Hello, everyone, new readers and old! As I write this little introduction (in May of 2025), the original fanfiction, “Futility: The Hagiography of Ecclesia’s Master, as Recounted by Lucila Fortner” (what a mouthful!) approaches its third anniversary. I’ve often regarded Futility as one of the best fanfictions I’ve written, as well as my longest and one of the most fun to write by far. It was the first time I let myself write about an OC, and in first person, and I have a lot of fond feelings for it. When I created Lucila and wrote that original story, I was processing a lot of emotions about some traumatic things that had happened to my teenage self, and this character was sort of the perfect outlet for playing with and understanding the ‘ugly’, angst-ridden, fawning mindset that version of me was in. Not that she has ever been a self-insert, but to write a character who had been abused, I drew upon my own experiences. Notably, Lucila never gets a redemptive or happy ending, unlike her foil, Shanoa, as the central conceit of her as a character is eventually passing down knowledge of Ecclesia’s beliefs to Celia Fortner, from Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow, many, many years in the future. As a result, she has no arc. She begins loyal and stays loyal to the end, consumed with an eternal hatred, mourning for the man who lied to her. Very little time is spent on her feelings about realizing she had been working towards Dracula’s resurrection, or why she is so complacent with the cruelty that surrounds her. As a result, it feels like it was never her story at all.

This is because she was actually a very late addition to the story, which had been fully outlined to be written from Barlowe’s perspective. Once you notice this, it makes all the cracks begin to show: why the pacing is so strange; why Lucila recounts scenes she wasn't present for, with the flimsy excuse that Barlowe narrates them for her; why Shanoa is far more a central character than the main protagonist; why the emotional payoff of the epilogue chapter is Shanoa’s and not hers, and the story ends with Barlowe’s death; why the Ecclesiastes quotes never seem to tie together with the theme despite my best efforts. I was in an emotionally bad place, which also explains how many of these chapters were essentially Shanoa Experiences Misery: The Book (though there is still plenty of misery in the new one I promise). I hesitate to fully call it a vent fic, because I did want to explore Barlowe as a character and became quite attached to my silly OC, too, but this shaky foundation crumbles once you know what to look for, but I still regard the original fondly. It was my first tiptoe into making something more bold and experimental. But I was willing to leave that story be. Lucila’s story ends with a vow of hatred.

...And then my friends started floating the idea of a Castlevania OC roleplay, last November-ish. I of course wanted to play as my precious, freakish zealot, and while the RP never really got off the ground, much discussion was had amongst ourselves about how our characters might interact and the sort of situations they’d end up in as the plot unfolded. And I started to think about Lucila again, lost in the world, her Master dead and her church reduced to rubble. Wandering from place to place, trying desperately to fill that hole in her heart with more worship, more writing, more philosophy, and finding nothing. Perhaps she’d make friends! Learn to socialize! Perhaps even answer the question: where do you go when you lose everything?

And I realized she had more of a story in her, too. As I conceptualized a sequel, it made me realize how much of a different place I am than I was three years ago. I’ve been processing some even more severe childhood trauma, but I’m also so much happier. I’ve moved out, I have a house and a dog and a girlfriend who means the world to me (FWIW the scene where Shanoa plays the card game Scopa is a little tribute to her, since she taught me how to play!). In a sense, Lucila, my “dark mirror”, grew with me. As I prepared my outline, I realized that literally every scene was one I was extremely excited to write. I didn't feel a single second of writer's block... All nearly 73 thousand words of this fic flew from my fingers with an ease I haven't had in writing in years. It's also my first time with a wholly original plot (in Volume Two), which I am ever so nervous and excited about. It's got everything I love to write! Mental breakdowns! Toxic yuri! More fun OCs (including one who’s a distant ancestor of Graham Jones, and you’ll probably be able to guess who ;)) Weird ritual scenes! Animal imagery (as a little cheatsheet for the central imagery of wolves and rabbits, rabbits can mean anything from comfort, innocence, powerlessness, delusion, fear to ensnarement, and wolves can represent anything from danger, authority, power, truth, to freedom. Not every use means the same thing and neither is inherently good or bad)! I got to really play around in the sandbox with this one (even if I had to kill a few darlings, rest in peace COTM cameo) and I am so, so pleased with the final result, this absolute monster of a fanfiction. I think it has a fundamentally different approach and focus than the original did, so it isn't exactly a replacement, but I do think this is the better story.

Also, I want to quickly shout out my friend Biofreak659/Harpokrates, whose fanart of Lucila and Shanoa I used as the basis for one of the illustrations in Chapter Four (with permission, of course)!

