It takes longer than I expect. Time stretches in the darkness. Perhaps an hour, maybe two, or maybe less—after all, it’s still bright outside. The sky is now a muted turquoise, dimmed but not yet in its violet splendor before dusk. And the golden moon is nowhere to be seen.
"Shit, you damn bitch!" Lieben screams, and I turn, startled by the sudden outburst. "You little pig!" Lieben swings his flat hand at a small girl, who holds her arms out in a feeble attempt to defend herself. She’s the second to last. Behind her is an older boy, one who could very well be Lieben’s own son. I glance bitterly at Lieben’s back as he tries to hit the girl, only for the little boy to stop him. It’s so dark that I can barely make anything out, but the next moment, I hear the boy slam into the wooden wall. He groans and crumples to the floor.
I approach my brother, my steps quickening, matching the increasing force of his swing. "Lieben," I say, my breaths rapid, my heartbeat pounding in my head. My hand shakes as I reach out to him, but he shakes it off. "What?" he snaps, his blond brows furrowed, his sea-like eyes glaring into mine. "How are we supposed to be noble if we indulge in these inferior creatures?"
He clicks his tongue and turns away. I exhale, closing my eyes in a moment of relief, but the next second, he swings again, and my breath catches in my throat. In the same instant, in the same heartbeat, which flows with cold blood, I swing my fist. My knuckles collide with the back of his head. His flat hand stops just before striking the little girl’s eyes, and then, despite his weakness, he falls to the ground.
My breath is heavy, but I remain still. Damn it. No. I can’t stay still. What am I fooling myself for? If Lieben gets up, he’ll strike me too. I can handle that. The pain, the physical blows from him—that much I can endure. But he’ll tell Father.
I glance at my trembling hands as I kneel before the tearful girl. I feel my heartbeat pulse through my veins, from my toes, through my ears, into my fingers. My throat tightens, as if it might explode. In the silence, I only hear my breath, my heartbeat. But something’s odd. Thirty rapid beats. Too many have passed, yet Lieben remains sprawled in the filth, motionless.
My heart slips further down into my stomach as I step carefully through the blood and thick, pungent liquid. I forget the boy and the girl. I lay my hand on Lieben’s neck, the place where our family’s blood should flow. The spot where the thorns of roses make our blood simmer. But it’s not there. No pulse.
I stand over him, my posture bent, and strangely, I’m no longer frightened or nervous as I was before. On the contrary, I’ve grown calmer. In one moment, I begin to breathe normally again, but in the next, as though I’ve just been running.
“Lords of Rosenmahl? Are you finished?” The voice comes from above, and I fall into panic once more. I glance wildly around—first at my brother, then at the children, then at the hatch, and back at Lieben. I run my hands through my hair, the same hands that have just killed my brother.
“No,” I say, breathing deeply in and out to calm myself. “We want to have a little more fun. Give us some time before you must leave again.”
Silence follows. The voice from above dares not look down but instead gives me, rather than us, permission. I glance from the faint blue light to the children, who stare at me with confusion and fear. They think I want to rape them. Spend the night with them. What’s truly tragic is that they really believe that. But I give them little attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the older boy step in front of the girl, as if he will take everything upon himself. At the age of the Reds, he’s probably only about nine. But I approach only my brother. My dead brother. Lieben. And strangely, tears escape my eyes, though I feel no sorrow.