Fairydale: Part 2 – Chapter 18

I wake up at dawn.

The house is dead quiet, which gives me hope that no one else is mad enough to be up at this unconscionable hour.

Yet despite the strain on my body from yesterday’s events, I could not sleep.

Not with so many erratic thoughts and never-ending dilemmas.

My stomach is still humming with pleasure from Caleb’s proposal, the taste of his kiss lingering on my lips and making me look forward to seeing him again today.

But this time it’s not him who is the cause of my confusion—he’s the only thing I am sure of. Rather, it’s everything that’s happening around me and the fact that my blood seems to be so precious for no specific reason. It’s the fact that I’ve recently discovered I have powers, but now I realize they come with severe limitations.

More than anything, it’s in the fact that someone is directly targeting me. Whether it’s Amon, Mr. Nicholson, someone in the Hale family, or someone I do not yet know, I can’t help but suspect everyone.

Light filters through the wide windows of the hallway, illuminating the staircase and every corner of the house. Thankful that I won’t need to use a candle, I slowly make my way downstairs.

Aside from the Hales, few people work in the staff kitchens on the lowest level—between the ground floor and the catacombs. As far as I’d understood it, they do not reside in the house, rather they are townsfolk who’d agreed to work for a wage.

I hadn’t interacted much with them—whether because our paths never really crossed, or they purposefully avoided me, I do not know. But the one time I’d seen them, they’d advised me against visiting that area of the house due to its infestation with rodents.

One of the older women had told me they’ve been having a hard time controlling the rodent population down there, and they’ve resorted to all types of traps and poisons to ensure they didn’t spread further to other parts of the house.

Though it had barely been a passing mention, as I became increasingly frustrated with my situation and the fact that I do not understand my abilities, nor do I know my limitations. As such, the idea had come to me as I’d woken up.

Determination brims inside of me as I stride over to the lower quarters. Luckily, though the staff hasn’t arrived yet, the doors aren’t closed.

Remembering the areas I’d heard were most infested, I check those first—the cupboards, and the small crevices.

To my great surprise, I find plenty of rats squirreled away in a corner—some dead, some half-alive.

Grabbing a box and a pair of gloves, I pluck them by the tail and I drop them in the box, one at a time. There are about three that still move a little, which leads me to believe they’ve likely ingested poison and are well on their way to the grave. There’s a fourth dead one, and I add it too, thinking Mr. Meow might like some food.

For a wild cat, I haven’t really seen him chase mice, or birds, as is the way of cats. He accepts what I feed him, but he doesn’t have the inclination to procure his own.

It’s a wonder how he’s made it on his own until now.

Still, he’s not a domesticated cat and I have no doubt he misses his prey and raw meat, so I’m sure he will appreciate my little gift.

Box in tow, I head back to my room.

Mr. Meow is on my pillow, stretching languidly and grooming himself—he always makes himself at home in my bed.

I think I’m the only human he likes, though, because whenever someone else comes along he either runs away or bares his teeth at them—not very nice cat behavior, which I’ve reprimanded him for.

‘I have a surprise for you, Mr. Meow,’ I declare as I close the door behind me, locking it just in case. The last thing I need is for someone to come across my little experiment and think me mad.

Mr. Meow jumps up, his ears perking as he hears my voice. Coming towards me, he regards the box in my hand curiously.

I beckon him to the bathroom where I place the box on the floor.

Still wearing my gloves, I take the dead rat out by its tail, waving it in front of Mr. Meow.

‘I got you raw meat,’ I tell him, dropping to my knees and placing it in front of him. ‘I’m sorry I’ve only fed you human food until now, but this is your special treat.’

The rat isn’t particularly big, but it should fill Mr. Meow, nonetheless.

Yet as I regard my dear friend expectantly with a wide smile on my face, I realize he doesn’t seem particularly thrilled. At least not as I expected him to be.

He’s flinching away, and if he had a human nose, I’m pretty sure it would be scrunched up in disgust.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t like it…’ My face falls.

Yet when he sees my disappointment, he immediately reacts.

If at first he’d seemed put off by the dead rat in front of him, now he leans forward, smelling the meat before bringing his sharp claws to scrap at the hide, digging into the rat and bringing his snout into its cavity.

‘That’s my sweet boy,’ I coo at him, patting him on the head.

Seeing him munch with gusto, I decide to switch my attention to my own little experiment.

Settling on the floor next to Mr. Meow, I pluck one semi-alive rat from the box, placing it in front of me and regarding him carefully.

Do I need to remove my gloves, I wonder?

Not entirely thrilled about the prospect of touching a rat, I slowly take my gloves off, depositing them to the side.

The rat has a few spasms as he undoubtedly struggles between life and death.

‘What fails for me is more food for you, Mr. Meow,’ I tell him with a wink.

‘Meow.’

I’m not sure if that’s a yes, please, or a no, thank you. But seeing that he’s enjoying the rat, I’ll take it as the former.

‘Now let’s see,’ I murmur as I bring my hands over the rat, focusing my energy into my palms.

Like before, I need to feel the energy at the surface of my skin, almost like a sleek film covering my palms.

A slow hum accompanies it, and my skin starts pulsating. At the same time, the rat becomes increasingly more active, moving around until he suddenly jumps up—newly revitalized.

‘It worked, Mr. Meow. It worked,’ I exclaim in wonder.

Yet just as I try to move, the same lightheadedness as before descends over me, to the point that I feel my eyes roll back in my head. I fall back on my ass, stretching my arms back just in time so I don’t fall flat on my back.

At the same time, the rat becomes straight up rambunctious, wasting no time in running around.

‘Mr. Meow,’ I call out, my eyes growing wide.

It was fine when the rat wasn’t moving, but now, seeing it slither his way around my bathroom, heading straight for me, has my skin erupt in goosebumps—an unwelcome add-on to my mounting headache.

Mr. Meow, though, proves to me that he is a veritable wild cat by jumping on top of the rat and catching it with his claw, effectively stopping his movements.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have brought so many,’ I sigh.

One or two would have sufficed seeing that I can barely heal one before I get dizzy.

Turning my gaze to the box, I note that the other two have already stopped moving—likely a sign that they’ve died.

