《What Lies Beyond the Flame and its Reckoning》


 Compromit - 0.0

    Do you know how curses are made?


    A curse is not mere words flung into the void; it is an act of creation, deliberate and searing.


    To curse is to wish suffering upon another, willingly, knowingly.


    But to will suffering, one must first hold it.


    Not distantly, not abstractly, but intimately, as one knows the lines of their own hand.


    Like one embraces a lover.


    To curse, suffering must not just be known.


    It must be lived.


    It must carve its mark into flesh and soul, leaving behind an understanding that no words can capture.


    Onemust walk through fire, feel the scorch of anguish, taste despair as if it were one¡¯sown blood.


    Only then can the curse be born, a shard ofyourown pain, honed and sharpened by will.


    A curse is no fleeting act of spite. It is a covenant with darkness, a pact sealed by the weight of one¡¯s own torment.


    It draws from the depths of what we are capable of enduring


    and worse


    what we are capable of inflicting.


    To curse is to cast a piece of your soul away, tethered to another''s downfall.


    But beware,


    Suffering, like iron, holds memory.


    And what you send into the world may yet return, as ash borne back by the wind.


    For in knowing pain so deeply, one is never free of it.


    So I ask again: do you know how curses are forged? Do you truly understand what it means to wish another to suffer?


    Let me show you¡­


    ¡­


    I woke with a splitting headache that echoed throughthe walls of my skull.My body felt undone, a heap of trembling jelly barely held together by skin, as if I¡¯d spent eternity clinging to the edge of an abyss. My muscles screamed, taut with the memory of strain, and behind my eyelids, seared into my mind, was a vision; a formless shape, an unnameable presence.


    It wasn¡¯t a sound but a sensation, a cry that resonated through the marrow of my bones. A beckoning, a call. A reminder of the price I¡¯d paid and an open invitationfor moreknowledge to be forced into my fragile, mortal mind. It was never enough. No amount of bargaining, no volume of blood, no number of torn nails.


    Burn them next.Place them on iron, and set them on fire.


    The thought lingered, cold and inevitable, more like a prophecy of my own future than a demand.There was no restfrom thatcalling, no escape from that desire to return, to ask for more,for something different. And yet, the guilt ate me from the inside; the guilt of holding a gift I could not fully appreciate. Who could wield the power to ask anythingand have an answer,and not feel paralyzed by sheer scope of it?


    But of course, it¡¯s not thatsimple, it never is. The connection isn¡¯t free. To even maintain the faintest thread of communication required sacrifices, too many,andtoo costly for someone already so worn and broken. And, of course,to pose a questiona tollfar more precious than flesh or coinwas required.


    I had found a loopholethough, or so I told myself. I didn¡¯t need to ask directly. I could play intermediary, a bridge. I could glimpse an echo, fractured truths and glimpses of reality so alien they would drive most minds to madness. Slowly, sliver by sliver, I hoarded these fragments. A fountain of knowledge, crude and incomplete, but valuableto the right person. Something I could barter with.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    It was slow and tedious, yes, but safer.


    Relatively.


    The haze began to clearas Islowlybecame aware of my surroundings. The wooden floor beneath me was warm against my back, though slick with a small puddle of blood pooling from my forearm. The larger pool of blood that was previously there already consumed by a thing that knew only pain and hunger.


    At least not everything was taken, only blood, nails, and probably a surprise amount of pain to come the following week; scattered coins, a pouch of spices, a tarnished necklace, and a slip of paper with my name scrawled upon itremained. Inside it, in small, cautious handwriting, was the favor I had promised. Meticulously worded, of course, no loopholes I could see, and I had even asked for help with it. Expensive help.


    I carefully stood up, made my way to the bathroom, and quickly got into the shower.


    Should we disregard knowledge? I find myself asking this after having learned, after crossing a threshold that cannot be uncrossed. I ask it now, as I look at the world and see something else entirely; layers of meaning that didn¡¯t exist beforeor werehidden behind a veil of ignorance. Blissful, serene ignorance. In its absence, I am drownedby complexityand itsreason, by the unmasking of reality that shows all is truly random, meaningless, and yet nothing is.


    Nothing is.


    Nothing is right. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.


    Since my earliest days, I have carried this hunger. A gnawing, restless need that has followed me through the years like a shadow, growing darker and deeper with time. At first, I thought it was a hunger for destruction. It thrilled me to break things, to feel the satisfying crunch of order giving way to chaos. I toppled sandcastles with glee, dug holes in the earth as though I might find something hidden within, struck dry ground with a hammer just to watch cracks spiderweb outward. It was power, pure and intoxicating.


    Afleeting taste of control in a world that felt vast and untamed. I was cruel then, laughing at misery, reveling in entropy.


    But even destruction, for all its weight and finality, was not enough.


    So I turned to creation.


    I began to write, to draw, to write melodies and poems. I tried to dance, and miserably failed, and I made music, art, love, and compassion, as though weaving beauty might patch the swelling darkness within me. For a time, it seemed to work. I lost myself in the act of creation, in the joy of making something where there was once nothing. I do love it still, writing, music, poetry, but it wasn¡¯t enough.


    Because it was never about the act itself. It was about the weight.


    Not the weight of matter, not the physics of mass or energy, but the weight of moments. The weight that lingers after a first kiss, electric and fleeting. The weight of silence after thunder, when the world holds its breath. The weight of laughter and tears mingling in the same breath, of rain falling on cracked earth, of finding something precious that was thought lost forever. That weight.


    The weight of whistling in the dark, empty streets on the way home, feeling the solitude press against your ribs. The weight of singing a song no one will ever hear. The weight that comes where death brushes close, where life begins anew.


    The heavy, crushing weight of seeing something and remembering the time when it was just one thing, uncomplicated and whole. When a song was just a melody, not a gateway to memories long buried. When a face was just a face,andnot a ghost that haunts your every reflection. The burdensome weight your voice carriesafter taking so many sounds from those who were loved and are now missed, and hearing them wherever you speak.


    Knowledge has a weight of its own. It doesn¡¯t just fill you; it pulls at you, reshapes you, demands a part of you in return. The world becomes sharper, harder, more vivid, and more unbearable. And yet, even in this weight, I cannot stop reaching.


    Sharp knocking interrupted my thoughts. I shut off the water, got out of the shower, and hastily got dressed after putting a bandage on my forearm. The shower was covered in now diluted blood, and fat round drops marked the path I had walked on the clean ceramic floor as I tried to dry my hair a bit.


    Three more sharp knocks reverberated through my department.


    ¡°Hello? S¨¦adna, you there, dude?¡±


    I took a quick glance at myself before going answering the door. Frankly, I looked like absolute shit, even after the shower. I hadn¡¯t realized my hair was already reaching my shoulders. Maybe it¡¯s time to cut it, I thought.


    I could probably keep it somewhere, I bet that burning it also makes for a good evocation.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming in! Cover yourself, or whatever. If you¡¯re even there¡­¡±


    Crap.