Thank you for reading, everyone. We all walk a winding road, but there's a light inside all of us. It belongs only to ourselves.

Warnings: Abuse (religious, emotional, physical), depiction of cults, religious fasting as punishment, victim blaming, non-explicit discussion of sex and pregnancy, blood and violence, some mentions of suicide, animal death, and illustrated nudity

“The Teacher searched to find just the right words, and what he wrote was upright and true.”

My name is Lucila Fortner.

Nothing remains of my Order.

And so, I write, adrift in the solace of quills and ink. I was a scribe of Ecclesia, and I found my higher calling in my utmost faith. I have lost everything but my purpose remains. I write.

Why do I write? Why do I commit memory to paper, knowing it will all be forgotten once more? I have seen many things in my life, short as it has been. Things impossible to grasp, unless I write. For who else will continue my Master’s work in my stead, if I do not write? Ecclesia has scattered, and I alone maintain my oath to His word in silence. It is meaningless if I act and meaningless if I do not. But I find joy in my toils, and so I do toil.

For whom else will remember Barlowe, my Teacher, my Father, my Master, the bringer of my light? Who else will remember my quiet, insignificant life as scribe and witness to a great and wonderful ascension? I weep at the thought of it. He must live on through my work. Thusly, I write. I will tell my story: I will tell the story of Ecclesia: how the bearer of Dominus was created, how our Order was destroyed by a serpent nestled inside of it, and how Dracula was resurrected for one single, breathtaking night. I will record our stories, our methods, and our philosophies.

Read closely, and carry on his efforts.

Amen.

Before I met Master Barlowe, I was nothing. So perhaps I should start on the day that we did meet. I was an orphan; he was seeking disciples to one day be the key to magically reviving Dracula through a ritual sacrifice, and he found me.

Many take opposition to our practice of these esoteric sciences, but we are simply responding in kind to what the world has shown us: that there is an Eternal Cycle to God’s great plan, and we of the Order have a place within it. We will oil the wheels of the Eternal Cycle in the blood of the sinful, who are mercifully freed from this earth by Him: Lord Dracula. For if He exists because of mankind’s evil, it proves that such an evil exists within the heart of man. We cleanse ourselves with our humility, and our tireless effort to bring Him to this world, and it is from this toil for God that goodness springs. That is to say, it is a moral imperative... 

We were not a violent folk, nor were we the vision of gleeful murderous cloaked men you hear of in hushed tales to scare children. We were no cult; we were quite rational. We were Christian scientists and philosophers. We defended the weak when we were sought out, and all those among us were treated with utmost kindness and care. There is a great stigma against those who choose to worship Him, but perhaps if you read my story you will understand, just as I came to someday understand, as I did not always know our greater purpose. But I did learn, and so shall you.

On the dawn of the day I was saved, all I knew was that I was a girl named Mary Fortner, and what the matrons of the orphan-home told me: that my parents simply could not care for me, and left me as an infant. My belief in that story varied over those early, naive years; I often thought I must have been left by some mistake, and they would find me and my father would scoop me into his arms and read to me all my favorite books whilst my mother wept at our reunion. That dream faded quickly; I believed the truth was that they, cruelly, did not wish to have me around, I was simply inconvenient. And thus my daydreams turned to mysterious rich widowers who gave me everything I wanted, so happy to finally have a daughter. The other children were somewhat cruel to me, and I acted quite viciously in kind, having never been taught to be a proper lady, and thusly I was labeled a problem. It was a horrid place, so that was all I had: daydreams and books. And writing. I hid paper inside my filthy pillow-case and would write little stories late at night about my wishes and dreams. I was always very careful to hide them. 

The day I met him I was ten years old, or thereabouts, and it began like this: I had been writing one of these little stories, in the cradle of the still-dark dawn. I do not remember it in its entirety, but this I do recall: it began with a rabbit-girl in the forest searching for her sister. A large wolf found her, and extended his paw, and she expected to be devoured. Instead, he took her far away, to be the wolf-queen. She danced with the wolves until night fell, and the wolves began their next hunt. She pounced upon her prey, and it was that moment that she had finally found her lost sister, dead and limp in her jaws. She and the wolf-king ate together, a marriage of spilled blood. Then, he placed a crown of monkshood on her head, and she dropped dead from the poison. The wolves then devoured her corpse. I was quite proud of it, a disturbing little tale.