‘Damn it,’ I curse softly.

Yet there’s still something else to be done.

A little more difficult than I would have liked, I slowly manage to get to my feet. Washing my hands with soap and water, I take a blade from the cabinet and aim it at my open palm. Since I don’t know how fast I will be healing now, I can’t afford to nick any important veins.

‘This is the moment, Mr. Meow. Let’s see if my theory is correct.’

Making a shallow cut, I watch as blood slowly seeps to the surface.

Mr. Meow surprises me by climbing on the cabinet and pushing his little snout against me.

‘What?’ I turn to him.

He takes advantage of my momentary lack of attention to dive straight for my hand, lapping at the blood until the wound is clear.

And not healing.

Or, if it is, it’s very slow.

Quickly glancing at my wristwatch, I note the time as I wait for it to close.

Usually, it takes a second for it to do so. Now? After five minutes and there is still a tiny scar,

It’s only at the seven minute mark that the wound disappears completely.

‘What do you think, Mr. Meow?’ I ask pensively as I stare at my hand.

‘It seems that by healing someone else, my energy goes down to such an extent that not only do I get physically weak, but my own wounds no longer heal at the same rate,’ I start, voicing out my observations. ‘On the other hand, if I focus only on healing my own wounds, they heal within seconds. I think we can surmise that I have a limited supply of this…energy or ability or whatever it is. It seems to be a replenishable resource, since once I rest I do feel better, and my wounds heal faster again. But overall there seems to be a limit to how much I can do. And that means…’

I swallow hard at the implications.

How foolish of me to think myself invincible when I’d first found out about these strange abilities. It was my own hubris and folly that could have led me down a dangerous path had I not realized my own limitations.

‘This means I can die. Without enough energy, my body will not heal, and I can die,’ I whisper in horror.

‘If I participate in the rituals Rhiannon or Mr. Nicholson want me to, there is a very good chance I will die.’

And there is one more variable I have not considered.

What is the basis of my energy?

Is it my blood? It could be since everyone seems to want it.

But if that is so, then if I lose too much blood, I will be in danger.

‘Mr. Meow… Is it just me or…’ I pause, focusing on my now non-existent wound. ‘I might die either way.’

Mr. Nicholson wants to use my blood for some alternative ritual, while Rhiannon wants to use me to channel the spell. By her own admission, she would happily die to rid the town of evil.

No matter how I look at this, there is only one potential outcome—my demise.

To perform any spell would mean my end.

Then what about Amon?

It is my understanding that if the spell they mean to cast doesn’t succeed, he will walk free.

Amon… Free…

I gulp down against the wave of emotion that hits me as I think of him.

Rhiannon, nor Mr. Nicholson, had given me any details about his state of imprisonment—where or how. They’d simply stated he was somewhere in Fairydale and his influence extends to the borders of the city.

Yet as soon as I think about Amon walking free, I can’t help but wonder what I would do then. Maybe I could meet him and…

‘God, I’m such a fool…’ I mutter to myself.

I am a confused fool that agreed to marry one man while still wavering about the other—while still very much having feelings for him.

I’ve never personally met Amon in this life.

But we’ve been together in at least two lifetimes before—one where I did not have the mark, and one when I did.

If he weren’t trapped, would I be with him now, too?

Would he have found me and seduced me as he did in the past?

Some things simply don’t add up—from Rhiannon or Fiona’s sides.

If my mark was so important, then why would Amon have been with me when I didn’t have it? Hundreds of years—if not thousands—before I ever had that mark.

The more I dwell on this dilemma, the more I get to only one primary question.

What does this mark truly mean?

I think Rhiannon and I are due for another talk—one where she no longer lies to me.

‘Let’s clean this mess up, Mr. Meow,’ I sigh as I bring myself to the present and place the dead rats back in the box before I go trash it.

As soon as the hour becomes more reasonable, I steel myself and head to Rhiannon’s lodgings.

Luckily I bump into Katrina on her way to school and she shows me where Rhiannon’s room is.

‘Just be careful. She doesn’t really like when people invade her sanctuary,’ she gives me a warning before she leaves.

Invade? That sounds ominous, doesn’t it?

Steeling myself, I walk towards the end of the wing where Rhiannon’s rooms are, knocking on the door.

Surprisingly, it slowly opens by itself and I’m beckoned inside.

‘Rhiannon?’ I ask as I step inside.

The entire room is like a jungle, overgrown plants everywhere.

I slither my way through the tall branches and leaves, wondering why she would need to have them in her room when she had the entire conservatory at her disposal.

There’s a small arch a few steps in front of me, and passing through it, I find myself in a seemingly entirely different location.

‘Rhiannon? It’s Darcy,’ I call out, looking right and left.

Whereas the other room was full of plants, this one is full of books. And not just any books. As I peruse some of the volumes, I note I’ve seen them again once before.

In Fiona’s library.

But how would they have ended up with Rhiannon?

‘In the back,’ Rhiannon’s voice sounds out.

I put the matter out of my mind as I go to the back as instructed.

Yet another arch delimitates this room from the next.

Frowning, I let my gaze roam around, finding Rhiannon tending to a boiling pot.

All around, there are jars with ingredients and vials of potions, making me believe this is a laboratory of sorts.

‘What a surprising visit, Darcy. What brings you here,’ she smiles at me as she rises from her seat. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she regards me intently.

‘I wanted to talk to you more about my birthmark,’ I jump straight to the topic. ‘I wish to know everything there is about it.’

Her brows go up.

‘And what brought about this…curiosity?’

‘I’m curious about this ability you say I have.’

She nods to herself.

‘Well, since we are here we can look at the original source material,’ she says as she leads me to an empty table.

Before I can wonder what she means, she waves her hand, whispering a phrase in Latin, and the bottom of the table opens up to reveal a huge vellum manuscript—a codex.

As it reaches the surface, its pages flip until it settles on the illustration of the woman with the mark. Just like before, the drawing is accompanied by a few rows of text.

‘This is the main information we have, but there’s also the account of the elder who encountered it.’

‘When did that happen?’

‘Sometime in the sixth century A.D.,’ she sighs.

