The Whore:

She dreamt of Kali and her offspring, the hybrid beast that would chase her away from her slumber and into a fit of panic most nights. She could see and feel the beast’s teeth and the hiss of its tongue; a half snake half hyena hybrid. Kali’s image would haunt her too, like her pet, but to varying degrees. Sometimes she would relish in the knowledge that Kali would visit her when she slept. Relish because it was a true escape from the hell that was her life. The mediocrity and tediousness of her life, from birth to now seems unbearable.

She was born into a civil servants household in Vellan, the eldest daughter of four children. Yet her fate was decided before she even got there. Someone had cracked open a white pumpkin in the front garden of her grandmother’s home, which she would later inherit through the dowry scheme, while her mom was in delivery. The perpetrators must have prayed for a whole night, they must have slaughtered a rooster, whose blood they used to wash the pumpkin in with cumin and saffron to create the evil spell. And this would be the precise moment in which Kali entered her life: as she left her mothers womb, Kali waited for her at the foot of her crib to bring her into her world of darkness and magic. She would later think herself to be special, someone blessed with the dark lord’s presence to which she had attributed her beauty and intelligence.

When she was nine, she realized that she was her grandmother’s favorite. The old woman had taken to her from birth, her sister was cast aside as the domestic whose role was relegated to the outlier of the family circle; forever destined to be the keeper of the broom even into her old age. The old woman was the talk of her village when she was young. Her beauty unparalleled, her hazel eyes and her long black hair, topped with her fair brown milky skin only made the men desire her even more. She was the true radiant beauty, whose linage is somewhat dubious. The back corridors of her house would whisper the dark secret, her mixed blood heritage that was hidden from all, to persevere the air of superiority that is passed down from generation to generation. By watching her grandmother, she knew how to use her charms and she quickly learned how to use her powers to her advantage, like the red hibiscus. Her beauty resembled the flower, alluring to the eye but shrivels and dissipates as the night approaches. Her true self revealed when the night falls, her true embodiment of darkness and its utter cruelty. To her, the night was the time she could be herself, like her true master.

The older boys in her school used to tease her, but she could tell what was in their eyes. Her popularity was becoming noticeable and she too would become enthralled and entangled by its web. She had this way of playing with people, even at that young age. The way her eyes moved displayed the most mischievous and malevolent parts of her and she did not use them sparingly.

The first man whose knees she made quiver was her father’s. From the moment he held her in his arms for the first time, he knew that she would make his life fruitful. That moment was a joyous one, one which could never be replaced. She was his star and she proved herself to be worthy of a son. Yet he was disappointed that god had decided to give him a man-child in a female body. He had hoped that his first boy would be like her, as boisterous and cleaver; but he was docile and moody. From this moment onwards, the whore was molded, relying only on her inherent ability to sense the fallacies that people create, to use these fallacies to her advantage to get to some unknown destination.