    ¡°I¡¯m going!¡± I croaked as I hurried to answer the door.


    ¡°Dude, I¡¯ve been calling you¡± Cath¨¢n said as he entered my apartment and promptly stopped in front of me, looking at me with unbelieving eyes, almost as if I - ¡°you look like shit, S¨¦adna, sit down, man. You ok?¡±


    He took me towards the couch, and forced me to sit. I didn¡¯t have enough energy left to resist, or say anything, so I just let him. My body complained, but sitting down actually felt really good. I could perhaps let some of my guard down, now that Cath¨¢n was here.


    ¡°Dude, what¡¯s that smell? I¡¯m gonna open the windows. How can you live like this, man?¡± He scolded me as he made his way into the kitchen. Thankfully, I always made sure to hide everything that was used in rituals so that they were almost imperceptible. Who would suspect anything about a few jars of spices?


    Cath¨¢n came back, sat down besides me, and offered me a glass of water he brought from the kitchen. I drank it in one big gulp as I had just realized I was parched. It was probably all the blood I had lost¡­ the blood¡­ in the kitchen¡­


    ¡°S¨¦adna, is everything ok?¡±


    How can I explain this¡­

 Reveal - 1.1

    Things could have gone worse, I thought as Trystan said his goodbyes and left. Cath¨¢n had called him and Matthias, though Matthias had left at midnight, which was reasonable considering it was almost 3 in the morning now. Cath¨¢n picked up the dirty dishes and made his way to the kitchen, where the sink was promptly turned on.


    ¡°Hey, man, you can leave the dishes. You¡¯ve done enough already, I can do ¡®em tomorrow.¡± I said as I got up from the table and went to him. Eating nourished not only my battered body, but my weakened soul as well. Losing that amount of blood was a terrible oversight.


    I wonder what can I use in place of my blood¡­ There¡¯s no way I¡¯m using mine again after this. Perhaps a sacrifice? I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m capable of killing an animal, but I can¡¯t see why one that¡¯s already dead wouldn¡¯t work.


    Money would be the only problem, I guess; meat¡¯s expensive, after all, and I¡¯m not willing to risk it with butchery refuse and other things I can find for free. Maybe offal?


    ¡°You should go sleep, dude, you keep zoning out. I¡¯ll take care of everything, don¡¯t worry. Go sleep.¡±


    Before I could resist, he grabbed me by my shoulders, turned me around, and pushed me out of the kitchen and into my room as he turned on the lights.


    ¡°I¡¯ll call you tomorrow, now, sleep, ok? Goodnight¡± Cath¨¢n said as he left as quickly as he got in. I wanted to go back but at after seeing my bed my eyelids were steadily growing heavier and heavier. I managed to take off my shoes and fall on my stomach in the mattress before immediately passing out from exhaustion.


    ¡­


    I saw myself suspended from high above, a mere shadow of what I once was, spread out and flattened, as though I were delicate parchment stretched too thin. All I could see was an overwhelming emptiness. And then, there was Death, standing beside me, her presence not ominous but strangely calming, like a shadow that neither threatened nor fled. Soothing like shade on a hot summer day.


    ¡°Voids,¡± she whispered, her voice as soft and timeless as distant waves lapping against the shore, ¡°aren¡¯t your enemy. They can be your freedom.¡±


    Her words lingered, reshaping the silence that hung between us. These voids, these empty spaces I had long ignored, weren¡¯t burdens to bear, but invitations- to remake, to make mine, to claim. They belonged to me, ready to be filled not with what had been, but with the power of what could be; my will to create, to give meaning.


    It struck me then that I had never truly seen them before. My gaze had always sought what was present, never considering what was missing, what could be. But now, as I drifted through this infinite sea of souls, all laid out same as mine, I watched everything that had been defined dissolve, fall apart, and fade into nothingness. All that remained was the void, intact, unchanged, with its silent promise.


    ¡°How do I turn that which means nothing and turn it into something that does?¡± I asked.


    ¡°First, it must be lost.¡±


    ¡­


    I woke up feeling like absolute crap, but way better than how I felt yesterday. I didn¡¯t bother putting on shoes as I went to the living room and finally checked my phone, dreading that I would have lost calls, or that I had slept for too long.


    No lost calls, though I did have a decent number of texts checking up on me. Mainly from Matthias, which did warm my heart a bit. I had forgotten about my friends in my obsessive search of what lay beyond the veil of normality we all seemed stuck at.


    Not all was lost, thankfully. I still had to apologize, though, but I could do that later, when things calmed down a bit. It would be manipulative of me if I asked to be forgiven after all that happened yesterday, after all.


    It was 4 PM, still somewhat early. Today I could buy meat and such, but I needed money first¡­ Cath¨¢n was probably tutoring right now, but perhaps Trystan or Matthias are out working, so I sent a few texts and decided to meet with them at the usual spot.


    It was cloudy, which was preferable to having a blazing sun giving me sunburns¡­ I did not have enough money to waste on sunscreen.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    People filled the streets, and I tried and miserably failed to bump into every other person that passed me by. I couldn¡¯t help but be a bit paranoid about being stolen from, but I was confident that my fanny pack and leg pouch were hard to get into. The stuff I carried wasn¡¯t that expensive, but I had them with me since I began studying at my university, and they were a gift from my friends; pliers, and half a dozen dull knives, with only one razor sharp, sheathed and marked by an unnoticeably small blue tape in the pommel. I also carried wooden beads, coils of wire and string, a few leather strips, a small number of small and unnasuming pretty stones I had bartered for with a bracelet, and of course some of my finished crafts. A dozen unique bracelets, earrings, keychains, and a pair of rings. Crafts weren¡ät my forte per se, but I loved doing them, and when one eventually sold it was extra money I wasn¡¯t actively sweating my ass off for.


    I could see my friends from quite a long distance; tools flew in an almost hypnotizing manner, following a steady and confident circular motion. I quickened my pace, and was promptly greeted by a one armed hug from Trystan.


    Matthias still had a few seconds left before it was green light again and he could rest.


    ¡°Trust the hungriest to come work early, well, relatively early. Cath¨¢n told me y¡¯all went to sleep at like 4 AM¡± Trystan said with a beaming smile. ¡°How you doing?¡± He carried in his left hand a square surface covered by a scarlet fabric which was full of necklaces and bracelets. Most of them had silver wire stylized into exotic shapes, sometimes holding a precious stone, which was part of his signature. He was the one that taught me to work with wire, after all, though I had always preferred copper rather than silver; buying silver wire was kinda expensive compared to finding copper wires and stripping them of the plastic covering.


    ¡°Better, but I¡¯m still a bit battered, so I didn¡¯t bring the fire stuff. How is the day going?¡±


    ¡°Eh, you know. Same old, same old¡­ Haven¡¯t sold much. I was by the supermarket next street for a while before Matthias showed up. I was thinking of moving to another place, but now that you¡¯re here¡­ I¡¯m just waiting for you to do your magic.¡± He smiled, before turning around as the cars started moving once again and Matthias was jogging our way.