My eyes widen as I remember Fiona mentioning the Codex Stuartorum was from the sixth century, too. Could there be any connection?

‘It was the year 536 A.D. somewhere near Ravenna. It’s not a coincidence they call it the ‘worst year to be alive’ and it’s all because of that demon,’ Rhiannon spits the words in distaste.

Using her abilities, she projects the account from that elder on the wall. ‘The scroll with the original account is kept in the archives at the Vatican, as are all the important documents that have not been incorporated in the codices.‘

I can make out the script, but I’m not the best at Latin so I rely on Rhiannon to translate it.

The elder describes noticing an unusual male in Ravenna in the summer of 536. The male seemed to have particular abilities and he didn’t belong to any of the covens. That raised the alarm for this elder and he proceeded to follow him.

The male was often in the company of a woman, and the elder immediately thought she might be in danger from him.

He triggered the alarm with his superiors, thinking it might be a demon preying on a poor and unassuming woman, but his request to intervene was denied.

The elder didn’t give up and he continued to follow the male around until he heard a ruckus in the lodgings the male was sharing with the woman. He immediately burst through, hoping to save her. But it was too late because by that point, the demon had already fed off her life’s energy.

He had not been strong enough to defeat the demon, and the creature had fled off with the body of the woman.

The elder had noticed the mark above her left breast and he’d thought it odd, so he’d remembered to sketch it in case it proved of importance later on.

‘The saga didn’t end there,’ Rhiannon purses her lips as she brings forth another page. ‘Back then, our codices weren’t split. There was a single one that belonged to the Supreme Authority. The demon stole the original codex.’

‘What?’ my eyes widen.

‘We don’t know what he meant to do with it, or if he used any of the forbidden spells. But when the Supreme Authority delegated a team to go after him—a member of each of the current six families—they were easily defeated. Amon incinerated the codex. Luckily, the elder who’d rang the alarm on him was one of the experts on the codex during that time and he was able to recreate most of it from memory. For the first time, the Supreme Authority decided that having all precious information in one place was too dangerous, so the most powerful spells were split.’

‘What about Amon?’

‘He disappeared for a long time. But not before wreaking havoc on Earth. Many thought the apocalypse was upon them,’ she says as she pulls up multiple other accounts from the time.

Some recount that the sky had darkened, similar to an eclipse, others say that a cloud of darkness had descended upon them. Historically, however, soon after, a devastating plague had started in the Byzantine Empire. One that the coven attributed to Amon.

‘There isn’t a lot of information about the mark, but the elder who discovered everything theorized that the energy from that woman must have been enormous for we had never encountered such a powerful entity before. Amon was, and is, the most powerful demon the coven has ever fought.’

‘If there isn’t a lot of information about the mark, then how did you come to the conclusion that the owner of it has such powerful healing abilities?’

Rhiannon gives me a sad smile.

‘The elder had some theories. And they were confirmed with Elizabeth Montford. When she was born, her mother was declared dead. It was a difficult birth and she bled out. Everyone who was at the scene witnessed the pure cloud of energy that formed around them. One moment the priest was ready to give her the last rites, the next she was perfectly fine—no injuries. Even her scars from the pregnancy had been healed. It was then that they recognized the mark and made the connection.’

‘And then you bound her powers,’ I note, narrowing my eyes.

‘No one could take a chance. We’ve seen healing abilities before but never to that extent. Fiona was dead. There are people who can heal small injuries, but there has never been anyone to raise someone from the dead.’

‘I didn’t realize the mark was that powerful,’ I whisper, though the rat comes to mind.

I can’t say for sure, but it had been more dead than alive. Could it be that…

‘The elders gathered together and they voted to bind her powers. The spell was one of the forbidden ones, and as such irreversible. They hoped that by doing that they could avoid the same situation.’

I give a dry laugh.

‘That is what I don’t understand. Was it for Elizabeth’s good, or was it to avoid anyone else getting their hands on her abilities?’

‘Both,’ Rhiannon replies firmly, and I can tell she believes it implicitly.

If there’s one thing I’m getting out of this meeting, it’s that Rhiannon has blindly put her faith into the coven and their version of events. Regardless of the questions that arise regarding their policies and manner of action, she truly believes the coven can do no wrong.

‘Alright,’ I nod, going along with her explanation. ‘Then tell me something. Why did my abilities only develop after I came to Fairydale?’

‘I cannot give you a proper answer, Darcy. I’m telling you what I know as well, but I agree that there are gaps in our knowledge when it comes to your birthmark.’

‘Then how could you ask me to risk my life in your ritual if you don’t even know what it will do to me? I might be able to heal, but it’s not an exhaustive supply. Once it’s gone…’ I trail off, letting the words sink in.

‘And the alternative? Amon walks free. Is that what you want? For him to terrorize more people? Kill more? Didn’t you hear what I said until now? Fairydale wasn’t his first time triggering a plague, or unleashing total destruction. It wasn’t his first time abusing and killing an innocent woman—one who was foolish enough to fall for his demonic charms,’ she grits her teeth at me, her words full of frustration.

Isn’t all this circumstantial evidence at best? To say that he caused the Justinian plague… I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

The Amon I know is a good and honorable man. He might have his vicious side, but I’ve only ever seen him act when provoked. He would never do something to an innocent.

I do not know how I am certain of this, but it’s a feeling deep in my gut.

Amon d’Artan would never act unprovoked. Would he?

‘How can you even be sure it was him?’ I counter.

If they want me to believe all this nonsense—if they want me to help their cause in any way then I will need proof—tangible proof.

A snarl pulls at her lips and before I know it, the entire room is engulfed in darkness.

What…

I don’t get to voice my concern as the black walls suddenly become animated.

I’m sitting in the middle while all around me images are being projected onto the wall. I know this is all Rhiannon’s power, yet that doesn’t make me feel any less uneasy about it.

‘Watch!’ Rhiannon’s voice booms. ‘Watch what he did to Fairydale and dare to tell me we can’t be sure it was him!’

‘W-what’s this?’ I ask tentatively, a shiver of doom going down my back.

‘This is the collective memory of that day—of every little organism that witnessed the wickedness of Amon,’ Rhiannon explains. ‘But I should warn you, Darcy. It gets bad. Real, real bad,’ she whispers in a sad tone.

