I look at the man, believing he is to blame, and I know he is smiling at me. I cannot see his face, yet I recognize his pleasure. It radiates from him, surging forward, a steady tide threatening to overpower my weakening legs. He is happy for me, but why?
The man points at me, his arms long and squirming like jelly. A single finger slithers forward, extending far beyond his natural reach. He points from me to the ground and back again. He repeats this until my gaze follows the motion.
The street is overrun with bodies. All faces blurred and unrecognizable. A torrent of blood gushes down the road, spewing toward me. The crimson river splashes against my feet, and I am ankle deep.
“Taste it,” the man says, voice whisper-soft and infernal.
I suck in a sharp breath, but I only succeed in alerting my senses to the feast at my toes.
“Taste it,” he says again, this time speaking slower, emphasizing each word.
He pleads with me, desperate for my obedience, but I also understand this to be an order. He won’t leave unless I taste it, and the worst part is, I want to obey him. I want to drink so badly.
My mouth is dry, but the longer I think about the blood at my heels, the more my mouth begins to water, rejuvenating my tongue, which is so dry it is nearly a useless husk.
“Drink,” he beckons.
My eyes are wide, vision glued to the sight around me.
The town is on fire. Crumbled buildings lie in heaps along the edge of the street. Mounds of brick and shattered glass and scorched wood cage me in place.
The smoke is strong and thick and heavy in my lungs. I am desperate for fresh air, but each seething lungful promises sudden death, not life.
The burning scent of Darkhaven collapsing irritates my vision, which has become cloudy from the haze. The world is bright orange, and the heat is like a blanket against my skin. It is so strong, so lifelike, as it clings to my body.
The man points at the river of blood, and I understand that life only comes from death. To survive the fire, I must feed. I must do as he asks.
I kneel, sinking into it, and I scoop a mouthful into my palms. It streams through my fingers, my hands weak and shaky. I pool more, and this time, I successfully bring it to my lips. I drink long and deep until my stomach is so full I can’t possibly drink any more.
“How does it taste?” he whispers, breath hot against my neck.
I feel him right behind me, long, tentacle fingers lingering on my shoulders, but when I look up, he is still in front of me, waiting in the distance.
“You shouldn’t drink that,” someone says, distracting me. I see the anger flash across the man’s face as I turn away from him and look at the speaker.
As I spin, the world changes. No longer set ablaze, Darkhaven is renewed, buildings erect and fire smothered. The extinguished heat no longer licks my raw flesh, and I am grateful for even a moment of reprieve.
The girl beside me is young. Maybe nine. Maybe ten. Maybe even younger than that. Her hair is long and dark, and it hangs messily at her shoulders. Her eyes are bright—the color of dark honey—and full of promise. Her skin is scraped and bruised from play, but she smiles at me, the pain gone. And when she plops down beside me, toys in hand, the river of blood evaporates.
“Do you remember what you told me?” she asks.
I don’t respond because I don’t believe she is speaking to me. I just watch her, fascinated by such a brave child. She thinks she knows me, recognizes my face, but she doesn’t. She has no idea that I am the monster she always feared.
She has a doll in her arm, and she holds it in front of her. She stares at the doll, adjusting her dress, which has become crooked from being carried under the girl’s arm.
The doll has bright-red hair braided in pigtails. A light-blue bow rests to one side, and the color of the bow matches the doll’s skirt. Its shirt was once white, but now it’s almost gray, like it has been dropped too many times in the dirt.
The girl holds the doll with both hands, her fingers wrapping around each of the doll’s arms. She places the doll’s feet on the ground and pretends to walk it around us. All the while, the girl is humming loudly. The tune is lighthearted and fast, a pretty melody for such a pretty girl.
“Do you remember what you told me?” she repeats, but this time her lips don’t move. She is still humming to herself, gaze focused on her toy.
I decide to answer her by shaking my head. She isn’t looking at me, but I think she understands my response.
I want to reach for her, to touch her smooth, milky-soft skin, but I do not. I fear she will leave if I do. And I am desperate not to lose her.
“You promised we would be safe,” she says. She plops onto her bottom and clutches her doll to her chest. “You said we would always be okay.”
I swallow hard, a knot forming in my throat. My tongue is once again dry, and my innards crave the blood flowing in her veins. But I just drank. I fed only moments ago. Why do I crave her blood, her innocence?
I can’t feed from this girl because I know her all too well.
“Ava,” I whisper to the girl, talking to the sweet, young, pure soul I used to be.
I was virtuous then. Moral and honest. A young mortal witch who knew nothing of the dangers lurking in this world. I always feared monsters were under my bed, and in my worst nightmares, I imagined I would become one. I was right.
“Will you keep your promise this time?” she asks, no longer looking at her doll.
She stares at me, eyes wide and dripping with tears. Her cheeks are flushed, and the steady beats of her heart tease my control.
I cannot respond. I try to speak, to convince her that we will make it through this, just as I have always told myself when things get hard, but once again, I am mute. I am silenced by the monster.
The man is behind her now, and I scream. I shriek for her to run, but young and feeble, she doesn’t move in time. She simply stares at me, and I watch the exact moment she dies.
The man slices through her small, frail body, cutting through flesh. The snap of skin ripping, the squish of muscle tearing, and the crack of bones breaking resonates in my mind, penetrating my heart. I am sprayed, soaked in her blood.
The man laughs as I lunge forward, grabbing on to the child. I rock back and forth, breathing rapidly. The loud bursts calm my mind as I am overrun with one simple emotion: agony. I mourn the death of this child, the elimination of her innocence.
I cradle her in my arms, holding the torn pieces of her body together, but she is a puzzle I can’t finish. She is gone now, and I can’t put her back together.
The harder I hold on to her, the faster she disappears. Even though I am aware of this, I can’t relinquish my grasp. I want to keep her safe, to protect her from the monster, but she leaves me. The child is gone, but I am not alone.
“You’re never alone,” he says softly.
I lean back, sitting on my heels. The tears flow freely, sliding down my face and splashing against my thighs.
I stare at the ground, believing I can will her back to me if I try hard enough, but all I succeed in doing is summoning the sea of blood. It returns to me, and my own tears wash away in its waves.
“You did this,” I say, voice hard and angry. “You will pay for this.”
The man laughs, a loud, barking bellow that surrounds me. The noise is deafening, so I clutch my head between my hands, covering my ears. I scratch my fingernails against my scalp and begin to rock. I hum the girl’s tune, but I sit here for a long time before the melody finally overpowers the man’s menacing chuckle.