《Caligo》


 Unus

    <blockquote>


    "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,


    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."


    ¡ªEdgar Allan Poe, The Raven


    </blockquote>


    Caligo is Latin for a dense mist or darkness that hides even your hands. It''s despair and mystery, a dark sorrow stained with poetry.


    Some memories are better left buried in the inaccessible corners of our minds, those that bring vivid images of an unwanted past or bittersweet scents of our mistakes. Mistakes we wouldn''t have made if we''d known what maddening rage was about to fall upon us, like a painful, slow-burning death. But the terrible paradox is that avoiding them is impossible until they happen. Still, we wish we could change reality, and when we can''t, all we have left is to erase or hide those memories forever.


    The first time I saw him was in a dream, and I still remember every detail of it. We stood on a beach of golden sand, where the waves didn''t speak and the sun rose on a still horizon. I felt older than my years, and he looked young yet somehow paternal. Back then, I''d never seen him before¡ªhe was just a stranger in a dream¡ªyet I didn''t understand how magical that was. His pale skin glowed like it was made of diamonds, and his greenish eyes held the sorrows of an entire universe. He wore white, and I could see his bare feet gently caressing the same sand that felt harsh under mine. He smiled and whispered in words I didn''t know but understood effortlessly, his voice brushing my ears like a cold breeze in the desert. I knew then he''d find me no matter where I went.


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    I knew then he was the beginning of my story.


    I was never one to believe in magic; fairytales had no place in my wretched world. I locked myself in a cage of my own creation, walls protecting my mind from the cruel reality, learning to silently stare, hiding from the fate I knew haunted me¡ªunaware of love or affection, used to violence and hurt. My mother never loved me; I was more a burden to her, one she would''ve cast off much sooner.


    I was eight years old and silent as a grave. Anyone who crossed my path would shudder, muttering curses under their breath, as if I wore a monster''s skin only they could see. Every soul that met me whispered about me¡ªafraid of my gaze, my stillness, the fact I never felt the need to speak. And when I did, she made sure I regretted it. Every word cost me a tooth, her always-cold hands crashing against my mouth, blood dripping down like a cascade of unspoken hurt. So I learned silence was safer. Wanting nothing was safer. Keeping my thoughts buried was the only way to survive.


    My mother was a turbulent woman, one with many stories¡ªreal or not, I''m not sure they''re worth knowing. She was once a beautiful dancer at a cabaret, or maybe in theaters; I can''t remember well. All I know is she had a reputation, and her beauty spoke for itself. A lioness or a devilish being¡ªboth would describe her in the eyes of those who fell at her feet and surrendered their souls. Yet the bitterness of her failures dragged her down and landed her in an alley, selling herself for a pair of coins.


    "If they''d buy my soul for a little more, I''d give it to them¡ªand maybe yours too," she''d slur with a lazy tongue and the breath of pubs. "But who''d want my soul... or yours? Who''d ever want you?"


    I''d been born a mistake and was always treated as such. Doomed to blindly watch the tiny world I was allowed to know, I became familiar with the sounds of sin and pleasure, pain and lust, all at once, painting images of them in my mind. She locked me in a chest at the foot of the bed where she took her clients, and there I lay for hours, sometimes days. "Don''t you dare breathe, little wastrel!" she''d command, shoving me inside, and I''d nod silently¡ªresisting was painful and pointless.


    The air inside grew thick and humid, and the scent of oak became repulsive. The old wood creaked if I moved, and the suffocating heat of my own breath tormented me. Darkness was my home, but my ears learned to catch every sound in the most incredible way. I never saw the faces that entered that vicious room, but I knew them by their voices, the way their shoes tapped the floor¡ªwhether they had canes or long feet, if they were poor or rich, how they knocked, how they moaned when pleasure peaked. She, though? Nothing but breathless gasps. She was a lifeless creature I detested¡ªnone of them good enough for her, yet she was worse than them all. I was no more to her than that chest, and she hated my voice, so I never used it. I built realities instead, well-kept in my head, where I became every one I''d ever heard sounds of. I impersonated them for a while and humiliated her, hurt her, told her everything I''d always wanted to say but didn''t; I owned their fancy or terrible lives and became free, only in my head, and maybe that kept me sane enough for that time.


    I was glad when she finally got rid of me, though I didn''t suspect it''d be the beginning of it all.


