Gladiatrix

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Lysandra would never forget her first time.

Alone, she walked through the darkness of the passageway towards the sun-filled amphitheatre.

As she drew closer to the arena, she became aware of the sound from above — a rhythmic, thrumming cadence that began at the periphery of her consciousness. Distant at first, it became hypnotic as a siren’s song, permeating the stone around her, penetrating her to the very bone.

Lysandra battled to keep her churning emotions in check. Fear flowed through her veins and, for a moment, she faltered. Yet part of her surged with the desire to face this most terrible of challenges. It flared only briefly but burned hot enough to sear away her terror. From the darkness, she stepped into the harsh light of the arena.

The roar of the crowd was a living thing as it assaulted her and she staggered beneath its violent intensity. Row upon row of the screaming mob surrounded her, the amphitheatre stuffed full, as if it were a massive god gorging upon base humanity. Her vision swam as she registered innumerable faces, twisted and distorted, their mouths wide open with howls of lust and anticipation.

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