    ¡°Lucky Charm man, you came just in time! Today has been awful!¡± Matthias said as he grabbed me around the neck with his arms and playfully grated his knuckles on my hair ¡°People are stingy, my palms are sweaty, and, to be honest, I¡¯ve been waiting for quite some time to do that ladykiller move with you.¡± He was the oldest and more experienced of us, his skin tanned by countless hours toiling below the sun, and his hair short and utilitarian, almost the complete opposite of Trystan, who had a braided brown hair, and no matter how much he tried, could never get rid of his milkish tone.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t bring the fire stuff, sorry. I¡¯m not feeling good enough to try that¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, it¡¯s ok, just bring on the good luck. You¡¯re doing the street perpendicular to this?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I also brought some of the stuff I made¡±


    ¡°I can hold on to that. You guys can do your thing while I sell stuff¡± offered Trystan.


    I gave Trystan the finished stuff I carried with me, and hurriedly went to the street that crossed this one as I took out my knives. I made a quick demonstration using the sharp knife, grabbing people¡¯s attention, which I then hid away with a sleight of hand and replaced with a dull knife, and started juggling, slowly picking up the rhythm and finding a pace my bruised body and soul could endure.


    Three hours passed before we were done for the day, and true to their beliefs, we had made a decent amount. Including what Trystan had managed to sell both from mine and his.


    With my pockets 15 pounds heavier, I said goodbye to Trystan and Matthias as they went home, and I made my way to the cheapest butcher shop nearby.


    Offal seems a good choice, though now that I thought of it, butchery refuse didn¡¯t seem as that bad of an idea; I did use nails and hair, after all, but they were mine, and not an animal¡¯s. I had the theory that it was either less potent, or that it beckoned another type of entity. Maybe having some type of journal to document my findings would be a good idea, but I didn¡¯t like the idea of having a physical object that could be found, or worse, stolen. Online wasn¡¯t that better; I wasn¡¯t going to place sensitive information in something I didn¡¯t even know how it worked.


    In the end, I had bought almost three pounds of fresh offal; hearts and other stuff I couldn¡¯t name by sight alone, and I also managed to get my hands on a few bones for no additional cost. Maybe I could do some nice crafts with them, but I needed more tools¡­ Trystan and Cath¨¢n ought to have some I could borrow.


    I walked my way home, preferring to save the money I would have used on the bus, and began the preparations.


    This time I wanted to go bigger, so I decided to watch an online inTV video on how to cut my hair, grabbed the decent amount I had gotten (not before looking at the mirror and realizing I hadn¡¯t done that bad of a job, all things considered) and sat down on the wooden floor to get in the right headspace.


    The animal, and the human, in one.


    Fire as the catalyst, to call upon those that lurk behind the smoke.


    The offerings in a circle surrounding me.


    The hair and some blood, to be burnt.


    Some words, to seal the deal.


    No music; I still haven¡¯t found a song that fits.


    I was ready.

 Reveal - 1.2

    So, you put on a suit and, somehow, you¡¯re no longer an animal? You write, you speak, you¡¯re educated, you eat and commune and dream and dance and laugh and cry, but you¡¯re not an animal? What a load of nonsense!


    Human is just your second language.


    ...


    I am that which has no answer.


    I am of paradox.


    I am the Fool, and I follow no path but to wander freely.


    Is a knife evil? Is cold evil?


    I know not evil, for I am not it.


    Evil is on humanity''s dominion.


    And so is good.


    I am of what lies in between, the transient state.


    I am of change.


    Who are you, morsel?


    Beware, He is watching.


    I could finally breathe, though the feeling that I was deep underwater didn¡¯t cease at all. I could feel the imposing presence weighting down on me, as if I carried the world on shoulders of rusty nails and broad thorns. I was afraid of what my answer could end up doing, but I was in too deep to stop now.


    ¡°My name is S¨¦adna, and I have summoned you in pursuit of knowledge¡­¡± I ventured. This was the first time I had been reached by something this terrifying, and I found myself quite outside my depth. ¡°Can I ask for your name?¡± I asked, to which the thing laughed, making my entire body tremble, though none of the objects in the room seemed to move at all compared to the violent shaking I was enduring.


    Many would consider that request an offense, S¨¦adna,


    it said, audibly rolling my name in its tongue and stretching it out, as if savoring its taste,


    but you are new to this, I can taste it. You¡¯ll be forgiven for your transgressions for the first and last time.


    It seemed I wasn¡¯t too far from the mark with tasting bit¡­


    Call me¡­Casamir, yes.


    Knowledge you ask, and knowledge I¡¯ll give,


    even considering the meagre offering I¡¯ve received;Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Names hold power, boy, don¡¯t give yours freely.


    The lights flickered, and promptly burnt out. My heart leapt into my throat as I felt a hand, coarse and hairy, rest heavily on my shoulder. Its nails bit into my skin, sharp as daggers, but the hand shifted and changed, becoming softer than any touch I had ever known. Goosebumps prickled my skin.


    You seem promising, but I¡¯m running on borrowed time,


    and my master would love to meet you, so I will do a favor to you both.


    But next time, get more meat. Bird meat is the tastiest.


    Variety goes a long way for those that mostly sate their hunger on the flesh of their kin, he laughed and the heavy weight was gone, but the lights didn¡¯t go back to normal.


    For quite some time I was too afraid to move and get up, but in the stark darkness of my apartment, my phone started ringing.


    ¡°Sup S¨¦adna, I¡¯m bringing pizza. You ate already?¡± Asked Cath¨¢n as soon as I answered the call. I was still on shock, so I just grunted a ¡®no¡¯, which he took in stride as he continued ¡°Trystan and Matthias are joining us as well. See you in 15 minutes¡±


    He ended the call, and I got up from the floor, and using the flashlight, opened all the windows in the apartment. The smell of burnt hair was very noticeable, after all.


    The problem was, after trying to turn on the lights again, he realized that it wasn¡¯t a trick and, yes, all the lightbulbs in his place had been burnt.


    ¡­


    When Cath¨¢n arrived, it was half an hour later. He carried a box of lightbulbs along with the pizza, his usual grin in place.


    ¡°S¨¦adna, I think you¡¯re cursed, man. The smells, the lights¡± He paused, his tone dropping. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to freak you out, but¡­ I keep seeing things. At the edges of my vision. In the doorways, outside the windows. This place is haunted, man, I¡¯m telling you. I know somebody that can help you, here¡±


    He grabbed a napkin,  and quickly scrawled a name and number: Shea, written in a neat and flowy script, followed by a number and an almost unnassuming heart at the end. The writing wasn¡¯t Cath¨¢n¡¯s, and I could almost hear Casamir¡¯s mocking laughter in my mind.