    On a rain-soaked night in September, she left me at the doorstep of a stranger she''d met in a bar. That stranger was Victor Casta?eda¡ªa man of fifty, wrapped in wealth and chilling whispers. Where truth was scarce, rumors grew: they said he practiced dark rituals, summoned demons to erase his enemies¡ªmaybe because he had none. Always in black, marked by some occult emblem, he avoided society except for rare, exclusive events. No family, no friends, just a mansion full of dusty antiques and secrets. But they were right about one thing: he had no heir, no soul to shape in his image, to carry his name and will. And so I became that soul.


    Barely able to walk, a sack of bones and wounded flesh, I shivered in the cold rain at his doorstep for hours. I didn''t have the courage to knock, so I waited until someone opened the door. The maiden was young and pretty like a peony, her cinnamon skin warm against big brown eyes that watched me with curiosity. She whispered something I couldn''t hear, then called for her master. Victor Casta?eda stared at me for a long minute, trying to figure out why I was at his dusky mansion that late night.


    I remembered the note my mother wrote¡ªcrumpled in my hand, soaked by rain, the ink blurred. It was all I had, so I gave it to him. He held it in his long, bony hands for a moment that stretched forever, then looked at me with confusion, hope, and sadness in his eyes. He let me in, draping his coat over my shoulders, soothing my hopeless cry.


    That night, I forgot the cold and hunger. I sat at a large table across from a man who looked at me like I was the most incredible thing he''d ever seen. It unsettled me, but I was too caught up in the feast to care. That night was the first of many, but none would feel like it¡ªnot because the others mattered less, quite the opposite, but because that night was a sunrise, the start of a new life. Victor Casta?eda took my weightless hand, looked into my eyes, and said with a voice I swore I''d heard before, "Welcome home, son."


    And I felt his grip so tight it spoke for itself, and I believed him. I believed he''d never let me go.


    ? ? ?

 Duo

    Two months later, I was a different person.


    I didn''t look like a sack of bones, and I had decent clothes¡ªfancy clothes¡ªto wear. My hair had grown to my shoulders, golden and soft like wheat in bloom, and Victor¡ªI called him by his name now, as he requested¡ªhad decided I wouldn''t cut it because it was the most beautiful hair he''d ever seen.


    "Gilded strands, as if kissed by the sun and woven from light," he said. I could never understand why it was so special to him.


    Margaret, the lovely maiden, enjoyed brushing it and always kept it tidy. She said she would''ve wanted to be as pretty, and despite my being a boy, she said I had a prettier face than any girl she''d seen. I couldn''t understand the nature of her praise and never really tried to. Her warmth was enough, and I knew the honesty in her words, so I let myself enjoy something I''d never had. All my ears had ever heard was painful disappointment, disgust, and fear.


    The house seemed labyrinthine and overwhelming, pouring darkness into every corner, though grandiosity still spoke for every life that passed through it. The vaulted ceilings, cathedral-high, held chandeliers that broke the shadows with their gilt flames but seemed to threaten to fall on me. They engulfed me and contrasted harshly with that tiny chest I confess I missed it then. Bronze candelabras stood on marble stands alongside porcelain vases, adorned with the mournful beauty of age and decay, dedicated to old portraits of deceased Casta?eda family members.


    Because of it, my assigned room felt safer, and I wouldn''t leave it at first. It was bigger than any place I''d spent the night in before, yet tight enough to feel comfortable again. I was bewildered by all that outer immensity. The luxuries in there contrasted even with the rest of the house, which seemed empty and ordinary by comparison. Toys covered every surface, from different parts of the world, as Victor explained¡ªsome big and imposing like the dollhouse, others coated in gold like the little soldiers or the tea set. My bed had silk sheets that matched the curtains, and the carpets were said to be magical. I had my own desk and a dresser I couldn''t explore in a day. Every piece of wood was precious, every object carefully made, ornamented with unique details in a way that I could only sense love flooding them¡ªdespite love being something unknown to me.


    Regardless of Victor''s efforts to erase my traumas and make me talk, I wasn''t ready yet, so I stayed silent and thoughtful for quite a while. Obedient and respectful, I nodded at every demand made of me and responded with the same warmth and care I was offered in that house. Though I confess now, deep inside, I had a fear I couldn''t shake¡ªa fear I didn''t know where it came from or where it would go.


    Victor was a fine person, and so was Margaret. They took good care of me and spoiled me endlessly. But there were things about me¡ªdark things¡ªthey couldn''t understand. Neither did I. Maybe because I was free for the first time, I was terrified that such darkness would unleash and destroy what I''d been given.


