Sanguine Maria

<i>‘Red Mirrors Three. Daughterly trust broken, rich dowry paid, long contracts signed. Friendly face welcomed, warm whispers heeded, secret lessons learned. Blades turned crimson. Porcelain skin shed. Bloody revenge taken. Sanguine Maria. Sanguine Maria. Sanguine Maria. Beholdeth me, bleed. Die. Die. Die.’</i> ‘Say her name thrice, invite her to your flesh, slice.’ So goes the rhyme of Sanguine Maria, a ghost in bridal garb stained crimson with the blood of her own self-flayed flesh. Should one utter her name three times before a mirror, she will emerge. Or so the story says. Most believe this to be false. They could not be more horribly wrong. Maria was a well-meaning and quiet girl, once, nervous about her arranged marriage. Her fear led her to talk to dozens of fortune tellers and mediums, and become interested in horoscopes, crystals, and numerology. One mysterious figure she consulted more than any other: Khulan. He claimed he could tell the future and understand the deepest core of an individual’s personality through analyzing complex webs of personally significant numbers. Maria was born on the third day of the ninth month in the third year of <color=#774418>Acelin the Stalwart’s</color> reign. Her wedding was arranged for the ninth day of the third month of its year. The number three became a fixation – she saw it everywhere, notably in the three mirrors of her vanity table. Observing this, Khulan laid a spell upon them so that Maria could speak to him through them whenever she desired. She thanked him profusely, squeezing his hands, tears streaming from her eyes. Maria spoke with him daily. Or so she thought. It wasn’t Khulan. Khulan was not as benevolent as he presented. Power and eternal life were his only desire. Sheer compulsion drove him. One magical force Khulan discovered completely baffled him. It defied the laws of creation. Khulan succeeded in fusing a magical link between it and Maria’s mirrors. He wanted to know what would happen. Maria poured her every fear, doubt, and desire into the mirrors, her emotions and thoughts cycling endlessly together, feeding each other and driving her deeper into the magic’s grip. She stopped eating and sleeping. Then came her wedding. Maria dressed with a calm that relieved her by-now terrified parents and servants. She accompanied her father to the wedding chapel without fuss, to his immense relief. When they arrived, she asked for a few minutes alone in an antechamber, to pray before the ceremony. Her father agreed. Maria emerged drained of her blood, skin white as snow, a blood-soaked knife in each hand. She slashed her father’s throat, then those of all her bridesmaids. As they choked on their own blood she leapt among the large congregation, cutting left and right so quickly none could follow her movements. Within minutes, hundreds were dead. She drove her carriage home, to her mirrors. There, she stared into them, until she slid into them, and they welcomed her.