I see a group of humans when I leave the inn and get to the square. Their eyes are large with fear and not glazed, an indication that they are not owned or compelled. Anxiously, they look around as they clatter together. Why are these humans here in Valorya? What are these idiots doing here in a vampire-infested city? I see vampires flocking around them, coming near them, drawn to the fresh blood like a moth to a flame. Seeing them up close with the humans, it hits me that they have no protection at all. I look around me, anything to help them, but allI see are more and more hungry vampires crawling toward the center of the square, the group of humans standing there, nailed to the ground, their terror evident.
Blood suckers circle around them, taunting them like a pack of hungry wolves. Even with the vast blood supply, the thrill of finding helpless victims seems instilled in their nature—a natural instinct kicking in.
“Where did this delicious lot come from?” One of the vampires asks no one in particular as he comes closer. His presence is enough to make some of the younger ones cry.
“Whispers of a better life offered here in this city filled our minds. We were told to come here,” a young blonde girl whispers in a trembling voice, barely audible.
She presses her shivering body against an older woman, likely her mother, her small hands clasping the fabric of the woman’s flowing skirt.
Cackling erupts from the now large gathering of bloodsuckers. There seems to be a hesitance among them, almost as if they are unsure if this buffet is truly in front of them.
“Is that so? You lot coming here out of free will makes our lives better, at least for today,” one of them muses.
I feel a strong urge to interrupt this macabre dance in front of me, attack the vampires, and kill them. Save my own kind, but I realize my magic is holding me sternly in place, forcing me to watch helplessly as the scene in front of me unfolds. I am unable to move away or make myself known, my voice dying in my throat, and peeling my eyes to the scene. The magic even refuses to let me close my eyes as if it wants me to watch this morbidity.
As I struggle against my invisible bonds, one of the vampires creeps closer, no longer able to contain itself, its nails splintering, its skin forming into claws. He moves with lightning speed as he takes the little girl who spoke her soft words only minutes ago, snatching her away from the woman. She screechesas all blood is drained from her face, her eyes as big as saucers, as the vampire's canines lengthen. He licks his razor-sharp teeth before he plunges them into her skin and brutally rips a piece of her arm—blood spurts, coating the gray stones on the street in a dark crimson. The air fills with the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. He continues to rip pieces of flesh off her frail body, ribbons of meat flying around. His long tongue laps at the warm fluid spraying from her shredded arm. Her loud cries turn into soft sobs as she gets close to losing consciousness from all the blood loss—a quick death. A mercy almost.
The typical stench of blood thickens the air around me as the other vampires lose themselves in some sort of bloodlust frenzy. A thick, scarlet stream is pooling between the stones, and I see a puddle of dark red fluid forming around my black leather boots. My stomach forms a knot from what I’m witnessing, and bile is coming up so fast I can’t even hold it in. I start to hurl, and part of my vomit mingles with the blood, the sour stench assaulting my nose.
All I hear are the deafening cries of the group of people who are being viciously murdered. Their limbs are torn off and chewed on. Their organs are ripped from their still-living bodies as cackling and fevered words take over the sound of cries. I see witches elbowing their way through the vampires who behave like starved dogs to capture precious blood, and I see a crazed witch pull out a heart with all her might. Shadows assist her as beads of sweat collect on her forehead.Caria.I throw up again. How could I even entertain the thought of making love to such a vile being?
When there’s no more warm blood and bodies to spill, the frenzy dissipates, and the city's calm returns like it was before. The bodies lay there, mutilated. I want to run to them, give them some form of respect, lay them to rest, bury them, but the magic prevents me; it denies me anything that has to do with thisgroup of unfortunate souls. I tear my gaze from the pile of ruined bodies and try to set foot toward the forest and the fortress it conceals. There’s nothing I can do here. Harlot, I need to find her. The moment I shift my intentions, I stumble forward, the magic releasing its hold on me. I steady myself and stride forward through the gate, leaving the city's walls, onto the main road we only traversed yesterday. I take a turn in a different direction, leading me to a forest that’s not The Wailing Forest, but this one is no less dangerous. This wood is one of mazes, with its own will—another forest for me to explore against my will, forced to by my family.
I know I’m walking in circles; I fucking know it. I scream loudly. Why won’t it lead me to my forsaken sister? I’ve been out for at least three hours. Caria said it should take me around two and a half or three hours to get to the damn fortress if the forest wills it. She told me I would see arched towers above the tree line, each covered with large stone gargoyles peering down from the eaves that protect the place at night when they come to life and soar in the skies. Another warning she provided was to get out of the forest before twilight.
The gargoyles do not differentiate between friend or foe, and she wasn’t sure if my magic applied to them as well, asthey are creatures from a different era, ancient. Neutral beings, neither dark nor light, whoever crosses their path, depending on their foul moods, will find an easy death or one of torment. Reapers, Caria called them, finding souls wherever they can.