Her warning has me on my guard as I expect to see a version of Amon like the one I’d seen before—the bloody killer who’d slaughtered four men with one snap of a wrist.

Yet it’s an entirely different sight that appears before me.

My eyes widen as I realize the surroundings are familiar.

It’s the Old Church as I’d seen it that night. Everything is exactly the same as in my vision. But how… If it’s sealed, then how could I have known how it looks like.

Unless…

I swallow hard. Maybe it’s just a dormant memory from my life as Elizabeth.

The organ is playing just as it had that night. Even the melody is the same—Bach’s Toccata.

The image focuses on the person playing.

Elizabeth.

God, but if before I’d seen Elizabeth through the foggy memory of my dreams, aware of her appearance only as it had been reflected back to me through the looking glass, now I can see her clearly.

I can see myself clearly.

It’s eerie gazing upon someone who is identical to me. So much so that we could pass for twins.

Yet another question arises. How in God’s name had Elizabeth ended up in the Old Church of Fairydale? How would she have gotten here from England?

I purse my lips, keeping my focus on the images before me.

Elizabeth is focused on playing the organ, seemingly lost in the music when someone steps inside the church.

Amon.

With a loud bang, her fingers still on the keys, her head slowly turning as she gazes upon him with disdain.

‘Lizzie,’ an anguished cry is wrenched from his throat as he addresses her. ‘Look at me, Lizzie mine.’

If before I would have been unsure of the veracity of this film, now I am more than certain.

Only Amon—the real Amon would have called me like that.

‘Please talk to me,’ he pleads with her as he walks down the aisle of the church towards the organ.

She resumes playing, ignoring him.

Even when he stops by her side, she keeps playing away, purposefully snubbing him.

‘Please talk to me,’ he whispers, his hands coming down on hers.

‘Why? So you can tell me more lies?’

She slowly turns, her expression stony.

‘So you can deceive me again?’

‘I never lied to you,’ he rasps, grabbing her into a tight embrace.

Her body is languid as she lets herself be pulled into his arms. Her expression is blank—as if she’s reached the end of her tether.

‘Please, Lizzie mine. Don’t do this. Don’t do this to us,’ Amon whispers.

‘Excuse me, but what am I supposed to see here?’ I suddenly inquire of Rhiannon. ‘This is clearly just a lovers’ quarrel. I don’t understand why we would look into something so intimate.’

Something that she has no right to see.

It feels like a defilement to witness such an intimate moment without permission. And this is coming from the reincarnation of the person starring in the vision.

‘Just watch, dear. You will get all your answers soon,’ Rhiannon tells me just as the angle of the image changes.

If before we’d been looking in from the entrance of the church, now the view is from the altar.

‘My sister,’ Elizabeth starts, stepping away from Amon. ‘I thought she had an accident with her husband. That they were injured and…’ her voice breaks. ‘It was all a lie,’ she accuses, suddenly looking at him with a combination of disgust and contempt.

‘It’s what happened. You know…’

‘No,’ she cuts him off. ‘They didn’t have an accident. You killed them,’ she points her finger at him just as a tear falls down her cheek.

‘Lizzie, how could you say that?’ Amon tries to placate her, taking a step forward.

She flinches, jumping back.

‘You killed them just so they wouldn’t interfere with you? You knew they were coming to warn me ,so you decided to take matters into your own hands…’ she trails off, overwhelmed by emotion.

My head whips towards Rhiannon, questions written all over my face. But she merely nods at me, telling me to watch the ensuing scene.

‘Just tell me the truth, Amon. For one goddamn time, tell me the truth!’

He’s staring at her, a forlorn look on his face before he releases a resigned sigh.

‘Yes,’ he whispers, the word barely audible.

‘How could you? How the hell could you?’ Elizabeth cries out as she launches herself at him, beating her arms against his chest. ‘Who’s next? The children? Me?’

‘You have it all wrong. I did this for you. So you would be happy,’ Amon tries to explain himself.

Elizabeth keeps shaking her head, her cheeks red with tears, her expression one of inconsolable pain.

‘No. You did it for you. Never once did you think of me,’ she suddenly says, her voice cold—too cold. ‘I can’t do this anymore, Amon. I’m done.’

Stepping back, she gives him one last look before she walks away.

Yet she doesn’t get to take one step before Amon flashes himself in front of her.

‘What do you mean you’re done?’ he snarls, his hands on her shoulders as he shakes her. ‘You’re mine, Lizzie. You’re mine and only mine. Do you think I’ll ever let you go?’

‘That’s right,’ she releases a dry laugh. ‘I’m yours because that’s the only thing you care about. That I’m yours and no one else’s,’ she scoffs at him, pushing him off her. ‘You’re wrong if you think you can own me, if you think you can dictate my life in any way,’ she tells him resolutely before she continues on her way out.

‘Lizzie!’ Amon’s voice thunders in the church, the intensity of his roar making the walls quake and tremble. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asks, and suddenly, his voice changes.

No longer the human-like voice from before, now it’s a full on demonic one, a perverted quality to it that makes my skin erupt in goosebumps.

God, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard something so…vile.

There’s no other way to put it. His cadence carries a negative energy with it that makes me want to scrape all layers of skin off my body to get rid of its stain.

‘Go to hell, Amon,’ Elizabeth snaps at him. ‘But that would be just an exotic destination for you, wouldn’t it?’ she snickers as she walks away.

Yet just like before, she doesn’t get to go too far.

In just a second, Amon has his hands around her throat as he pushes her against the wall.

His eyes flash a mix of red and black—like I’d seen him do before—as he bares his teeth at her.

‘You think you can just leave me?’ he snarls in the same demonic voice. ‘You think you can just walk away and what? Find someone else? Let another puny male human put his hands on you?’ he demands roughly.

Elizabeth’s eyes widen, her features bathed in fear.

It’s the first time I see that emotion flash on her face.

‘Let me go,’ she wheezes out.

Amon doesn’t listen. Instead, his hand pulls at the material of her dress, tearing the entire bodice.

‘Amon what…’

‘Tell me again,’ he demands. ‘Tell me again how you’re going to leave me, Lizzie.’

