POV: Ash 

Location: Northern Empire

The wine glass in my hand reflected a dark red color, the color I despise the most. Looking at the pink-haired bartender I managed a smile, I was trying to hide the disappointment I felt when he told me they only had a Cristo left. The red wine unique to this village, the place where I would be crashing tonight.

"Do you like the wine?" he asked, polishing a glass cup in his hands with a handkerchief.

I nodded yes to him, tilting my head upwards so that he could get a clear look at my face. My gray witch's hat was shielding my face completely from him.

"Glad you liked it" he continued, "Our wine is nothing compared to the blueberry wine made in the Southern Empire by those bastards."

At that time my facial expression changed and I looked at him with eyes stretching out of my face.

"Those bastards don't know the difference between a wine and a lemon Juice." He grinned heavily as he said that—placing the glass cup he was holding on a cupboard behind him.

As his vision returned from the cupboard, my cold eyes met his gaze with an intense glare. He paused then crossed his arms over his chest, he then gasped a bit before frowning his face.

"Young witch!" he called out, his voice now lacking the calmness it had before.

"Don't tell me you are offended by my remarks about the Southern Empire?"

I hate myself for this, I know it more than anybody else that it's taboo to show the slightest care for the Southerners, however, when he ventured upon insults, my soul could not forgive him for insulting the homeland of Bash, where my other half is located.

"Take that back!" I said, my voice loud as a thunder.

He took a slow step closing the little distance between us, lowering his height to meet my sitting position he muttered. 

"What did you just say, Young witch" 

"I said...take back your insults Mr."

Without hesitating he took the wine glass in my hand and poured the red wine on my gray hat. I waited for over 30 seconds as he slowly dyed my hat the shade of red, the color I hated the most.

Bringing my hat down to my thighs— I whispered to the pink-haired bartender. "You would regret this," my voice was cracking as if a volcano would explode.

To make matters worse, he suddenly stretched his hand in the air and crashed the cup he was holding onto my head. The blood leaving my cracked head splattered onto his white shirt, painting it deep red.

"Shit," I whispered as all the attention of the people in the bar turned to us, everybody was just staring at a young lady covered in her blood, the smell of the Cristo mingled with the scent of my blood to create an eerie atmosphere.

"Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!!!" I shouted. My blood was boiling and I could feel the oxygen in the surrounding slowly mixing with it.

Laughters were Echoing throughout the tiny bay. 

As my consciousness started to become hazy, my ears started to pick on the whispers of the people present.

"Serves her right," says someone.

"A witch caring for the southerners, Impossible," whispered another soul.

"you reap what you sow," a voice hissed from the background.

At that time, I struggle to move my neck in a circle, taking a round view of the bar. 

With eyes looking at me with disdain—I whispered to myself, "if only they knew, if only they knew the curse I am carrying, the crimson blood stuck in my veins."

The last image I saw was that of the pink-haired bartender giggling at the sight of my blood-soaked face.

With my eyes shut down, I still manage to hold onto a tiny bit of my consciousness. The words that came out of my mouth were "I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry..."

The whole bar united with an intense giggle.

"if only they knew," I whispered again. 

"Get out of here if you want to survive, before I completely lose control— "

A wave of laughter followed the last warning I was able to give. I did my best, even if my heart was not able to mourn their deaths, at least, my actions showed it was never my choice to become a bloodthirsty witch.

Although I could not see nor could I hear, I could sense it, I could sense my blood coming into life and rising like a serpent. It made a loud sound from only vibrations, crying out like a blood thirsty animal.

Seconds later, people began to scream, they screamed so loud that the sound of their souls leaving their bodies was visible.

I could sense it, I could sense the demon in the form of my blood piercing through the limbs of others. 

The blood would levitate in the air while flowing like a long thin river around my body, seconds later, it would violently stretch like a tong from a frog, striking its target and ripping them into pieces.

I was counting, one, two, three. I counted until a total of fourteen bodies dropped on the floor. After that, the ritual began, the feeding process.

My eyes were forced open and I found myself standing in the center of the bar, right in front of me, two men and a young lady were laying down lifeless, their heads missing from their bodies.

When I turned around to look at the pink-haired bartender. His body was split into four, his eyes and a scrambled brain were splattered on the wooden counter.

I could not care about the furniture, tables split into pieces and one of the yellow lights burst open. The fireflies that escaped from the bursted glass were flying around me. It seems they were the only life spared by the cursed blood flowing inside me.

I opened my mouth and began the ritual, the art of devouring blood of the victims of fate, if I did not do that, my hungry blood would let loose on innocent people once again--when I am least expecting.

"OYIDEY," I commanded.

"Come to me little ones," 

"I would be your new home."

"Come to Ash, the crimson witch."

Like a vacuum sucking in air, the blood of the fourteen people I killed flowed towards me, entering my body through contact with my skin.

I watched as the red blood I hate so much made it way into me, violating every inch of my body. I have lost count of how many lives the blood has snatched from this world. 

However, I would not be a coward. I would accept responsibility for the actions of the Crimson blood, their deaths are my responsibility, my sin, I would accept the grudges directed at me. However, I cannot afford to be punished for my sins, I have made a promise to meet Bash on the other side of the River. 

Until then, I would become a monster if I had to, I would take on the hatred of the entire world on my shoulders. 

Until the day my dream comes true and I physically unite with Bash, my other half, I refuse to die for my sins.