    All my life, I''d suffered terrible nightmares I could never remember after waking. All I carried was the horror and inexplicable fear as an aftertaste. Those nightmares didn''t stay with my mother the day she left me at Casta?eda''s¡ªthey still tormented me each night against my will, and in them lay my inability to be a normal child.


    If the nights were hideous and I''d wake up sweating and bruised for reasons I didn''t know, the days were short and full of adventures¡ªor so I called them in my mind. I lived in a house where I could do whatever I pleased, a house with rooms I never opened and secrets I never had time to dig out. The library, for instance, was one of those places of undeniable beauty that, like my room, contrasted with everything else¡ªa cathedral of books with towering shelves that reached the ceiling, filled with leather-bound tomes in every forgotten language. At its heart stood a mahogany desk where Victor spent hours, surrounded by the quiet weight of his knowledge and the white fume of his cigarettes. That mix of dusty wood, yellowed paper sheets, and tobacco became my favorite scent, and there wasn''t a day I didn''t cherish it.


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    Yet traveling among the large corridors and the garden or finding strange objects forgotten around the house wasn''t the best thing. Victor was.


    He''d always be by my side and hold my hand to show me a new world to explore. He was kind and eloquent, and his intellect mesmerized me¡ªsomeone who''d never met anyone like him. I believe he could''ve mesmerized anyone. He had a talent for captivating me with his words¡ªthe way he told me stories I''d never heard, the way he showed me a world I hadn''t known all those years. I learned to read because he let me spend whole days in his gigantic library, and for the first time, I held keys to worlds I didn''t know existed. He read a few books to me, and as soon as he realized I could read on my own, he let me wander and pick those universes to sink into.


    He seemed to enjoy having me around as he sat at his desk for hours, writing, reading, and thinking aloud. I read everything from history and art books to poetry and fiction. Victor spent most of his time in that library and talked to me as if I were his confidant, hoping I''d never spill those secrets he carelessly tossed my way. Maybe he just knew I wouldn''t. He proved I didn''t need to talk when I was with him because he could almost read my mind. Maybe that''s why I stopped fearing words so much.


    During that time, I saw myself as the keeper of his treasured secrets, and he treated me that way in a sense. He''d give me anything I hinted at liking or needing, and his attention was something I treasured enough to find ways to please him myself, to give back as much as I could from my insignificant place. If I could see him smile after I did something he approved of, I was immensely happy. I grew so attached to him in such a short time that I followed him almost everywhere he went, as long as he stayed in the house. Whenever I couldn''t find him, I''d panic¡ªsilently¡ªat the fear of never seeing him again.


    I''d get up from my bed at the exact time each morning I knew he did, recognizing his steps and the sounds they made as he got changed and went down the stairs. I knew when and where to catch him. I learned his habits and quirks because I watched him even when he thought I wasn''t paying attention. He''d always comb his dark hair neatly, never letting anyone but himself help him dress¡ªsomething I only realized was unusual much later. His frock was always dark red or black, sometimes a forest green that made his eyes shimmer brighter. His favorite waistcoat, one of intricate yet discreet embroidery, had belonged to his father, he said, though it looked new.


    When I turned nine¡ªeight months after arriving at Casta?eda Manor¡ªVictor let me into a locked room I didn''t even know existed. "Play it," he said, pointing to a black pianoforte that lay dusty in the center of the widest room I''d ever seen, lit by the ghastly light seeping through the clouds outside. I had no idea what to do with it. I''d never seen or touched the instrument before, only heard it on old records he played downstairs each night at dinner and after, into the night. "Play it," he insisted, and I didn''t know why. I approached the thing¡ªgigantic and imposing¡ªheart racing, hesitant, like it was a test I couldn''t fail. My hands rested on the keys, exploring each note carefully. Then I realized I had to use both hands and press more than one key at a time. Without a clue what I was doing, I tried to play my clumsy version of a piece Victor listened to every day, over and over until he fell asleep in his armchair in the library. It took me a while to find the right keys, and my tempo was too slow. After sunset, when the room drowned in dark, I remembered time existed and stopped my disastrous attempt. I looked at him, still by my side. His eyes were full of tears, his expression one I couldn''t read.


    "I''m sorry..." I said, my feet echoing on the wooden floor as I ran away. That was the first time I ever spoke.


    I cried for hours, expecting to be punished or thrown out of this new life I''d been given and secretly treasured. But the next morning, to my surprise, a tutor greeted me¡ªa man meant to teach me how to play the piano properly.

