Purified by Fire

Prologue

She is running, her legs hurting – blisters and oozing skin – the soles of her feet bloody and her muscles screaming for some respite. She can't stop. Her hands are trembling and her arms are like lead as they swish back and forth, back and forth as she runs. Her breath is fast, heaving gushes of air in and out at an impossible rhythm, her throat burning from the cold inhales through her mouth. Her lungs ache for a pause, heart slamming into her ribcage at crushing force. It hurts.

They are out there though, they always are. Patrolling the hallways with fierce accuracy that terrifies her even as she knows it would help in her escape. They never think to change their pace, never think to modify the schedule. "Humans that aren't human" she calls them in the absence of a proper name. What can they be though? If they are not people, yet look like them? Are they really all that different or is she simply too frightened by them to even conceive that they might be just ordinary, albeit cruel, human beings? She doesn't know the answer nor does she care to find out. She needs to get out, now.

The banging of a pipe makes her head snap towards the source at breaking speed, so sudden that it has her reeling for a few moments. Her head hurts from it, pounding angrily in punishment, and her body is unsteady. She's dizzy, she thinks as she puts a hand to the metal wall next to her to keep on her feet. Breathe, she commands her lungs, inhaling deeply and exhaling, long, several times. She doesn't have time for mistakes or delays however, not if she wants to escape alive. She needs it.

Once the realization that it was a mere pipe reaches her brain, she regains her focus and sprints down a flight of stairs, falling onto her foot wrong and nearly breaking her ankle. It's a sharp pain traveling all the way up to her knee when she steps on it. Twisted. She curses – long and relentless – but then steels herself against it. She knows pain intimately. This won't slow her down.

She can see the backdoor now, the one that leads directly to the encampment fence. She's almost free, so close that she can taste it on her tongue. She licks her lips – dry, cracked, stinging – and runs that bit faster heading into the night, hearing the crickets' song and inhaling the soft scent of grass. She's nearly there; just a few more steps and she will be f–

"Wake up, demon!" a voice startles her and she opens her eyes to the same greeting she's gotten every morning for months now. She is still unsure why she's called that when other are so much worse – deformed faces, shining eyes and warped psyche. The guard is holding his electrical baton and swinging it casually while he waits for her to rise and change. She holds back the urge to scream for the hundredth time in a row. She is beginning to hate that dream as all it does is give her false hope that will only get crushed under the bright morning sun.

Sunlight broke through the sheen of murky glass, window fighting against the warmth as the room was submerged in it. The dust rose with the wind and scattered everywhere, swirling in the air and falling helpless and decaying onto new surfaces. The house creaked under the strain, wooden floorboards putrid and battered, marble faded and concrete chipped. It was crumbling under the brightness, dying with the morning. It was only at night that it came alive.

The pathway had since disappeared, replaced by mud and grass, slippery and treacherous for anybody. The river next to it had gotten its fair share of broken pavement swimming with its clear water. Sometimes, when rain hit the forest hard, branches fell into it and then let themselves be led to the other bank, the water overflowing. Rarely, but every once in a while, the river ran its course all the way to the house, crashing into the massive front door, hitting it painfully, the resounding boom echoing through the emptiness inside. But the river never stayed. It too was frightened by it, by its essence in the night.

When the moon rose high, that's when the water scurried away, for the moon was power for them. When the gray reflected into the depths, the river stayed on its course, snaking through the valley and falling into the lake in a grand waterfall. The bubbling water was a sigh, a prayer answered. It had escaped once more.

Sometimes a soft drizzle dribbled through the rubble and the house yelled, drops slamming into the floors and soaking the fabrics, corroding the metal. The house ached when it rained and it died when summer came. When the day was long and heated, the house was silent, biding its time until the night descended upon it finally – without fail – and it was then that it could dance and sing once more, the joy carried by the summer breeze deep into the woods. Animals too knew of this, the voices a warning to stay away. They never broke the unspoken agreement, they never trespassed.

Light faded, rosy horizon a cause for celebration, the reddened lights swallowing the chandelier whole and sparking life into the crystals, chimes resounding through the empty hallways. Warming the sheets and clearing the windows, the descending sun breathed into night. Life was returning to Midnight Manor, life that would withstand daylight soon. The river shuddered as its water crashed into the lake. Life was returning...

Death would follow life as it was wont to do though. The river knew this intimately and yearned for its safe embrace for as life returned, they came. He returned. The river snaked through the valley, relaying the message. Screams echoed through the forests. Life was coming.

She is being dragged by two guards now, her room soon to be seen behind the corner. Her head hangs low, her mouth still filled with the sweet tang of blood, cheek throbbing. She can feel a tooth moving when her tongue traces it and she winces. With every breath she can feel her ribs protesting. They dig painfully into her lungs, irritating the tissue – an almost pleasant ache. She smiles. Night is here now.