I glance up at the sky. I have a few more hours to spare before I need to get out. Yet, I don’t see shit, no creepy stone creatures marking the sky, no towers. I try to mark the trees with my hunting knife, but, of course, this, too, is a magical forest—not just with a mind of its own. The moment I am done with my carving, little pieces of bark start to appear, stitching themselves up and covering my markings completely, healing itself. I try it a few more times on different trees, different kinds, and each time, whether I mark an oak, then a birch, or a willow, it doesn’t matter. I carve deeper, splintering the wood, with the same result. The bark closes itself immediately. The more power I put into the carving, the more the energy shifts, as if my deliberate harm angers it. The energy around the willow I try to cut into becomes incredibly dense, making it hard to breathe. I apologize for it and explain my reasoning.
I scoff; I apologized to a fucking tree. It doesn’t do anything; the energy doesn’t shift; if anything, it becomes heavier, as if only now the forest and its inhabitants are aware I am roaming around and are set on never letting me find what I am looking for. It makes it painfully clear that I am not welcome, creating this maze of greenery that keeps me from getting any closer to the damn castle. But my sister is somewhere nearby, I just know it. I have to return her home safely; thus, I continue walking, walking in circles in hopes that the forest will be impressed by my perseverance. Hoping it will reconsider its decision to keep me from Harlot. There are no traces of my stupid sister anywhere, no footprints, almost as if she had never set foot into this forest, but I know she has; there is no other way for her toget to that fortress. There is only one way, and that is through these woods.
Tired of aimlessly walking around, I slump against another tree, hopefully, one I did not injure before, and sit down. I stare up toward the sky once more; it will not be long before nightfall sets in. It almost seems as if the greenery becomes even thicker, protecting whoever is in that stronghold. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and only notice now how my clothes cling to my wet body. The air's intensity makes it more challenging to exercise. How on earth did Harlot wade herself through this? Did she sweet-talk the trees, and did they carry her? I laugh bitterly. I swear to the old Gods, if I find her tonight in her bed, in the Inn, I will strangle her, and I will do so happily.
The sound of a twig snapping has me lurching onto my feet. I straighten myself to gain my composure and look in the direction of the sound. Perhaps Harlot found me herself, that would be a relief in itself. I will scold her later for leaving like that. I crane my neck as I see a figure looming in the forest.
“Harlot?” I try, knowing instinctively it’s not her. The figure watches me through the bushes they are hiding behind, making it hard to make out their face.
“Look, whoever you are, don’t even think about eating me or sacrificing me for whatever shit you witches need,” I spit the words to the figure.
“Or, you know what, please do try. I would love to kill another one of you fuckers with my bare hands. It would be a great way to release some of my tension. Come out and make yourself useful for once.”
My words are laced with venom. The memory of holding the life of one of these night critters in the mercy of my hands sends a thrilling sensation through my body. Yet, something about thefigure draws me in; I want it to come forward and see me; it’s nearly a need.
Instead, the figure cowers behind the bushes, away from my view, retreating into the lush, overgrown forest. I listen, but all I hear is silence, not even a rustling of leaves.
“That’s right, motherfucker,” I yell with a newfound confidence.
I feel a pull in my chest, a sense of disappointment in not seeing the figure. I curse myself for yelling at it, scaring it away. Again, I look up at the sky. Daylight is waning, and I decide to call it a day. I have no interest in encountering these gargoyle reapers that the filthy, organ-stealing witch Caria spoke of. I’ll try again tomorrow. Hopefully, the trees will be in a better mood. Let me go through to find Harlot so I can take her back to the inn. Perhaps I’ll have more luck seeing the figure as well, and meeting it. In my mind, I try to conjure whatever I saw just now in the forest, but my brain is not having it. It refuses to turn it into something that I can recognize, distorting my memory into something monstrous, a horrifying being. I swallow, unsure whether I want to encounter it tomorrow. Light starts to fade faster, and I start running out of the forest, something that goes quicker than I expect, as the way opens itself before me. A clear message from the woods: they don’t want me here.
When I enter the city square, I see more dead bodies. Each and every one of them is torn to pieces, savagely destroyed. Limbs and organs decorate the square. Dried pools of blood surround the bodies. Where the fuck did these humans come from? I see saturated vampires and gleeful Blood Witches walking around the square, pleased with whatever attracts these people, not even glancing at the corpses, as if it’s completely normal. Crows are cawing in delight as they pick at the bodies. Valorya’s citizens casually step over a lone leg, almost as if it's a nuisance that it’s there. I wonder who’s going to clean it all up.
A well-dressed male vampire comes near me, then growls as he realizes he cannot touch me as he did with the others. I snarl back at him, scaring him off. He probably thought I somehow escaped the vicious attacks they released on those who arrived today out of thin air. Then suddenly, he smiles at me eerily, his razor-sharp teeth stained with blood. My eyes flicker briefly to his bloody canines, then back at his unnaturally handsome, pale face and his red eyes.
“Aurum, pure Aurum,” he purrs as he slowly circles me.
“Where did such a young human like yourself get that? Isn’t that utterly expensive?”
The words roll off his tongue, and I can’t place his dialect. I guess he’s centuries old based on how he speaks and dresses. I walk around him, pretending not to see him, ignoring his question. He stalks around me, following my traces.
