Who are you?” He asked, his gaze expectant.

Eleanor stood up, her gaze fixed onto the man whose gun was pointed at her. She had to take the locket back with her if she wanted to survive the night tortures. 

“ Hand over the locket” she said through gritted teeth. 

Alistair's forehead creased, why was she so fixated on the locket ? What was so important about it ?

He brought out the locket, “ i would hand it over if you tell me what this is to you” he lied.

Eleanor scoffed, this was England. Did he really think she would believe his lies ? 

She packed a handfull of sand, looking at the locket like her life depended on it. If only she could grab it and run. 

She whisked the sand at him but he was fast enough to dodge it, slipping the locket right into his pocket. He stumbled backwards but before he could steady his steps, the lady had already disappeared. 

“ Damn it” he muttered under his breath, looking around in search of her figure. 

He snapped out of his thoughts …

He wrapped the locket in his palm, his gaze searching for any clue, “ what could this be ?” He whispered. 

He let out a low frustrated growl and threw the locket onto the bed. He had to find that woman no matter what, whoever she was! 

Suddenly he heard a clinking sand. More like a chime. He gaze darted around, searching for the source of the sound . 

They locked onto the locket and his eyes widened, the locket …had changed it's shape !