 Tres

    It wasn''t until the next spring that I could play a full piece fluently, and that piece was Victor''s favorite song. I didn''t understand back then why it seemed so important to please him, but I gave it all my effort, and each smile he gave me in approval felt like the warmest embrace I''d ever received. I was terrible at reading music sheets, but my tutor always complimented my sharp ears. It only took hearing a song once or twice, and I could reproduce it perfectly on the piano. Before I even noticed, I was being called a genius¡ªnot just by Margaret or Victor or the tutor, but by everyone who ever found me playing. Even those who hadn''t seen me play had heard stories of the mysterious Casta?eda child who could play sounds made by angels¡ªor so they said.


    The days became months, and the months became years, and I could finally speak to people. I didn''t feel as insecure or judged anymore, and the heart-wrenching past that had shaped me till then seemed a distant dream at times. The reputation around Casta?eda faded a little, and now everyone wondered where I''d come from and why my music was so brilliant. But I knew I''d never be like the rest, despite my adoptive father''s efforts.


    Victor named me after his great-grandfather, Florian Casta?eda, and baptized me as his son. I finally attended a private school for boys, where I was supposed to grow and learn about the world and things Victor couldn''t teach me at home. But my inability to be around people became a curse I couldn''t escape. Despite my failure to make friends my age, I excelled¡ªfor the little time I was there¡ªin every subject. Maybe that made other kids envious, and rumors started circling again, trashing my name. "The devil," they called me, because they remembered Victor was always a lonely man with no wife and therefore no children. So for them, I became the demon he''d brought to life.


    My appearance didn''t help either. I was always pale and flimsy, and very short for my age. Other kids made fun of me, tried to steal my things, called me names, and insulted me and Victor. I tried to ignore them and excuse their ignorance and malice in my head, but I couldn''t help hating them, cursing them in my mind with gruesome images I wished would become their future. I no longer carried that devilish shadow people once feared; now I was just a toy for them to break. I was ashamed of wishing them horrors and punished myself by cutting my skin with whatever sharp thing I could find, hoping the pain would redeem the evil inside me. I thought looking at those scars would stop me from hating anyone who treated me badly, reminding me of the kindness and compassion Victor had tried to teach me. But soon I discovered my skin wasn''t like anyone else''s¡ªif I''d been wounded before, now I healed in seconds. That only proved them right. No human could do that, but the monsters I''d read about in books could.


    My nightmares didn''t stop either; they grew stronger and more vivid each time. I got paler, lost my appetite, and stopped playing the piano for a while. Victor was worried, so he brought the best doctors in the country to examine and diagnose me. He was also concerned I hadn''t grown much in all that time. I was eleven but still the size of a six-year-old. For some reason, I felt he was guarding me too close, pacing nervously on days my condition worsened, hunting for something I couldn''t name. He started to act very weird those days; my innocence didn''t let me see through his protection and care, which I rather enjoyed and appreciated.


    The doctors analyzed me for months, but after Victor, weary and hesitant, explained my rough childhood, they blamed the chest I''d been locked in most of my life for the weakness in my muscles and bones. They prescribed medications to hasten my growth, and Victor hired instructors to teach me exercises for my physical development. For three months, none of it worked, and my nightmares kept worsening. I couldn''t remember what I dreamed¡ªjust the terror lingering each night. The only changes were my hair, growing longer and paler, more white than blonde, and the dark circles deepening around my now pitch-black eyes. My nails grew long and sharp like claws, and Victor secretly cut them short so no one noticed. I never told him about my healing, afraid he''d fear me as much as I did and cast me out like my mother had. I struggled to hide it from him, but his excessive care shielded me¡ªI had no cause to be hurt, so I wouldn''t heal magically like the otherworldly creature I was. I trembled at my own shadow, certain everyone else would too. I couldn''t bear to lose Victor¡ªhe alone seemed to care.


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    It wasn''t until a dark, rainy night the next December that he stopped the treatments and the scientific hunt for answers about my strange appearance, inviting instead the most horrifying guest I''d ever seen.


    Her name was Greta Velmont, with coal-black long hair and a teenage girl''s face on a body that smelled of an ancient soul. "Is she a witch?" I asked, but Victor didn''t answer¡ªhe didn''t need to; it was obvious. "There''s another side of knowledge we all fear but seek when what we know doesn''t give answers."


