Carthago Delenda Est
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Her name was Hermione and she was Helen's daughter. She stepped onto the dais innocent and pure.
"They have breached the firewall," Norton said. He carried the city shield lashed to his forearm.
"They have penetrated the scannig charm," Mac Fee reported. He carried no shield, but his armor was of the finest steel.
"The core will be next," the witch known as Possum said.
Hermione gazed upon ranks of soldiers pressed shoulder to shoulder in the once spacious room. "Am I to be the final defense?"
Possum nodded. "This is the moment your mother foretold." She untied the cord holding Hermoine's robe.
"Should we not look away?" Norton said. "It is written that her teats are many and misshapen."
"Only the gods may judge what they have not witnessed," Possum said. She flung the edges of Hermoine's robe wide, revealing two marbled breasts, a navel, rounded hips, mounded hair at the juncture of two well-formed legs.
Men stared in wonder upon the daughter of Helen revealed. For the first time, hope shone in their eyes.
"She is perfect in every way," Mac Fee said.
Possum opened an ancient tome to a bookmark made from the tongue of a traitor. She pressed the book into Hermione’s porcelain hands.
Hermoine's lips trembled then her shoulders and arms until pages fluttered like a bird's wings. "No," she said.
Possum took the book from her. "Would you see Carthage plundered by barbarian hands? Would you see our sons killed, our daughters raped, our sheep sacrificed to some unholy god?" She clapped. Two boys entered, a spear suspended between them. As they approached, the spear took on a golden glow.
"It reacts to your purity, daughter of Helen. Do as the book commands. Lift Priam's mighty spear from its sling."
"I... I am afraid."
Possum shook her head. "Are you not your mother's daughter?"
"I sprang also from my father's seed," Hermione said.
"You fear losing yourself in the red stain," Possum said. "Yet this day will be stained red, no matter what you choose."
Lip pressed between her teeth, Hermoine lifted the spear. A gasp rang through the hall. Her flesh mottled. Uneven teats pushed from her ribcage, her navel crusted with blood. Hair fell from between her legs to reveal a sideways smile of pointed teeth.
Hermione stepped down. Soldiers scrambled from her path.
"Unbar the door!" Possum yelled. An oaken board hit the floor. Hinges squealed. Sunlight speared the room and the sounds of clashing metal became clearer.
Hermione passed through. The door closed. The bar was reset. Sounds of battle ebbed and waned. Men huddled close.
"Should we not aid her?" Norton said. He started toward the door, but no one moved to ease his way. The bar remained seated.
After a time, the battle ceased. A single knock came.
"Open it," Possum commanded.
"What if she is lost?" someone said. "Shall we admit barbarians into our midst?"
"Fool!" Norton shouted. "Do you believe barbarians would knock?"
The doors parted, revealing Hermione’s malformed body slimed with blood, hands knobbed and raw. A gash marked her hip.
She toppled into Norton’s. Mac Fee rushed to help. Together, they carried her to the dais.
Possum produced a vial containing a deep blue liquid. "Nepenthe," she said, "distilled from the Golden Apple." She tipped it to Hermione's lips. "It will make you forget what you have done." Fluid trickled, a swallow.
Blood sluiced away, mottled skin unblemished, extra teats retracted. The teeth withdrew from between Hermoine's legs. Her lovely eyes blinked.
"Where am I?"
Norton stood, then Mac Fee, not believing what they had witnessed. Hermione, daughter of Helen, had returned to them.
"Without memory, there is no stain," Possum whispered.
And it was so.
"They have breached the firewall," Norton said. He carried the city shield lashed to his forearm.
"They have penetrated the scannig charm," Mac Fee reported. He carried no shield, but his armor was of the finest steel.
"The core will be next," the witch known as Possum said.
Hermione gazed upon ranks of soldiers pressed shoulder to shoulder in the once spacious room. "Am I to be the final defense?"
Possum nodded. "This is the moment your mother foretold." She untied the cord holding Hermoine's robe.
"Should we not look away?" Norton said. "It is written that her teats are many and misshapen."
"Only the gods may judge what they have not witnessed," Possum said. She flung the edges of Hermoine's robe wide, revealing two marbled breasts, a navel, rounded hips, mounded hair at the juncture of two well-formed legs.
Men stared in wonder upon the daughter of Helen revealed. For the first time, hope shone in their eyes.
"She is perfect in every way," Mac Fee said.
Possum opened an ancient tome to a bookmark made from the tongue of a traitor. She pressed the book into Hermione’s porcelain hands.
Hermoine's lips trembled then her shoulders and arms until pages fluttered like a bird's wings. "No," she said.
Possum took the book from her. "Would you see Carthage plundered by barbarian hands? Would you see our sons killed, our daughters raped, our sheep sacrificed to some unholy god?" She clapped. Two boys entered, a spear suspended between them. As they approached, the spear took on a golden glow.
"It reacts to your purity, daughter of Helen. Do as the book commands. Lift Priam's mighty spear from its sling."
"I... I am afraid."
Possum shook her head. "Are you not your mother's daughter?"
"I sprang also from my father's seed," Hermione said.
"You fear losing yourself in the red stain," Possum said. "Yet this day will be stained red, no matter what you choose."
Lip pressed between her teeth, Hermoine lifted the spear. A gasp rang through the hall. Her flesh mottled. Uneven teats pushed from her ribcage, her navel crusted with blood. Hair fell from between her legs to reveal a sideways smile of pointed teeth.
Hermione stepped down. Soldiers scrambled from her path.
"Unbar the door!" Possum yelled. An oaken board hit the floor. Hinges squealed. Sunlight speared the room and the sounds of clashing metal became clearer.
Hermione passed through. The door closed. The bar was reset. Sounds of battle ebbed and waned. Men huddled close.
"Should we not aid her?" Norton said. He started toward the door, but no one moved to ease his way. The bar remained seated.
After a time, the battle ceased. A single knock came.
"Open it," Possum commanded.
"What if she is lost?" someone said. "Shall we admit barbarians into our midst?"
"Fool!" Norton shouted. "Do you believe barbarians would knock?"
The doors parted, revealing Hermione’s malformed body slimed with blood, hands knobbed and raw. A gash marked her hip.
She toppled into Norton’s. Mac Fee rushed to help. Together, they carried her to the dais.
Possum produced a vial containing a deep blue liquid. "Nepenthe," she said, "distilled from the Golden Apple." She tipped it to Hermione's lips. "It will make you forget what you have done." Fluid trickled, a swallow.
Blood sluiced away, mottled skin unblemished, extra teats retracted. The teeth withdrew from between Hermoine's legs. Her lovely eyes blinked.
"Where am I?"
Norton stood, then Mac Fee, not believing what they had witnessed. Hermione, daughter of Helen, had returned to them.
"Without memory, there is no stain," Possum whispered.
And it was so.