‘What are you doing?’ she asks, her voice laced with anxiety.

He doesn’t answer as he continues to pull at her clothes, ripping her gown to pieces until she’s standing naked before him.

Suddenly, I have an inkling of what’s about to happen, and I do not want to witness anything like that.

‘Turn this off,’ I snap at Rhiannon. ‘I don’t want to watch this, turn it off,’ I repeat.

But she doesn’t reply. It’s so dark around save for the projection of the images, that even as I turn three-sixty, I can’t find her.

‘Rhiannon!’ I yell.

And it’s exactly at that point that it happens.

One moment he has her against the wall, the next he lays her flat against the ground, his hands on his breeches as he unfastens his falls.

It feels like I’m swallowing glass as I’m watching what comes next.

She’s struggling in his hold, crying out for mercy and for him to stop, yet he doesn’t.

He holds her to the floor, his hand still on her neck as he parts her legs, settling between them before…

I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut just as her first cry of pain resounds in the air.

More screams follow in a quick succession, as well as his own grunts of pleasure as he ruts her like a beast.

Despite her continuous cries of anguish and physical pain, despite her pleas for him to stop, he doesn’t.

He keeps raping her, forcing himself onto her like it was his right to do so.

My eyes are still closed, the accompanying sounds the only indications of what’s happening. Even so, I feel my stomach churning, nausea overtaking me just as a soul-searing pain consumes me at witnessing something like that.

Amon… My Amon… How could he do something like that?

But he’s not my Amon after all, is he? Because if this is true… Then I never knew him. I only knew the pleasant face he wanted to show to me—to the world.

The true him is this beast. This merciless creature that takes and takes as if it was his God given right to own every piece of her—of me.

And that’s the worst.

Because Elizabeth isn’t just one of his victims.

It’s me.

I just watched myself get raped by a beast, and I don’t think I will ever be able to erase those images from my mind, nor the sounds.

Everything is ingrained deep in my memory and will likely haunt me for an eternity.

‘She lived through it. You must watch,’ Rhiannon finally speaks. ‘Look, Darcy. Now!’

Opening my eyes, I peer tentatively to see Amon lift his arm, his hand turning into something resembling a lance before he brings it over her heart, stabbing her with it.

One second.

That was all it took for him to kill her.

And as he steps away from her, I see the entire devastation. Her thighs are bloody and covered in semen, her eyes wide and unblinking.

She’s unmoving.

Dead.

He…killed her.

He really did kill her.

Yet the destruction is not done. As he steps towards the nave of the church, he falls to his knees, a wild cry escaping him. A blast of power emanates from him in circular waves.

At the same time, the walls to the right and left of my field of view change, showing me different sights.

The village.

Everyone is dying.

People are spilling their guts, blood pouring out of every orifice.

They are dying just like Leo Pierce died.

Is that… Is that the plague?

‘Look what he did. Not only in Fairydale, but to all the villages nearby.’

More images appear of people dying everywhere, and in the worst of manners.

Amon bellows in the church, and it’s at that moment that six people arrive, a portal opening right next to Elizabeth’s body.

The first to come out is Fiona. The rest, I do not know, but I can guess who they are—the other families.

What ensues next is a bloody battle between them. Six against one, and they’re barely hanging on.

The fight goes on, until Amon is shackled with iron bonds, while the other witches are wasting away to the sides.

And suddenly, I realize just how they’d died. How they’d given up their lives to seal Amon.

They’d formed a barrier and closed themselves off in the church with him, tying their own life-forces together as a net to keep him away from the world.

They had killed themselves—sacrificed themselves to the spell so Amon would not walk free.

As the images slowly disappear, the room comes back to its previous state.

‘So you see now,’ Rhiannon comes by my side, laying one hand on my shoulder.

My lashes are stained with tears, my soul shattering in my chest. I try to contain my erratic breathing, but the only thing I seem to be capable of is to keep myself from choking as I painstakingly inhale and exhale.

Amon. He…

‘He killed Elizabeth and everyone in Fairydale. He tortured them before they died. We call it a plague now, but it was malice of the highest order. And to stop him, the elders gave their lives to the seal. All so they could keep Amon from walking free—from killing more.’

Her words barely register in my mind. Not when I’m still shaken by what I’ve seen. By the fact that…

‘You must have already noticed that you’re the spitting image of Elizabeth. We believe you to be her incarnation in this life. That means that you, more than anyone, should not want him to walk free. He raped you. Killed you. As he did everyone in the village. And you know what’s worse? He killed even those children—the ones he stole from your sister. The ones you raised as your own babies. How could that not convince you of the evil he is capable of?’

‘You’re not any less evil for showing that to me,’ I croak, barely keeping myself together.

‘What?’ She frowns. ‘It is the truth and it shows you how bad this Amon is. It’s something you need to know.’

A dry laugh escapes me.

‘You don’t even realize, do you?’ I tilt my head. ‘Do you care about anything other than this stupid quest?’

‘W-what?’ she sputters. ‘Stupid quest? How dare you! You saw how many people died. You saw what he did. And you dare…’

‘In case you didn’t realize,’ I pause, my throat clogging with emotion. ‘You just made me watch myself get raped in another life. Yes, Amon may have been awful for being the initial perpetrator. But what you did…’ I shake my head.

Her gaze is full of indignation, ready to defend herself and her priceless mission.

What about me then?

What about the fact that I may never in my life forget what I saw?

But then it dawns on me. Why would that matter if I might not even live long enough?

My mouth twists into a sardonic smile. She doesn’t understand it. She thinks herself so self-righteous standing there, on the side of the coven and telling me what a bad guy Amon is, that she doesn’t see herself.

Without saying another thing, I simply leave.

I fear that if I stay on, I won’t be responsible for my actions.

The only thought residing in my mind as I dash down the stairs is that I need to be alone—close myself to the world so I can let the tears fall freely.

I barely look where I’m going as I hurry to my room, closing myself in the bathroom.

Mr. Meow sees my anxious state, and tries to claw his way at the door. But I don’t let him in.

I can’t even face him at this point.