    I knew then the rumors about Victor and dark magic rituals were true, at least a little, and it gave me hope he wouldn''t abandon me. We were both tied to darkness in an unexpected way. Greta was asked to stay the night to watch over me. Apparently, Victor thought she could help him understand what was happening when the nightmares struck, especially at that hour when no one else could cut through my darkness. Her room was next to mine, which I found odd because she brought no luggage, like she''d risen from the rain itself. So when I started screaming at midnight, she ran in with a glowing candle. I wish I''d escaped the night before, because what happened next was the start of something worse than all the pain I''d ever known.


    I remember¡ªand this was the first time I recalled one of my horrible dreams¡ªstanding in the middle of the room, suspended in the air, floating. The walls danced to a sharp whistle, a melody I knew but couldn''t place. Black feathers fell at my feet, and everything was red and black. My arms were coated in more black feathers, my short nails now long, sharp claws. My body, feathered too, was bigger¡ªlike a monster''s.


    I was so scared I screamed¡ªmaybe like every night before¡ªand this time, Greta burst in. Horror painted her face like a mask that owned her. She cursed me in a foreign tongue, raking through some ritual to cleanse me of my wretched curse, yet I felt the urge to laugh. I landed in front of her, grabbed her neck with my feathered arm, and as she fought to break free, I squeezed until her head snapped off, her body collapsing, eyes bursting in a bloodbath. My uncontrollable laughter filled the room with the darkest joy I''d ever felt.


    What happened next slipped from my mind, but when I opened my eyes, I was in Victor''s bed, burning with fever. Margaret was beside me, hands bloody from clawing at the mess, crying, and Victor paced from the bed to the window, clutching his forehead and pulling his hair.


    "Victor..." I whispered. He rushed to me, sending Margaret away. "Why am I here?" I asked. He seemed to steel himself to explain, but I already suspected my latest memory wasn''t a dream. "What did I do?" I begged, but he gripped my hand tight, mumbling things even my sharp ears couldn''t catch. It''s curious how deaf I could be when panic struck me down.


    He wouldn''t let me leave his room for a week. He fed me himself, read to me, talked about his usual things. He brought his gramophone so I could hear piano pieces while stuck in bed. I didn''t feel weak or sick, and I ached to leave, but I said nothing¡ªI knew I''d done something awful, and maybe I''d stay there forever. I didn''t know. Looking back, I wish I had. Victor didn''t seem to be punishing me but protecting me, not just from the outer world but from myself.


    During those long days and nights¡ªcurtains shut, alone except for Victor''s visits every few hours¡ªI didn''t sleep once. I also noticed the mirrors were gone. I''d been in that room before; there''d been a big one across the bed and another in his dressing room. Now both were missing, like they''d never existed, and I started wondering why.


    One morning, Victor came in with a look that terrified me. I thought he''d ditch me¡ªhis eyes were sad, heartbreak in his pupils, but a resolve to do something unspeakable burned in him. Unlike what I expected, he wasn''t alone. A tall black man followed, dressed in a black suit and top hat, his long dark hair streaked with one golden strand that stood out sharp. He was a stranger¡ªno sound he made felt familiar¡ªyet I knew instantly I''d trust him with my life, no question.


    "Hello, Florian..." he said, but his lips didn''t move. I must''ve looked confused because he said exactly what I needed to hear. "My name is Magnus, and I''m a priest. Not the kind you see in churches¡ªI walked a darker path once. Your father, this fine man, can''t hear a word I''m saying. Only you can, Florian, because you''re not human. Not entirely."


    Those words pounded in my head like drums at the end of an orchestral song. Not entirely human, he said, and I couldn''t argue. I''d known it all along. But why did he know more about me than I did?


    "You must listen carefully. What you are isn''t allowed in this world¡ªyou''re a dangerous creature, and it''s my job to end your existence. This man beside me is a man of God, a man who loves you more than anything. He''s known what you are all along, knows to fear you, but doesn''t. He has hope. That''s why I''m here. There''s a place you must go if you want a chance to live. Follow me, no questions. Do everything you''re told. If you don''t, I''ll kill you. What''s your answer?"

 Quattuor

    The mirrors had shown me black feathers still clinging to the skin on my back. Victor tried to pull them out, but they grew back, relentless. It hurt¡ªlike my skin and flesh were being torn apart.


    While the priest waited outside in a chaise, I noticed I''d grown taller¡ªalmost as tall as Victor now. I had aged in days, and I felt alien in my own body. My long white hair had turned silken black, my teeth yellowish and sharp, my tongue a purplish black. My eyes were vast, pupil-less ponds of black, too hollow to show emotion.


