《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.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    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.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    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;If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    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;Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    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.