With shaky hands, I snap open the buttons on my dress, letting it fall to the ground as I stand naked in front of the mirror.

My gaze moves over my face—Elizabeth’s, Sela’s—before going lower, to my birthmark and to my body.

Good Lord, but what I’d seen…

A sob racks my body as the images continue to assault me—the sight of Amon with his hand around my throat, holding me immobile while he had his way with me. His bruising hold, and the way he’d snapped at me replay in my mind, his voice echoing and making me physically flinch.

Bringing my hands to my ears, I try to push it out of my mind, yet I cannot.

It’s there, taunting me, mocking me and my foolish feelings.

I stumble out of my clothes, stepping into the tub and turning on the shower, letting the water wash over me and drown out the sound of my sobs and tears—the cries that no one cares to hear.

Because hadn’t Rhiannon said just that? It doesn’t matter what happened to me before, it only matters what I’ll do about it now.

She only needs me to act against Amon—as a weapon, not a human. She cares nothing about me or my feelings, only what I can provide for her and her coven.

And Amon…

Good God but Amon, my Amon. How could he do something like that?

My wails become louder as something inside me shatters, the mere thought that he could act against me in violence—in such a vile manner—proving my undoing.

I’d been told time and time again what type of person he was—that he was evil personified—but I still kept the belief that he was good to me.

Just like he’d promised.

Maybe he was bad to the world, but to me he was good.

It’s so hypocritical of me to admit it, but as long as he was mine—as long as he did everything for me and never against me—I would have been fine with it.

I would have accepted anything and everything.

Because he was mine.

And that was my ultimate fault.

Thinking that someone could change who they are at their core—that I would be the exception to the rule.

Over and over again I’d been told about his deeds against Fairydale and the world. By Fiona. By Rhiannon. By Mr. Nicholson. Everyone had agreed that he was a powerful demon who only cared about himself and wreaking destruction to the world—that he relished spreading evil wherever he went.

I’d been told this, and still, in my heart, I chose to keep a glimmer of hope. That it was all fake. That it was a misunderstanding.

Because otherwise my heart couldn’t have been so damn full of him. My soul couldn’t have belonged so entirely to him.

If he’d been that evil—that type of scourge—it wasn’t possible that I would have ever fallen in love with him.

And yet I had.

That is what hurts the most.

I’d fallen for him, time and time again.

As Sela, he’d been my whole world and I considered myself unworthy of him. I’d sensed that the moment I’d gazed upon him. I’d loved him deeply—too deeply one might say.

As Elizabeth, I’d slowly fallen for him. Second after second in his presence and he had me wrapped around his finger—he’d made me his thrall.

And as Darcy… As Darcy, I remember every other life, and I remember all the feelings. For that and that alone I know that a piece of myself belongs to him—irrevocably.

But now?

Now I have to come face to face with my own failings, and the fact that I’m in love with a monster—that I gave away a piece of myself to that monster.

The tears continue to fall just as the water courses down my skin, its warmth enveloping me in a big blanket of comfort.

‘Why?’ I croak between sobs.

Why did I have to come to Fairydale? Why did I have to return to this miserable place that is the root of all my misfortune?

Though I am lost to my sorrows, I can’t ignore the fact that the water is becoming increasingly colored—at first a pinkish hue before becoming redder under my gaze.

I suddenly stand up, confused, terrified, and heartbroken.

For a moment, I can’t possibly figure out where the color is coming from, but as a trickle of blood makes its way down my thigh, I finally realize the source.

My period.

Damn it all to hell, but why did it have to come right at this moment?

Right when I look at the droplets of blood, I’m reminded of the images Rhiannon had showed me—of the fact that Amon had forced himself between my legs, hurting me until my entire body was bloody and battered.

Something snaps within me at that moment, and grabbing a small block of soap, I move it all over my skin, lathering myself in it in an attempt to cleanse myself and get rid of his soiling touch.

I wash myself everywhere—every inch of my skin. Yet when my hand reaches between my legs, I hesitate.

A cry is wrenched from my throat as I fall to my knees into the bath, the impact bruising my flesh. Yet I can’t bring myself to care. Not about any injury I might sustain, or the pain I will feel.

After all, pain is what I’m looking after.

I want to hurt—anything to dim the guilt and heart wrenching sadness I’m feeling. And so I bring my nails to my skin, scrubbing myself clean. What the soap didn’t cleanse, my sharp nails will. Dragging them down my arms, I see the red trails left behind, the irritation of the skin and at times, the deep lacerations. Blood trickles to the surface just to be drowned out as my skin melds together.

So I do it again.

And again.

I scrub myself until I feel like my skin is about to fall off, and still it’s not enough.

Will it ever be enough?

Yet no matter how much I clean my body, I can barely bring myself to touch that spot at the junction of my thighs.

After moments of deliberating—of hesitating and of sobbing out loud in an attempt to soothe my own battered heart—I finally slip the soap between my legs, slowly cleaning myself.

More red accompanies the bubbles of soap, the clear of the white stained by my period blood.

‘Damn you,’ I cry out, dropping the soap from my hands just as I fall into the tub.

Bringing my hands to my face, I hunch over as I weep loudly, consumed by pain and consuming every little bit of tears I have left.

The crying, the washing, the wailing.

It’s my catharsis.

It’s my mourning of things that never happened to me, but happened to me all the same.

More than anything, it’s the last time I’ll let Amon influence me in any way.

Too many times I’ve given him the benefit of doubt when I shouldn’t have.

Even now, I know I would have made excuses for him—that it was all a mistake, that it couldn’t possibly be him—if his words had not been so irrevocably his own.

Who else would have known he called me Lizzie mine?

Who else would have been able to contrive his manner so perfectly?

It was Amon—my lover and my heartbreak.

But from now on, he will only be my regret and disappointment.

My…enemy.

I don’t know how much longer I spend in the bathroom. I seem to have an endless supply of tears where he is concerned, and no matter how much I try to stop myself, they will simply not stop.

I cry.

I cry and cry and cry until my heart breaks and my soul fractures.

I cry until I’m ready to relegate him to the past.

When the water grows too cold for me to be able to sit in it, I finally get out of the bath.

Getting a towel and wiping myself, I wrap it around myself before I exit the bathroom.