    ¡°Just remember,¡± Cath¨¢n, or whatever was speaking through him, said with a chuckle, ¡°bring meat. Bird meat. We¡¯ll be waiting.¡±


    I stared at the napkin in his hand, the small heart at the end both mocking and unsettling. I almost wanted to laugh it off but the air still felt wrong, thick and slow like tar, as though the world hadn¡¯t quite shifted back to normal.


    ¡°Cath¨¢n¡­¡± I began, but quickly stopped. My friend, or whatever this was, was rummaging through the pizza box, seemingly oblivious to the weight of the moment.


    ¡°Relax, man,¡± Cath¨¢n said, biting into a slice. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡±


    My mouth went dry. My voice barely above a whisper, I asked ¡°Who¡¯s Shea?¡±


    Cath¨¢n froze mid-bite. For a moment, his carefree demeanor slipped, and something darker flashed across his face. ¡°Shea?¡± he repeated, drawing the word out. ¡°Why are you asking me?¡±


    ¡°The name you wrote¡± I said, holding up the napkin.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t write that,¡± Cath¨¢n replied, his voice lower now, more serious. He squinted at the napkin, his brow furrowing. ¡°That¡¯s not my handwriting.¡±


    The room felt colder with each passing moment.


    I fucked up, I fucked up.


    Why, why did I have to go bigger? Why couldn¡¯t I be content with the slow and steady way? Was my friend¡¯s support making me bolder? Reckless?


    I was knee-deep in shit, and I briefly entertained the idea of leaving the city and everything behind, to start anew far, far away from whatever it was that was waiting for me a single phone call away. But I couldn¡¯t, they knew Cath¨¢n¡¯s name.


    ¡°S¨¦adna, man, are you ok?¡±


    I wanted to push further, but knocking stopped me on my tracks; Trystan and Matthias were outside the door, their chatter breaking the silence like a sledgehammer, and the ominous napkin was still in my hand.


    I royally fucked up.

 Reveal - 1.a - Unveil

    I was?always surprised at how warm fresh blood was. It thrummed alive, every part of me a thin quiver reaching?out and fading into the air. Its deep, shifting hues, the way it clung and cooled, the way it flaked away like ash. All of it was a language, ancient and raw, that spoke straight to my soul. With reverence, I drew the sigils; each motion?was deliberate, and I carved each line like a silent prayer in crimson.


    With each passing moment, as I worked, I felt the air shift, charged by Her approach. The tiniest breeze stirred and, in that instant, cooled the blood spread upon my body. I didn''t stop. I let my fingers dance in the inked patterns of scars below the fresh carmine offering. The white lines rose through the red like shadows through mist.


    And then She came.


    Her arrival was not heralded with sound, but by sudden stillness; a presence so immense that silenced the world. She stepped right into my offering circle, and everything I was, thoughts, breathing, heartbeat, merged into Her, like spilling a cup of water into the depths of an unmeasurable ocean.


    She was beautiful in ways beyond mere words. The blood coating Her body shone, a dark patina that never dried, glistening like the river at midnight, living and flowing like a silk dress in a light breeze. Her shape, as I stood there staring at Her, was protean, impossible and yet still terribly human, so achingly familiar that my own voice shook. And Her eyes, or the voids in that perfect face where eyes should be, emptied themselves into infinity. Void and overflowing in equal measure, black yet glimmering with all the light that had ever been, both the sparkling nebulae and the dark and empty night sky. To look into them was to feel the weight of existence pressing down, to see the fragile thread of what I was stretched against the vast tapestry of what lay beyond.


    I dropped onto my knees, shaking beneath the weight of Her gaze. Still, I could not look away. I didn¡¯t want to.


    Her voice came, not as sound, but as truth carved into my very essence.


    YOU HAVE DONE WELL


    YOUR OFFERINGS HAVE PLEASED ME


    AND YOU DID WHAT I ASKED TO THE BEST OF YOUR ABILITES.


    YOUR RESULTS WERE NOTHING SHORT OF PERFECTION


    AND AS A REWARD, I WILL GIVE YOU ONE GIFT.


    ASK, AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE


    Smitten, my heart was bursting with emotion too big to hold inside. I had always given all to Her, never expecting anything in return. My worship was not born of desire for reward but of awe, of the privilege to exist even as a shadow in Her radiance. Yet She offered. She offered! And I could not squander such a sacred moment.


    "My Lady," I whispered, my voice shaking, "I am unworthy of your kindness. To serve you is the only gift I have ever sought. But if I must ask, then I ask this: a single kiss, to feel your touch, or, if such a request offends you, to stay in your presence a little longer, so that I may gaze into your eyes and lose myself in you. That¡¯s all I could ever want."


    She was silent for a moment that stretched into eternity, and I felt the weight of her gaze deepen. The void within her eyes opened, drawing me closer, and I felt myself unraveling, thread by thread, until all that remained was my raw, unguarded soul.


    YOU SERVE, AND ASK FOR NOTHING


    AND YOUR FAITH IN ME HAS NOT WAVERED ONCE


    YOU THINK OF YOURSELF AS UNDESERVING


    YET I HAVE CHOSEN YOU FOR A REASON


    SO THIS IS WHAT I OFFER TO YOU;Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I OFFER YOU MY HAND IN UNION, SO THAT YOU MAY NEVER BE FAR FROM ME, INTERTWINED


    I¡¯LL BE YOURS, SAME AS YOU ARE MINE.


    DO YOU ACCEPT?


    I saw Her for the first time. Not the god I had worshiped from afar, not the untouchable deity I had kept on a pedestal, but a presence vast and eternal, now lowering Herself to meet me. I saw the size of what she decided, the burden of what she was offering. I felt the enormous weight of what She offered.


    I spoke through tears streaming down my bloody face.


    "My Lady, I would give my life and more. I accept. I accept with all that I am, all that I will ever be."


    She drew closer, and her form shimmered with light even beneath the mantle of blood. She held out a hand; as I clasped it, the world appeared to break down around us. Her touch branded itself into me, not in pain, but in power, a flood of understanding and connection so profound that I felt myself dissolve into Her.


    Then, our lips met, and I blacked out.


    ¡­


    Death is Change,


    even if exempt from it.


    same as water is exempt from getting wet,


    same as fire is safe from scorching itself,


    Death is exempt from Change,


    And nothing else is.


    ¡­


    I awoke sprawled on the hardwood floor, the lazy morning sun stabbing in through the window and straight into my eyes. My skin was stuck to the floorboards with dried blood, and its adhesive grip gave way with a sickly pull as I shifted. The sound was soft, visceral, bringing back all the memories of last night. I sat up then, working kinks out of stiff limbs; sleeping on the floor had pulled my muscles tight.


    The mirror in the bathroom greeted me with the ghost of another life. And in an instant, as I caught my reflection, I saw her, completely submerged, deep inside the brown of my eyes, like a leviathan resting beneath an ocean of calm. Her presence made tears spill, trailing warmth over my cheeks. They weren''t the tears of sorrow but something stranger, closer to reverence.


