R-15

Warnings to Readers: Gore, Supernatural, Racism, and Murder. It can generate triggers, so be careful when reading.

(XXX)

The room seemed to be swallowed by darkness, with blurred vision perhaps due to fever or perhaps due to a curse, the soft hand went to the protruding belly making quick movements containing fear and anxiety in each movement.

A soft sound comes out of the fleshy red lips, almost like a painful sigh or whisper, but it was a prayer to Obatalá's orisha that her family worshipped.

The first orisha of all orishas (they are the gods worshiped by some African religions and here in Brazil as well.) and father of those who followed, so he must be powerful enough to banish all evil, even if it was the evil she brought into her family.

Staggering out of the soft bed, feet touching the finely creased carpet coming from the east, each step like stabbing at her slender ankles, she leaned against the cold stone wall, which greatly eased the heat in her body, though she shivered slightly by the sweat that turned cold.

The belly felt like it weighed tons at that moment, a strange wind came out of absolutely nothing as the large windows of the room were tightly closed, something seemed to hit behind the woman's knees, and she fell to her knees making a dry and muffled sound due to the carpet.

The woman screamed softly as if there was a big hand around her neck squeezing her tightly, she reached for it, but there was nothing. The tightness was getting bigger and bigger, the air that didn't enter, the blood that didn't seem to circulate, and the weight of life in her stomach, her struggle was fierce, there were scratches on her own neck, with the blood pouring through her body mixing the skin black and running down to the pale carpet.

When she finally thought she was going to die there, despite her desperate struggle and her strong will to live, her body was thrown away hitting the wall, the air came in and out very quickly, her throat felt like it was burning, and she fell on top of the bulging belly much to her horror.

She grew even dizzier, and even so, she scrambled to try to ring the bell to summon some servant to her room and save her from this curse she had foolishly brought on in a moment of weakness, blinded by greed and hurt by her husband's searing rejection.

The black woman with short, messy curly hair dragged herself along like a wounded animal, with the determination to live that was almost automatic in every living being. The eyes of honey-brown irises were resolute and focused above the bedside table, where the golden item could save her life.

Those few inches that defined her life had never felt as long as they did now, then something pulled at her hair, and they lifted her, the pain was great, things like chains seemed to grip their limbs and lifted her into the air.

She couldn't scream, she could barely breathe and with her limbs trapped, she looked like those poor butterflies that were put squash in the glass frames.

A garrote made with the bedsheets fit perfectly around her neck, her desperation was shown with the strength with which she tried to move, despite being in vain, she would never stop fighting death because life in her belly was too precious for her to give up.

A pity that the fight didn't give any result, the garrote was pulled and tied to the wood of the ceiling, and she was being hoisted, a hoarse and desperate sound came out of her fleshy lips, it was a prayer unconfirmed with the destiny that followed and prayer out of mercy so that Obatala (supreme God of gods, the first of the universe and creator of all. The supreme intelligence.) would receive her and the little son who cannot be born in the Orun (spiritual world).

A few minutes after her heart stopped beating, several heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor, the double heavy wooden door was flung open, and the duchy soldiers entered with ferocity already pronouncing:

"Duchess Adenike, your lordship will be arrested for the crime of poisoning Duke Leonard!" Behind the soldiers, the voice of the delegate's envoy rang out, but the only thing it got back was a heavy silence.

He stepped out from behind the soldiers who seemed to have lost any ferocity, his questioning gaze landing on the body hanging by the neck, he too was motionless until a maid who came running and trembling with a letter in her hands and she saw the body of her employer and friend hanging in that room that had a lamp on with a flickering yellowish light illuminating the bare feet of the duchess.

The scream of pain and panic seemed to echo in that long, silent corridor.

The paper fell from her trembling hands and there was a message written in fresh ink as if she had just written:

One out of seven, the country has to be rid of this dirty black blood.