As I open the door, though, I come face to face with the last person I want to see.

Caleb.

His face is ravaged by pain, his features scrunched up in worry.

‘W-what are you doing here?’ I whisper.

But as I take a step forward, I trip on the door frame.

My arms flail out, and before I know it, I’m on the floor on my ass, my towel unwrapped all around me.

My knees are spread, my elbows back as I’d tried to keep my balance.

And I’m…completely naked.

Caleb mutters a curse under his breath as he picks me up from the floor, placing me gently on the bed.

‘I…’ I gulp down as I try to say something, but no words come to mind.

I can only stare at him. So strong. So reliable. So damn handsome.

More tears form at the corners of my eyes, before I release a loud sniffle, breaking once more into sobs.

‘Shh,’ he cradles me to his chest. ‘What happened?’ he murmurs in my hair, drawing back just enough to study my face.

‘I-I…’ I bite my lips as the tears stream down my cheeks. ‘I’m sad,’ I eventually say.

It sounds stupid to my ears, it should sound the same to his. But he doesn’t seem concerned as he looks at me with worry and far too much love than I deserve.

Certainly not after I spent the last hour crying about another man.

‘Why?’ he asks softly.

I shake my head, unable to give him an answer.

‘Ah, darlin’,’ he coos gently, tucking my wet hair behind my ears as he leans forward to catch a tear with his tongue. ‘I’m here now,’ he whispers. ‘I’m here and I’ll take care of you,’ he says as he licks my cheek from my chin to my eye. He does the same to the other one, capturing my still falling tears, eating my sorrows away.

‘All these tears,’ he rasps. ‘They’re mine now, aren’t they?’ he asks in a smokey tone.

I can’t help but nod as I lose myself in his gaze and the intensity of his presence—everything that makes me forget the past.

He’s so big in my small room, taking far too much space and for a moment I feel slightly alarmed. Yet it’s not for long. Certainly not with how careful and gentle he is with me.

So much so that I forget that I’m completely naked with him. I forget everything but the touch of his hand on my back, slowly stroking me—comforting me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

My knees are to my chest as I huddle into a small ball. He fits his body against mine, his arms drawing me into his embrace. His mouth is still on my face, licking at my tears, swallowing every bit of my heartache and turning it into something different.

Something…

‘Caleb,’ I whisper, cupping his cheeks with my hands as I search his face. ‘Kiss me.’

‘You never have to ask, darlin’,’ he says before his mouth is on mine, his lips clashing with mine as he forces me to open to him, let him in and share everything that I am with him.

I cling to him, my arms wound tight around his neck as I rock myself back and forth against him—seeking to absorb every bit of his heat.

From the moment his lips touch mine, the kiss is wild and out-of-control, mirroring my emotions and this out-of-control need for him—for his touch and for his unique brand of comfort. I want to feel his arms around me, his big hands on my body. I want to feel him everywhere—just so I can erase the violation from before.

Just so I can be whole again.

‘My darling girl,’ he rasps against my lips as he continues to lay kisses all over my tear-stained cheeks and my red-rimmed eyes. He holds me reverently to him as he places his lips on one eyelid, lingering for a moment before moving to the other.

In his embrace, I feel so safe—like I never have to wonder about tomorrow again. Like all the worries in my life have suddenly disappeared.

When he’s done kissing every little inch of my skin he moves lower, his mouth trailing down my neck right as he scrapes his teeth lightly against my skin.

I’m so lost to this sea of sensation—to this maelstrom of pleasure—that I no longer care how far this goes.

I’m simply his for the taking.

His mouth opens over my pulse point, sucking my skin in at the same time as his hands cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing softly over my erect nipples.

A gasp escapes me, my spine arching as I urge him to continue what he’s doing.

‘Please,’ I moan softly, feeling him absolutely everywhere.

His mouth continues its descent down my neck, alternating between kissing and sucking and biting every now and then. I can feel him lay his claim on me, his red kisses embedded in my skin and leaving a mark for all to see that I’m his and only his.

Because, regardless of what happened in the past, in this life I’m his.

Only his.

‘Fuck, love, you’re killing me,’ he speaks harshly, his breath on my skin.

His lips move downwards, and before I know it, he has one nipple in his mouth, sucking on it before biting every so lightly.

‘Ah,’ I arch my back encouragingly. Desire pools low in my belly, and I find myself growing wetter and wetter between my legs. In no time, I’ve lost all my inhibitions as I seek to have his mouth on me—time and time again.

‘More, please,’ I mumble incoherently, my hands in his hair as I urge him on.

He alternates between licking and sucking on my nipples, his hot mouth proving to be my undoing as I feel a storm build inside of me. I lose myself in his touch—in everything he does to me and every little bit of pleasure he racks from my body.

‘I’m all yours, darlin’,’ he tells me huskily. ‘Just like you’re all mine, aren’t you?’

I nod effusively—anything to get him to touch me more, kiss me in more places and give me the blessing that is his mouth.

‘All yours,’ I agree, hugging him closer.

‘That’s all I want to hear,’ he murmurs softly. ‘That I’m the only one to touch you.’

I gasp softly as I push my chest towards him.

He chuckles when he sees my enthusiasm, and giving me one long lick between the valley of my breasts, he moves lower. His mouth opens over my stomach, and he lays sloppy kisses everywhere, licking me thoroughly.

Dipping one hand between my legs, he finds me completely drenched as he parts my folds with two fingers.

He touches me lower and lower until…

My eyes widen as I remember I’d just gotten my period, and I’m likely drenched from the blood.

‘Wait,’ I squeak, pushing at his shoulders.

He pauses, his black eyes pinning me to the spot as he gazes at me assertively. His mouth tips up in a wicked smile and before I can tell him that he can’t touch me there—that it’s messy and he’ll get dirty—he brings the same red-stained finger to his lips, sucking it clean.

My eyes flash wide open.

‘You’re mine, darlin’. In any way, shape or form. That means this is mine, too.’

Biting my lip in apprehension, I can only nod, unable to form a coherent reply.

Do people do this?