    The shower hissed alive, and scalding water cascaded over me, washing off the blood that clung to me like a second skin. It swirled, red and dark, down the drain, revealing the intricate lattice of white ink etched across my body. I traced the delicate linework with my fingers, following the art like one would follow threads in a spider''s web, each line a prayer, a promise. Only my back remained untouched, an unfinished canvas waiting for completion. No matter how much I had tried, I never managed to reach my back with the needle, which now seemed obvious, but in that moment in my life I was blinded by submission, not enlightened by union.


    "Someday soon," I whispered to myself, knowing right then and there that I would find someone worthy to finish what I had started what felt like so many years ago.


    Dressed, I returned to the scene of my awakening. The floor wore my bloody silhouette, a grotesque outline of my form. Droplets traced a path to where I had lain. Evidence of the Lady in Red, when I was but a fragment, not rejoined to the whole I had become.


    Mopping was too slow, too mundane for this ritual. Instead, I jabbed a needle into my finger and watched the bright sting explode. One droplet of blood beaded on my skin, shiny and scarlet.


    All blood was mine. It always had been.


    I willed it silently, and the congealed residue on the floor stirred and coursed, heeding my command. The shape melted away into nothing, sucked back inside me. A little smile played on my lips, a simple thing, yet so satisfactory.


    I had not eaten that morning, a conscious act of fasting to frame what had occurred the night before. My body felt lighter, sharper, as if I carried less but had infinitely more. There was no need for excess, no need for spare clothes, for everything I might need could be asked for, haggled for. I carried offerings inside me now, an endless currency of blood.


    The platform was abuzz with the inane hum of travelers at the train station.


    My destination: Seovecurt, Aedland.


    Not my first journey abroad, but this mission was unlike anything I had undertaken before. Absolutes did not wander lightly, and their proximity was both summon and warning.


    Even I, an Old Daughter of Change, was but a whisper in the presence of an Absolute. My parent was a being whose nature overshadowed mine, and to be in its shadow was both a proud thing and a humiliation.


    An assistant interrupted my reverie with a question, his voice curt but courteous. "Ma''am, I need your name and contact information in case of any sign of Hemotaxial Disorder present within the train."


    The words hung in the air, a relic of a pandemic whose scars still lingered. Hemotaxial Disorder. My masterpiece. A malady so intricate in its design, so simple in its execution, that even now theories of its origin spiraled into oblivion. It had run its course, its purpose fulfilled, and I remained quietly proud of the chaos it had sown.


    ¡°Ophelia Morelis¡± I smiled and met his gaze with calm authority.


    ¡­


    I spent the entire journey in a wordless prayer, both worshipper and Sacrifice, mortal and immortal.


    In Aedland the air was fresher, though it would be a lie if I said that I could smell the sea. I had to go to the beach some day soon, before too many things were set in motion. I could feel that it would be some time before I stumbled upon the people I had to find, but I had all the time in the world.

 Reveal - 1.b - Glance

    There¡¯s a real sense of peace in knowing that not all others are like you, a sadistic kind of peace, inhuman and brutal, in the certainty that everything that¡¯s wrong with me isn¡¯t necessarily wrong with her. That she only inherited my eyes, and those dimples I learned to love only after seeing her smile.


    I would have thanked God, if only I hadn¡¯t sold my soul. But falling down is human nature. We must always go down, deeper.


    I swam in filth, I drowned in the hubris, in the rotting halcyon, in its cracked sphere. I saw my body in its bleak death, and I wanted to open its empty eyes, clean the blood off its mouth, take it from the end, and ask it if it saw God. But I dreaded the answer.


    That was in the past now, even if it sometimes still haunts me.


    I didn¡¯t flinch when faced by all my actions. Some just need to die, there¡¯s no mercy to be given there, no alternative path, no escape from duty, just cold-blooded will, playing executioner to things bigger than us that are always watching, judging.


    One of the few human things left in me was the ability to adapt, to survive, to get used to views so unsettling, where wickedness rose like a faint mist, imprints left after vicious things passed, an foul unending echo of a scream borne out of pure suffering, robbing you of your humanity with every moment you spent in its vicinity. I had lost so much, and yet, even as I doubted, I hadn¡¯t lost my ability to love unhindered.


    She was the light of my life, my pride, my salvation.


    ¡°Dad, I¡¯m not a kid anymore, I can go by myself, and besides, my friends offered to come pick me up¡± Katharina said, sulking ¡°Look, they already think I¡¯m weird, and I really don¡¯t care, but I don¡¯t wanna make it worse by bringing my dad with me. Parents aren¡¯t supposed to know¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get why they don¡¯t wanna tell their parents, and I¡¯m not telling them either only because you asked me to, but what is there so wrong with you guys meeting up and stuff? I¡¯ve told you, if you wanna do parties, I can lend you the house¡± I said, with Katharina deepening her frown with each word that came out of my mouth until I mentioned lending her the house, to which her face brightened up ¡°I¡¯m not lending you the car, though. Get a license¡± I quickly added, bringing back her frown.


    ¡°I can go with them, and I¡¯ll be careful, I promise. I¡¯ll call you if something happens, but please, please let me go alone.¡±


    It¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t trust her, quite the contrary, but lately there¡¯s been this¡­ foul smell permeating the air, almost imperceptible. My gut told me something weird was going on somewhere in the city. And to think that I had moved here looking for peace and tranquility.


    ¡°Fine, but you¡¯ll keep me updated, ok? Where you are, and how you¡¯re doing. I can pick you up whenever you want.¡±


    It smelt like burnt bodies, that type of smell that followed you around like a vengeful ghost, like the very things I had hurt others so much for. The smell woke me up, like a shark sensing blood, like a famined beast that had found prey right under its nose, it made me want to leave everything and track whatever the source of that awful smell was, and I could almost savor what would lay behind¡­ but I wouldn¡¯t. For her.


    Katharina quickly went to her room, overjoyed. She was strong, and smart, and I trust her to keep herself safe or to ask for help when she¡¯s in trouble, but still, it didn¡¯t help with the fear. What if something went wrong? What if the worst came to pass, like it happened to me so many times before? I wouldn¡¯t go as far as to say that my bloodline is cursed, but misfortune has a way of finding me, and whether I liked it or not, my daughter is bound to be close enough to suffer some of the consequences.


    I went to the couch in the living room, and decided to have a power nap to calm my nerves, briefly leaving behind my body and rising as a diffuse thing just in time to see my daughter leaving with her friends. I stood on the window, invisible to peering eyes, and I looked. I was bombarded by information, both making sure that they were who they said they were, but also of the myriad of things that could go wrong, and now that I had looked at them and acknowledged them, all the misery and woe that would come to be, which I promptly guarded them against and dispelled whatever remains of wretchedness was left, my daughter being the only one immune to my effects. Then came the payment, and I was enveloped by a dream.


