I use my fingers to brush my hair, attempting to calm my wild mane, but I only end up looking more haggard, the harsh winter air drying what used to be luscious strands. I frown, giving up as I huff dramatically and take in my appearance one final time.
That is when I notice it.
A sliver of something black is creeping up my neck. I adjust my sweater, hoping to cover it, but no matter how much I shimmy within the fabric, I cannot. It remains there, poking through, announcing its presence to the world I am desperate to elude. I squint, my vision fuzzy, as I try to better look at the mark.
The fine strands, like silky spider webs splayed across my skin, are making their existence known. I cringe. I have known about them for months, using the advantages of winter to hide beneath layers of cloth. I will not be able to do this in the spring and summer, but part of me thinks that does not matter. I will not make it that long anyway. Not with the hex underway. Not with the madness of Mamá’s curse slowly stealing my sanity.
I try to convince myself I must come to terms with my fate. This was the only way I could ensure my coven simply let us be. Together, we live out our final days, sinking deeper and deeper into this wretched void. The curse the witches cast upon themselves the moment they dabbled in the black arts has its hold on us, and each second, it grows stronger as we become weaker.
I tell myself I am not simply giving up. I was the sacrificial lamb in the midst of hungry wolves. This fate is my atonement for all my misdeeds and bad judgments, for all the mistakes I made along the way. If I can die in place of the vampires, well, I figure that is a pretty good way to go. I just wish it didn’t take so long. The worst thing about dying is knowing I am trudging closer to the edge, and all I can do is wait for the fall.
My expression sours, and I chastise myself for thinking like that. Every day I am granted to spend with the vampires is another day to be grateful for. I must remember that.
This does not have to be the end. Holland is certain he and Will are close to discovering a way to sever my magical link to the coven, and if it works, I will be released from the aftereffects of the hex I cast. I try to remain hopeful and optimistic, even when all I want to do is hide under my covers and cry.
I thought the worst part of my situation is my eventual demise, but maybe the disaster is losing myself in these erratic emotions. Just when I was finally getting a handle over them as a hybrid, the vampire was ripped from my very soul. And when she left, the void created in her absence has been nothing but a nightmare.
Sighing, I pull open my vanity drawer a little too aggressively. The many bottles of various makeup products I have accumulated over the weeks since I cast my spell slide forward in unison. They rattle in the drawer and slam against the wooden side. An eruption of glass clanking together tears through the silent room, but nothing breaks. Still, I freeze and wait.
A quick knock on the bathroom door alerts me to his presence.
“Ava? Are you okay?” Jasik asks. I imagine his hand is grasping the knob, wondering if he should enter or wait for my response. Even though I locked the door, I know he can break in if he really wants to. The solid wood is no match for a vampire’s strength.
Suddenly, I am damp, and I whisk away the sweat beading at my temple. My voice squeaks when I try to speak, and I curse inwardly. I need to be convincing, or he really will charge inside.
“Yes! Sorry. I just dropped something,” I lie.
I wait, listening as the floor creaks. Only when I am certain he has left the doorway do I release the breath I was holding. I exhale as quietly as I can, but my breath is ragged. If Jasik is still outside the door, he will definitely hear my panic, and he will wonder why I am so nervous.
My heart is hammering in my chest, my vision is hazy, my throat is dry. I am absolutely terrified that Jasik will discover I have been hiding my condition. I do not want him to find out like this. If he needs to know, I want to be the one to tell him. I do not want his discovery of my secrets to be when he slams against the door, breaking it from its hinges, because he fears for my safety—only to discover my once smooth, perfect skin is now smeared with tiny black veins, stretching from my toes all the way to my neck.
Still shaking, I grab a bottle of concealer. I dab some on my neck and smudge the color with my fingertips, badly covering the black lines with a shade of makeup foundation that does not match my now-pale complexion. I exhale sharply as I examine my work. Unsatisfied, I apply more. I do this over and over again, wondering if I have been in the bathroom for an unreasonable amount of time. I worry Jasik might really come barging in to see what is taking so long.
Abandoning my mission, I toss the bottle of useless concealer in the drawer, not caring that it smacks against my other products. It makes a loud noise, and I wince as if it shattered. I live this same routine day after day, still surprised by my lack of satisfaction after I apply my products.
If Jasik enters the bathroom now, he either will not notice my makeup hack job, or he will pretend he does not notice the difference in color between my face and my neck. For weeks, I have been applying concealer to any skin I worry might be exposed—from my neck and chest to my hands and arms, and at some point, I am sure he has noticed my newfound interest in cosmetics, especially since I rarely wore makeup before.
I examine my neck. I want so badly to keep applying more concealer until I am bathed in the liquid, but I do not. It does not matter how much I cake on my skin, the faint discoloration from the black veins is still there, subtle but true. If I notice them, Jasik must be able to. Yet he never says anything, and I never catch him peering at me peculiarly. I am grateful he cares about me enough not to force my admission.
I eye the open drawer, tossing barely used products aside as I search for what I know is not there. This crappy concealer is all I have, because I never leave the manor, not even to replace my products or to find shades of makeup that actually match my color.
The only reason I have as many products as I have is courtesy of Hikari. I confided in her my desire for cosmetics, and she did the best she could to pick up the correct products for my skin type and complexion.
Unfortunately, every day, as the darkness within me feeds on my life force, I lose more of my natural color. Soon, I am certain I will be nothing but a pile of bones encased in a leathery, lifeless, blanched shell. I shiver at the thought.
Deciding against mixing concealer and foundation together to create some makeshift formula that likely will not work anyway, I push the drawer closed and return my gaze to my reflection. I grimace at my work, the sight of me leaving a bad taste in my mouth. The splotch of makeup applied to my neck looks even more noticeable than yesterday. I sigh, wondering if it is even possible to become pastier than I already am. Pretty soon, I will be see-through. Then I will definitely have to reveal my magical afflictions to the vampires.
The floor creaks outside the bathroom door, and I know Jasik is there, directly outside the door. He always waits for me, and we walk down to breakfast together. Without my heightened senses, I no longer hear the house come alive, and it always feels eerily quiet. Everything about this magicless life feels…lonely.
But I know the vampires are still here, and I trust they will never leave my side. Now, since the sun has set and the moon shines down upon Darkhaven, they awaken. I bet most are already downstairs, devouring mugs of blood while laughing, talking, enjoying the eternity they have been granted on this earth.