I’m not knowledgeable enough to know if it’s the norm, but if he says he’s fine with it then…

My train of thought is interrupted as he pulls me to him, his hands on my butt as he spreads me open to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.

‘What…’

His lips settles over my sex, and he gives me an open-mouth kiss there.

To say I’m scandalized by the naughtiness of it all would be an understatement. But I can’t muster any maidenly concerns as he brings the rough pad of his finger over my bundle of nerves, caressing it softly until I’m bucking in his arms.

‘You’re so wet, darlin’,’ he blows hot air over my damp folds, the effect immediate on my senses. He brings his tongue to my opening, breaching me and flicking it in-and-out while his thumb massages that sensitive bud. ‘So wet for me,’ he drawls as he drinks my very essence.

The entire action is infinitely decadent as he touches me in places I‘ve barely touched myself before, kissing me and tasting me so intimately. But more than anything, I can see how much he enjoys it, my pleasure automatically converting into his pleasure.

‘Delicious,’ he praises, speaking against my core and making me buck against him with every vibration of his mouth. ‘You’re so fucking sweet, Darcy darlin’,’ he continues, pausing to inhale my scent into his nostrils.

My core clenches with every little touch of his lips, every feathery brush of his tongue, every wet slide of his mouth against me. But it’s nothing compared with the guttural sounds he makes, the noises of pure male satisfaction that fill my ears as he simply devours me.

He savors with gusto the combination of blood and arousal, lapping at my sex as if it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

‘You’re my sweetest miracle,’ he groans as he gives me a long lick. ‘My innocent little temptation,’ he continues as he flicks his tongue in and out of my entrance.

Everything he does to me is designed to titillate and push me to the edge in a slow and torturous dance—but one that has me enjoy the journey more than the final event.

He’s too good at this, reading my body like an open book and taking note of every little cue and non-spoken signal—almost as if he knew my body better than I know it myself.

‘My lovely enchantress and my fucking seductress, aren’t you, darlin’?’ he coos gently.

‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll be anything you want me to be,’ I tell him in a moment of pure madness as a new Darcy emerges from somewhere deep within me.

‘Good,’ he purrs against me, nuzzling his face between my legs in a way that is both ticklish and pleasurable and I can’t help but release a half-giggle that echoes into a moan.

Though initially I might have been embarrassed to have him so intimately between my legs, I soon lose all inhibitions as I give in to pure sensation and him—letting him be my guide and master of my body.

‘This is all mine, isn’t it Darcy? Tell me,’ he rasps as he raises his head to look at me. ‘Promise me,’ he repeats.

My lids are half closed, but even so I can make out the blood clinging to his lips and trickling down his chin.

And yet, the sight doesn’t disgust me. If anything, it makes me deliciously tense, knots appearing in my lower belly as more wetness gushes out of me. There’s something incredibly primal and sexy about the way he’s tasting every bit of my essence—my arousal and my life’s blood.

‘It’s all for you,’ I moan, wiggling my hips to get him to continue his ministrations.

Still watching me, he continues to work my bud with his thumb, alternating between caressing it softly and rubbing it vigorously, so much so that every muscle in my body strains and weeps for relief.

My breathing intensifies, and I know I’m simply at his mercy.

‘Have you orgasmed before, love?’ he suddenly asks as he nuzzles his stubble against my inner thigh, scraping my skin lightly before kissing it softly. ‘Have you made yourself come before?’

I shake my head, and a devilish grin appears on his face.

‘Good girl. All your firsts are mine, Darcy. Now and forever, you understand me?’

I swallow against the wave of pleasure that hits me as I move my chin up and down in a tentative nod. Yet as soon as he shifts the tempo of his fingers, my head falls back, my mouth open as I release moan after moan, chanting his name as the sweetest and most torturous melody.

The pleasure keeps on building inside of me and as he brings his mouth once more to my sex, licking me thoroughly before wrapping his lips around my bud and sucking hard on it.

His hand moves lower, a finger probing at my entrance.

Soon, he establishes a rhythm as he licks me while thrusting his finger in and out of me.

My mind blanks on me just as every muscle in my body suddenly tenses.

‘Caleb,’ I gasp as the orgasm overtakes me, taking me to the highest high, before unfortunately making me crash back to earth.

‘I’m here,’ he whispers as he continues to lick me—almost as if he’s devouring me. ‘I’m all here, Darcy, and I’m never letting you go.’

The flat of his tongue covers my entire sex as he gathers all of my wetness into his mouth, imbibing everything that I am.

‘One more,’ he whispers. ‘Give me one more.’

I’m about to tell him I can’t possibly do that, but he adds another finger to my opening, slowly stretching me. Moving both fingers in and out of me, I find myself screaming my pleasure out loud.

My hands are tightly wrapped in his hair as I keep him between my legs, my eyes fluttering closed as I gyrate my hips around, seeking more of his touch.

And he gives it to me.

God but he gives it to me.

‘Fuck me, darlin’, you’re so hot. So fucking hot. Come for me,’ he demands harshly as he increases the rhythm of his thrusts. ‘Come on my tongue, Darcy. Give me everything sweetheart. I want to taste your blood, your pleasure, everything that makes you, you.’

I’m no longer in control of my limbs as I thrash my head from side to side, my fingers tightening in his scalp as I feel another wave wash over me.

‘That’s it, sweetheart. Give me everything. Every. Fucking. Thing,’ he orders, and I do.

Oh, but I do.

So much so that my toes curl as I push the heels of my feet into the mattress. My back arches off the bed and my thighs squeeze him, keeping him rooted to the spot.

Pleasure pulsates in every atom of my body—in every single cell.

And it’s all because of him.

All because of this magnificent, selfless man before me.

My body becomes languid and relaxed as my eyes close, my consciousness drifting from me. Yet as drowsiness slowly seeps in, I have the vague impression that for the longest time he’s still lapping at me, drinking me in as if what hides between my legs is the most potent ambrosia.

Only when he’s truly sated does he move up, gathering me in his arms and letting me use him as my pillow.

That night, despite all the heartache and disappointment, I sleep better than I have in my entire life. And I know there’s only one reason for it.

Him.

Sometimes, doors close just so others could open—journeys end just so new ones could begin.

Caleb Hale is my next destination.