    That¡¯s where love ends,


    said a growling voice as I slowly opened my eyes and got up. I couldn¡¯t remember how exactly I had gotten here, yet I felt something missing, as if my arms and legs were wrong, but no matter how much I tried to figure out what it was, I couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling that I was trapped in a body which wasn¡¯t mine. I was in some sort of dark and moist cave, water dripping from many dangerous-looking stalactites.


    The figure was a bloated monstrosity more akin to a frog than a man; yellow and green skin full of rolls and ridges, wrinkly and coarse, with thick hairs adorning it in seemingly random places. One of its eyes was larger than the other and it almost seemed to want to escape from its gruesome face and, unblinking, it never left me from its harsh gaze.


    As soon as I wondered who the strange visage was, I knew it to be Abidan, my old friend. The price never to be fully paid.


    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± I asked, and as soon as those words left my mouth, the cave was no more, and I was left in a familiar scene. I refused to comply with the dream, so I closed my eyes, and I let fate change like I had done ever since I first found myself trapped within this particular memory. The knife never came at a particular time, it always seemed to catch me unaware, making me spatter and try to catch my breath as I felt it slowly rise from below the ribcage, straight into my heart. Slowly, it gradually went deeper and deeper, filling my chest with an excruciating amount of pain.


    Beauty lies only in the eyes of the Beholder.


    The knife reached my heart, and the memory went away. Abidan was too smart, too callous to let me grow used to a feeling. Always something different, always something else, some other time, some other pain. Emilie was standing in front of me, and even in this¡­ replica resembling the real world, in our old house, I could feel my eyes slowly withering her- us, away, no matter how many rituals I made, how much blood I burnt, how many times I begged the Absolutes, nor their Offspring. To change the terms of a deal, or to act opposite of them, was too expensive even for me and my congregation when we were still together. I saw no point in wasting precious energy in warding her against my curse; she wasn¡¯t real. It didn¡¯t really matter since, dream or not, still I saw all the fates I was condemning her by simply looking at her.


    It broke my heart.


    I know she still cries sometimes, even if she didn¡¯t remember why anymore.


    After all, having one person to be free from such a curse was a bit much to ask for, but two? I had to choose. I don¡¯t regret my decision, I just regret that I had to do it in the first place.


    Hate boiled from deep inside me as I silently swore at Abidan, like lava flowing through my veins, ire made physical. I cursed all that he was, what he embodied, where he came from and what he wanted. Everything, I wanted all that was his to burn.


    We both know that, somewhere, there is one that would love me as I am, warts and all.


    That is true for all things in this endless expanse and its Truth.


    Even if you¡¯re all ugly little things scampering around,


    high up on the clouds thinking you¡¯re all so important,


    so unique,


    special.


    How couldn¡¯t I be angry, if he was the one that put me in this situation?


    As if fate had things in store for you, mere sacks of flesh!


    You¡¯re countless little bugs stuck together with microscopic spit all working in tandem to trick yourselves to think that you¡¯re above everything else!


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, you¡¯ve said something similar before, but what do you mean by ¡®that¡¯s where love ends¡¯?¡± I asked, knowing that berating him on his face was not a very bright idea, considering that he was the orchestrator of all the suffering I had gone through in the time that had passed, which seemed to stretch and deform, holding my last word in complete silence. The bastard was looking for a fitting answer.


    Love is not false, but neither is it complete.


    It exists as a fleeting bridge between what is and what is desired.


    You know that, somewhere, there is someone capable of loving you, all of you, good and bad,


    but you still haven¡¯t realized, have you?


    ¡°Abidan, speak. Don¡¯t beat around the bush. Those kind of games don¡¯t work on me anymore, not after all the time we¡¯ve spent like this. Torment me, but go to the point.¡±


    Katharina doesn¡¯t know you, does she?


    How can you truly love that which you do not know?


    You know she won¡¯t react well to you revealing your past,


    I told you once before,


    but it¡¯s not your choice anymore.


    Have fun seeing me in her, as well.


    ¡°Wait, you can¡¯t do that. It¡¯s not part of the deal¡± I said, panic rising through my throat, quickly being drowned by old instincts that worked even deep inside dreams, turning panic into stark clarity. I could feel myself slowly waking up- ¡°No, no, Abidan, I swear, if you dare to-¡±


    I woke up to the ringing of a phone call and several missed texts from Katharina telling me something had gone wrong, turning all my fears into reality.


    ¡­


    I was exstatic that dad had finally conceded. I ran upstairs to my room, made some last minute adjustements, and called Saoirse to tell her they could come pick me up. They were waiting for the call, so they would be arriving in less than five minutes. I made my way downstairs once again, finding dad asleep on the couch. He looked like such a dork like that, and the fact that he had recently shaved didn¡¯t make it any better. I miss his old beard, it managed to trick me into thinking he was to be feared and that when my friends finally met him they wouldn¡¯t judge him or anything.


    I drank a large glass of water, leaving a bright lipstick mark on it. Never again am I going to be cheap with makeup, but the color was cute. I quickly fixed it, and my friends arrived to pick me up.


    As I was making my way to the car, my hair stood on end, and I felt like a little girl again, faced by sudden darkness, and the things that could hide in it. A very primal fear, and very much without logic. General anxiety disorder, my friends said, but I¡¯m not one of those people that self-diagnose.


    ¡°Wow, man, did y¡¯all feel that? I saw Saoirse shiver as well¡± Steaphan said, to which Saoirse and Moire agreed and voiced their experiences.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Voo, before Steaphan gets too scared and decides to get away from here¡± Saoirse said as she ushered me in. Not too far from her prediction, as soon as I closed the door, Steaphan immediately accelerated, to which we all chuckled.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Look, all I¡¯m saying is that if I was in a horror movie, I would survive because there¡¯s no fucking way would I stay; Oh, look, the rocking chair is moving by itself, surely it¡¯s the wind. No, hell no, I¡¯m saying bye at the first sign that weird stuff is going on¡±


    ¡°How you doing, Voodoo? Spring treating you well?¡± Asked Moire, her voice so soft the engine was threatening to completely silence her.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve been fine. Being free from school is the best, though I have to prepare for college for next year. Still, I¡¯ve got plenty of time. And you guys, how are y¡¯all doing? Are we all ready for today¡¯s adventure?¡±


    ¡°Stop calling it that, it makes me feel as if I¡¯m back at Boy Scouts! But, to be honest, I¡¯m really excited, and-¡± Steaphan said, stretching the last ¡®and¡¯ for a few seconds as he stopped at the red light, searching inside his glove box with one hand and taking out a colorful wrapper ¡°I brought this. You know, for the special occasion¡± he said as he passed it to Saoirse who was sitting besides him. ¡°I¡¯m willing to smoke the blunt by myself if nobody wants to, so no pressure¡±


    Soon, the sun hid itself and a soft sort of darkness blanketed the city outskirts as we arrived at our destination, the full moon doing wonders letting me see without any light as I made some last minute preparations.