    "What am I, Victor?" I cried, but no tears stained the horror of seeing myself in that monster''s skin. His long arms wrapped me once more in the last embrace before I parted.


    "My child, my son," he said. "It''s what you are, and nothing else matters."


    "Where is he taking me?" I asked. Victor''s gaze sank to the ground.


    "I don''t know..." he murmured. "He knows if I did, I''d be by your side, and this is a test you must face alone."


    I wept and buried my face in his neck. "How will you find me when I''m done... if I survive..."


    "You will survive, and you''ll always find your way home," he said. "I believe in you."


    I packed a clean shirt and pants, and a notebook Victor said should be my diary. He begged me to write each day, claiming it''d keep me sane in isolation. That hinted he knew more about the fate awaiting me than he let on. Finally, he gave me a necklace with a rusty key dangling from it. He told me not to lose it, and when I asked why, he said I''d figure it out one day.


    "Promise me you won''t give up, Florian," he said, staring into my hollow eyes¡ªhis words crushed me. "Rebirth is harsh, but Magnus swears it''s worth it. Promise you''ll come back."


    "I promise..."


    The worst part of that day was knowing it was the last time I''d see him. I don''t know why the trust and hope I''d felt earlier melted into sadness and fear. I couldn''t even cry. It was as if those dark eyes had swallowed my tears and dried them forever.


    I climbed into the chaise, narrow and uncomfortable, and didn''t stop looking back until Victor''s face disappeared from the road. I watched the rooftops of the house shrink, the fence at the front door closing behind me, unwelcoming, as if it had cast me out.


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    I pressed the key against my chest and prayed¡ªto whatever existed upon earth and men¡ªto bring me back home safely, to see Victor''s face again. But something... something broke inside me that day.


    For two days and two nights, the chaise rushed amidst the woods, not stopping once, as if the horses were possessed by devilish creatures. But what did I know about what was hell-bound and what wasn''t? At this point, what I''d seen in myself was worse than anything I could imagine.


    We wandered across a wasteland where a fire seemed to have burned every form of life. The ground was dark and smelled of rotten flesh. The chaise stopped as Magnus blindfolded my eyes and ears with cloth, then tied my hands and wrists with rope.


    "This is for your own sake, son," he explained. "It''ll do you no good to know where we''re going or how to come back home."


    The feeling of suffocation returned, and all those times I''d been locked inside that chest in my mother''s room felt real and present. I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to break free from this prison, but I''d given my word to Victor, and he''d put all his faith in me. I imagined his smile, full of pride, and a welcoming hug. That kept the beast inside me at bay.


    When my eyes and ears were uncovered, I saw the peak of a deserted hill and heard waves crashing behind a rock building that resembled the darkest prison I''d ever read about. Greyish and dreadful, it crouched on the hill, almost floating above the ocean, its walls swallowing what little light kissed them. The giant gate, the only visible way in or out, seemed unbreakable.


    "Where are we?" I rasped. It was the first time I''d spoken since leaving home. My voice sounded harsh and low, like an old man woken from the dream of death.


    The priest smiled, but I couldn''t read what lay behind that rusty grin. "This might be the last place you step on Earth. And God help us if it happens otherwise."


    I knew then I wasn''t meant to leave that place alive. Maybe all the words he''d said to Victor were lies¡ªor perhaps Victor knew there was no escape and couldn''t bear to be honest. I wouldn''t blame him if he did, for I was not something worth keeping. Fear coursed through my bones, so fierce I nearly ran now that I could. I wish I had, because what followed was worse than anything I''d ever imagined.


    A tall, imposing woman appeared at the gates. Thick metallic fences with spiked edges framed her. Her face was stern, devoid of compassion¡ªI knew it the moment I saw her. I was pushed from the chaise like a captive animal, my face smashing into the dirt, my bags tossed over me like garbage. Anger surged through my veins as I twisted my neck to face the priest.


    He smiled as if shedding a mask he''d worn all along. "Take good care of this one... his father''s a powerful man. He must not return to the world of men unless he controls the curse¡ªwhich we know has never happened. So toss him in the pit and forget him. Write reports for a week or two, then say he threw himself into the ocean."


    His words burned in my chest. At least now I knew Victor hadn''t been the one who betrayed me. In the blink of an eye, I leapt onto the chaise, my claws ripping holes in the wood and tearing off the door. The priest didn''t flinch, though I could''ve killed him right there¡ªif not for the chain the woman threw around my waist, wrapping me tight and holding me back as the chaise sped away...