Black Heart

1. Beasts in the Shadows

18 years later

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THE FACE THAT LOOKED BACK at me was a cold mask of indifference and if you don't look closely, you'd believe her facade. However, her eyes that were once described as bright blue had lost its shine, replaced by a hollow shade that cannot hide the desolation accumulated over the years. The girl was wearing an elaborate black dress, one of her many collections, and though it was beautiful and lavish, it hugged her figure awkwardly.

I scrutinized my reflection once more, noting my ashen skin, starving for the sun, and the way my lips had minuscule cracks. They would cover all of those distasteful features later when my grandmother is done criticizing my person. The maids hadn't roused from their sleep and I was already in front of the mirror, clad in the black silk the color of the night sky—a mourning dress to commemorate the death of the woman who gave birth to me.

I turned to gaze at the curtains that covered the windows, a dangerous curiosity seizing my conscience. The sun hadn't yet made its ascent. The night beasts were still awake, and I could feel them stir in the veil of shadows, their indistinct sound murmuring against my ears. A scratching noise, a silent whisper in the wind, a low, guttural sound...

Come, they seemed to say. Come outside and play.

I clasped the bronze pendant that would protect me from their deadly clutches even though I knew that my house was charmed against such evil incarnates.

"Why are you awake?"

I flinched, surprised. I turned to stare at my reflection in my mirror, now seeing it accompanied by my grandmother standing on the threshold behind me, a wool shawl wrapping her bony frame. The candle she was holding burned dimly, illuminating a gaunt face. Her thin lips pressed into a grim line, her brows curled in a disapproving frown. I spun to face her.

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted.

Come. Come out and play. I swallowed and tried hard to ignore the whispers that sounded like a song sung by a thousand children.

Grandmother surveyed me with her sharp eyes, oblivious to the evil that managed to slip through the crack of the wards. Their voices sounded so loud in my ears that I wondered if she could hear them. Unwillingly, my eyes darted to the curtains.

She caught the movement and did the same. She shot a suspicious glance at me before strolling towards the curtains and peeked outside.

No. Don't look, I wanted to say even though I knew that she did not hear the same things as I did. Don't look or something might look back.

A cloud of unease settled over me, a strange awareness of being watched. The atmosphere was silent and still, as if it waited for something. I stared at Grandmother's back as she gazed outside the window, unfazed by the endless stretch of darkness. Why can't she sense their malicious intent like I did? A cold feeling, like ice snaking its way to my spine.

Won't you come out and play?

"What did I tell you about waking up in an ungodly hour?" she said, closing the curtains shut. She moved briskly to light the candles. "And what did I tell you about being alone in the dark?"

"I don't need light to see."

She glared at me, annoyed that I reminded her just how inhuman I was. "It doesn't matter what you need. You know very well what it means to be awake in the dark, Eliza."

Yes. Yes I knew. She had repeated the lessons to me constantly that I knew it by heart. Regardless, she did not waste time to remind me again.

"The vedraza thrive in places where the light cannot touch. Their influence can reach far back into our minds. I'd appreciate it if you did not rise in the middle of the night."

I did not reply.

"Break your fast when morning comes. And make sure you look your best tomorrow. I can't stop the nosy people from prying so I don't want them to think that my granddaughter is some sort of demon."

But I am, I didn't say. Though she insisted to everyone she came across that I was the product of a miracle that only my mother could pull off, I knew that she treated me with a kind of wariness reserved for dangerous animals.

"After we visit your mother's grave, we go to the shrine. I want you to be on your knees and ask for forgiveness." I followed her movements as she lit one candle from another, making sure that every stick was lit.

Forgiveness for what? I wanted to ask though I knew the answer. It didn't matter that I never strayed from her orders or that I prayed so frequently I could replace the High Priestess. To her, my entire existence was a sin, something that needed to be forgiven, even though I had no part in my creation.

And just like the obedient granddaughter I always was, I nodded mutely.

She lit the one hundred candles that littered every corner of my room until my eyes squinted, sore and stinging. They burned steady and bright—and as if it wasn't enough, she crouched to coax the half-burnt wood in the hearth to come to life. The smell of smoke and fire lingered in my nose and scraped against my throat.

I rubbed my arms, feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of the light. It was one of the many things that I had in common with the vedraza, one that my grandmother tried to remedy even though there were no signs of it ever being cured. The only difference was that where the vedraza burned into ashes at the slight touch of light, it gave me discomfort, as if something was not quite right.

"Don't you try to extinguish it again or I won't let you eat tomorrow," she threatened with her nasal tone. She always stayed true to her words but I've been subjected to numerous periods of fasting that hunger was no stranger to me.

"Yes, Grandmother," I said anyway.

Grandmother strode towards the door, throwing me one last distasteful glance. "Change your clothes and go back to sleep."

She closed the door with a thud.

Little, little, girl. The witch is gone. You can come out and play.

I stared at the curtains once again, a deep sense of longing bursting in my chest. The demon's heart inside me thudded in tandem with the vedraza's quiet laughter that sounded so much like innocent children. The only thing that hinted their wickedness was the misplaced low snarls that accompanied the high-pitch voices. Unconsciously, I stepped closer, wanting to open the curtains and jump down the window, run past the wards and into their waiting arms.

But I've been trained too well to do just that.

I raised my bronze pendant—a talisman that warded their influence—and chanted a spell.

"Begone, children of the dark. Do not pry into our secrets for there is only flame and light that await." The holy words burned my tongue, protesting that someone tainted like me dared to utter it. However, its power still filled the air.

The slight tremor of vedraza moving, their quiet snarls and the slithering sound of their bodies slowly ebbed and faded. They crept back to the shadows where they belonged. I blew out a relieved sigh. When morning comes, they will have no power over us.