    ¡°Voo, we¡¯re going to be fine! You know I scouted this place a week ago, and it has been locked the entire time. We even brought our own lock to replace the old one for the time we¡¯re here. C¡¯mon, Voodoo, trust me¡± Saoirse said as she approached me, lighting my surroundings with a flashlight in its lowest setting. I decided to entertain her, just once, and decided to leave my alarm system alone. It was ready, anyways. If anybody went through the only entrance, a bunch of cans would make a ton of noise. Mostly it was to ease my fear; I couldn¡¯t just¡­ trust things to go right, I had to take at least a few precautions, like constantly updating my dad on my location.


    I followed Saoirse deeper into the warehouse, where faint music could be heard and Moire and Steaphan were hanging, but in between the shadows, in the farthest place of my peripheral vision, I saw but a glimpse of Her, and I completely froze in place. She was as beautiful as I remembered, Her short dark hair somewhat similar to mine, or it would be more accurate to say that I had fashioned my hair to be similar to Hers. I couldn¡¯t deny it, it was absolutely perfect. I could feel my heart beating faster, and I couldn¡¯t help but feel a weird thing in my stomach.


    ¡°Kat, are you ok? Steaphan, lower the music¡± Moire said as she quickly realized something was going on. ¡°We¡¯re with you, don¡¯t worry¡± She approached, but gave me a bit of space.


    ¡°Uhh, sorry. I thought I saw something. Wait, what¡¯s that smell?¡± I said, only now realizing that weird smell. It couldn¡¯t be¡­


    Saoirse hit Steaphan in the head and harshly told him that now wasn¡¯t the time, eliciting a somewhat annoyed response.


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s ok, I just didn¡¯t realize it was that¡± I managed to say, trying to save the situation. I really didn¡¯t want the night to flop just because I saw something I hadn¡¯t for¡­ years.


    ¡°See, Saoirse, everything¡¯s fine! Come, Voodoo, sit down, have a drink, relax!¡± Steaphan said, taking out a beer off his backpack and taking a hit from the blunt at the same time, not looking as cool as he might have thought he did ¡°Wanna try some of this?¡± he motioned to the blunt as I accepted the beer bottle.


    ¡°You know what? Sure¡± I said, surprising Saoirse and Moire.


    ¡°Atta¡¯ girl. There¡¯s also whiskey and cigs, and I brought you tobacco.¡± Steaphan said, passing me the blunt and the lighter while he lit up a cigarette. I sat down, and took a hit.


    It passed as smooth as smoking a rolled up grater. With a coughing fit, I decided to ignore my beer and go straight for the whiskey, taking a small mouthful to hopefully clean my throat.


    ¡°You smoked it like a tobacco! You gotta go small and take in some air as well, so it doesn¡¯t burn as bad¡± Steaphan said, chuckling a bit.


    ¡­


    ¡°Yo, look at that spiderweb, in that corner, there¡± Steaphan said. We were sitting down with our backs against a wall, listening to music, relaxing, having a good time, you know? The spiderweb did look freaky, with all its angles and straight lines and weird shapes.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful¡± was the only thing I managed to say. I wasn¡¯t that high, but those hits I took really hit hard. I took a swig of beer, and smoked my tobacco.


    ¡°I wish I could, like, talk to spiders. I wonder how they would think¡­ hey, Voodoo Doll Girl, surely you know a secret spell that can allow me to talk to spiders, right?¡±


    ¡°Why spiders, man? Why not all animals? Why not stuff as well?¡± I laughed ¡°And no, it doesn¡¯t work that way. I don¡¯t believe in that type of magic and shit, I just¡­ think that there¡¯s something beyond what we can perceive, you know?¡±


    ¡°Wow, man, yeah¡± was all that Steaphan said as I realized he dozing off in whatever he was thinking of, high off his ass, making me chuckle.


    ¡°Hey, you two guys are high as fuck! Man, it¡¯s hilarious to see you two like that, but don¡¯t keep the fun from us, let¡¯s play something¡± Saoirse offered, lighting her third cigarette already.


    ¡°Truth or dare!¡± Steaphan said, way too excited for it to have been an idea that just occurred to him, as if he was just waiting for this moment.


    After deciding that spinning a bottle would decide who dared whom, with Saoirse spinning it (mainly because she was the one in the best physical and mental state out of the four of us). It landed on Steaphan first, which was very amusing considering he was almost exploding from the prospect of having everything going so smooth, and then it landed on Moire, making Steaphan¡¯s eyes shine with, if you don¡¯t mind me saying, almost a malicious glint. Moire carefully studied Steaphan¡¯s face and probably, and very safely, deducted that he had a fiendish question, so she chose dare.


    ¡°I dare you to ask out your crush¡± He said, before laughing in a mock-evil way, satisfaction clear in his face ¡°or, ok, ok, I¡¯m not going to be such an ass, it¡¯s the first round, so, you gotta ask anybody you like out on a date, for¡­ plausible deniability, or I don¡¯t know. It can be your crush though.¡± He relented, not helping Moire feel any better at all if her reaction was anything to go by. Poor Moire, such a sweet girl. To imagine she fell in Steaphan¡¯s wicked play¡­


    ¡°Uhh¡­ Kat, do yo want to go on a date with me?¡± Moire finally ventured. Ha, good one! There¡¯s nothing as satisfying as foiling Steaphan¡¯s plans.


    ¡°Oh, of course, I would love to!¡± I answered immediately. It was the perfect response; what can he say? We¡¯re friends, of course we like each other, or else we wouldn¡¯t be¡­ because we like each other as friends¡­ right?


    Oops, I might have misread the situation. But maybe I¡¯m overthinking stuff. Yeah, I¡¯m high, and drunk. I¡¯m overthinking.


    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not what I was going for! Fine, fine. Next dare I won¡¯t have mercy.¡± Steaphan said, indignant at how we tricked him. Yes, I was overthinking. The bottle spun once again, and the Gods must have a very bad sense of humor, because it landed on Steaphan once again, and oh boy didn¡¯t that make him the happiest man, I swear, if he was a dog his tail would have left his body and would be dancing by itself.


    And then the bottle landed on me. Oh Gods have mercy. I¡¯m not stupid enough (or drunk or high enough) to choose dare, not yet, so I chose truth.


    ¡°Why do you believe in spirits, and witchy stuff?¡± He asked, eliciting a displeased response from both Saoirse and Moire. We had talked about this stuff before, and it wasn¡¯t a sensitive subject anymore. Hell, they still called me Voodoo Doll or variations of it, even if it began as a nickname that people pestered me with, now it had become more of an endearing term.


    ¡°Because it works. If I¡¯m nervous before a test, I give a small offering, and any fear I had is¡­ gone. If it did more than just calming me, then that¡¯s awesome. Calming me is like the biggest part of it, anything else is bonus. I don¡¯t know, looking at the world the way I do makes everything make so much more sense.¡±


    They stayed in silence for quite some time, Saoirse and Moire probably thinking about my answer, and Steaphan high off his ass somewhere far away.


    ¡°Wait, y¡¯all guys remember last year when I dared Steaphan to give me a kiss?¡± Saoirse finally broke the silence, her words sparking a wave of laughter as we all thought about that moment.


    ¡°Hey! That was awful! You know what, let¡¯s play something else¡± Steaphan said, but we ended up not playing anything and just talking. Another round of drinks, though I was being careful now and slowly getting sober, and Moire approached me. She sat besides me, and we kept talking and just passing the time.


    Seemingly from nowhere, she leaned in and stole a kiss, leaving me in a daze.


    Yep, I had misread the situation. Wait, had Steaphan tried to play matchmaker?


    You¡¯re already over me?


    I could hear Her, taunting me, interrumpting my thoughts. Her figure was almost visible, cloaked by shadows, stalking near an open door on the wall on the opposite side of us, near the way out. I stood up in panic, and got out my phone and started calling dad to come pick me up.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to, I don¡¯t know what I was thinking¡± Moire apologized, following behind me as I left the room we were in using my phone as a flashlight, going to the room besides this, further into the warehouse.


    Cans loudly rattling into the concrete floor could be heard near the entrance, making Moire jump in fear as I grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to be quiet. Dad didn¡¯t answer, so I began to urgently send him text after text, telling him we hadn¡¯t moved from the warehouse, but somebody had come in, and to come ASAP.


    I rushed back into the room Saoirse and Steaphan were, and told them to pick up everything and to shut off the music. We went back into the next room, and kept quiet.


    Loud and winded breathing could be heard from the other room, and then it cackled. The breathy laughter resonated through the entire building, hurting both my ears and something deeper within. When I looked at my friends, I realized they were barely holding it together; Moire was on the verge of crying, Saoirse was clearly full of adrenaline, her eyes wide open, and Steaphan was probably having the worst trip of his life.


    You know I can keep you safe,


    All you have to do is ask.


    And in that moment of panic, I decided to do a leap of faith, and asked Her to keep us safe. Not one second after I silently begged for Her protection, the most unnatural and eerie scream came from the other room, and that macabre cry broke something in me.


    I was overcome by the strongest and most desperate hunger I had ever felt, a gnawing void that consumed me from the inside out. It was as though my very soul had been violently hollowed out, leaving nothing but a ravenous pit in its place. I was famished beyond reason, my thoughts clouded by an insatiable craving that stripped away all sense of restraint or dignity. My body screamed for sustenance, and I knew, with a dreadful certainty, that I would devour anything I stumbled upon, no matter how vile, how unthinkable, how utterly inhuman it might be. Every fiber of my being ached with a primal need to fill that endless, aching emptiness.


    I would have kept thinking of my hunger if Moire hadn¡¯t bit me in the shoulder, near the neck, biting deep and hard and drawing a fair bit of blood.


    Many sensations traveled through my body like thunder on a storm, like vibrations after a hammer hit the anvil. Anger. Pain. Fear. Lust. But the one that won was the outrage at being hurt by one I thought close, and the feeling that there were bigger things to worry about right now.


    I didn¡¯t even manage to think Her name when She appeared, Her words soothing my mind, filling my body with a stew of other sensations which I couldn¡¯t really name.


    I don¡¯t want you hanging with her anymore.


    You¡¯re mine, and mine only


    She said as I was left in a haze, Her familiar visage appearing in front of me, realer than I ever feared, than I ever dreamt of. Her lipstick black, Her raven hair short as mine, Her features incomparable, ethereal in a way that seemed to transcend mere beauty; sharp yet delicate, timeless yet undoubtedly alive, a vision that could rival the angels. She leaned in close, and I leaned towards her, stuck on an intense longing to finally taste Her lips, as I had always desired when I was a kid and first saw Her. She seamlessly avoided my searching mouth, and licked my shoulder, where Moire had bit me, and suddenly I was back and She disappeared as soon as I blinked. I looked behind, and my friends were looking at the place She had been mere moments ago, fear clear in their eyes. Moire¡¯s mouth had blood on it.


    I desperately moved my hands to my neck, and surprised myself when there was no wound nor pain, but only some blood left on my skin.


    A door loudly closed, and what only could be chaos incarnate descended into the room besides us. Small whimpers and cries occasionally broke into my brain, like worms working their way into loose soil, but I only had to think of Her to stop them in their tracks.


    My friends weren¡¯t immune though, and were actually faring worse. Saoirse pushed Moire into the wall, and¡­ barred her teeth? Moire cowed for a moment, but then she stood straight and dared Saoirse to try touching her again and find out with a mere look. Steaphan was making himself as small as he could far away in a corner of the room


    Moire approached me once again, and suddenly I realized I could tap into the almost primitive way they were stuck on. I looked at her straight into her eyes, and said the loudest silent no I could muster. Not right now, idiots!


    It was easier than ever to just¡­ reach out and finally grasp the faint threads of understanding I¡¯ve had since I was a little kid, so I willed Her name into my thoughts, like reeling in a fishing line stuck in the  deepest part of the ocean and bringing back a sunken treasure lost for so long that the water itself had forgotten it.


    Cerys, I beg of you, protect my friends as well, I sent through that invisible thread which I had almost snared Her in, and surprisingly I got an immediate answer. It wasn¡¯t in words, but in a vague feeling, unbalanced, like trying to push a heavy object but having no strength, like trying to run fast but being too tired and hungry to have energy to spare, as if something was missing, something to balance the equation. I could taste Her saying make a deal, make a promise, give something in exchange.


    Through the ethereal cord I still held tight, I knew what She wanted in exchange, and I refused.


    The cord snapped in half, and the door to the room we were in was thrown off its hinges, flying deeper into the room. A grey wolf slowly made its way in. Its fur was covered in blood, but I couldn¡¯t make out any wound in its body, and saliva fell in big fat drops from its open mouth, its shining eyes latched on me as it growled.


    I was still stuck in that weird spell, making all sensations stronger and instincts easier to hold, but I couldn¡¯t help myself from looking at its eyes and knowing there was a malicious intelligence present inside.


    It leapt into the air and landed on top of Moire, making her scream in pain as it bit her arm. Saoirse tried kicking it, but she was pushed away seemingly from nowhere, making her fly through the room like a ragdoll and land hard in the rough concrete floor.


    Fueled by pure adrenaline, I unsheathed the knife dad had given me as a gift and stabbed the creature in its back, making boiling blood spray like a geyser, blinding me and making me stumble back, until I cleaned my face with my shirt.


    I was standing in a pool of blood, and it was so slick that I slipped and fell on my back, yet the pool of blood seemed to be impossibly deep, and soon I was drowning, trying to swim my way out.


    I couldn¡¯t hear anything but my own loud heartbeat, which seemed to echo through the viscous blood I found myself, almost as if it was responding to me.


    I tried screaming after I had run out of oxygen, and soon I lost consciousness.


    ¡­