Some day, I said to myself, I will be the wolf-queen. But the poison will not kill me. It will merely strengthen me. But my daydream did not turn towards the wolf-king, rather, I prayed for an angel, for who else would care to take me away from this wretched place?

The sun was beginning to rise once more, and I could hear the matron walking up to my room. I quickly snuffed the light and stuffed my paper into my pillow-case, but not nearly quick enough. “What are you hiding, girl?”

“Nothing, miss,” I stammered. “I am only adjusting my pillow.” It was a terrible lie. The papers were quickly  confiscated, and I privately seethed at the idea of my stories being read by anyone but myself.

“You’re a filthy liar.” She gave me a stern look and pulled them all from the pillow. She was quiet for a while, eyes skimming over all the text I had written— each of my bloodsoaked stories. Some were of love; others revenge. All of them were mine. Mine! And she had stolen them! Her eyes narrowed in that breathless minute. “You are sick,” she hissed, and tore my story of the wolf-queen to pieces. I could not bear to even weep, and the morning began with a lashing. As I bore the punishment in great sorrow, I prayed again. Send an angel to me, God. A beautiful angel who will take care of me, and take me far away from this awful place. I’m not sick. I’m not. I just like to tell stories. Please tell the angel this.

Breakfast followed, and it was glum; I had long since grown used to repetitive, meaningless days of suffering like this. Today, though, a rumour reached my ears. The other girls did not talk to me, of course, but I watched and listened to their conversations. A man was visiting today, in search of ‘exceptional children’. My angel, I thought, vainly. He’s come for me. I didn't know what it meant, to be an exceptional child, but I wished with all my might that he would find me, and take me away. But there was no chance, I concluded. I was nothing but a very strange girl with dreams of blood, and no one wanted me. And so I retired to my sleeping quarters, as there were no lessons today. It would be best to ignore the man’s arrival, I thought. I had been hurt by hope and dreaming.

Now... Now was when I wept. I was confronted by the futility of it all. Ten years, and not a single day I had been happy. I had no joy or purpose, and now my stories were gone, too. Each day the same, and meaningless. But as I had resigned myself to that sorrow, as if by fate, there came a knock at my door.

“Leave me be,” I said, but the voice that answered was wholly unfamiliar to me.

“That is no way to greet a stranger, Mary. That is your name, isn't it?” It was the voice of an older man, calm and measured in each word. “I do wish to be thorough.”

“Thorough about what?” I sniffed, wretchedly. He smiled. “Why don't you let me come, and I will tell you all about it?”

I relented, and opened the door. And there he stood: I was immediately certain that my angel was real, and had come to save me. He was much taller than I, and an Englishman by the sound of his voice, and his hair was blonde streaked with a soft grey, silver and gold, all the colors of a heavenly clouded sky, though it would soon fade to stark white over the coming years. His eyes were like two coins, a dull pewter. He was in late middle age, and I immediately felt a wave of comfort at his presence — his smile was kind, kinder than anyone I had known.

“Welcome, sir,” I bowed my head. “I apologize for my rudeness.”

“My name is Augustus Barlowe,” he spoke warmly, and I felt a shudder of authority. “I am looking for children with great magical potential.”

“I know nothing of magic,” I replied.

“Potential,” he repeated, sucking the word through his teeth. “You can be taught, if need be. I get the sense you are a learned young thing, aren't you? I heard about your stories from the woman in charge, and she urged me not to engage with you. ...It is a shame that she did something so horrid to the work of a young and brilliant mind.”

I immediately flushed, at once embarrassed at the thought of this respectable man hearing of my fanciful wolf-king story. These were half-baked and resentful dreams, after all. They were for me alone. But I felt a thrill of excitement at his kind words, and I nodded.

“Please, tell me, why you have come to this dreadful place. Why do you need magicians?” I implored.

Master Barlowe looked around, and then stared me squarely in the eyes. “If I tell you, do you swear to keep this secret?” I nodded. I had a feeling that what he was in search of was very important indeed, and I felt at once very prideful that he had sought me out specifically. “I am going to save humanity. I am the leader of an organization called the Order of Ecclesia. I have created a glyph— a sort of magical interface— called Dominus, and I am seeking someone who can use it someday.” I asked him how he had come to lead such an illustrious order, and he launched into a wonderful tale:

“I was but a young boy when the final Belmont fought his last. While I had been borne in England, my mother travelled to the east seeking fortune in the land of hunters. It was a small town, one named Aljiba, coincidentally a common haunt of Richter Belmont. When Dracula was resurrected, through a black mass in 1792... My mother was slain as demons poured out of hell to foul the earth. I was an orphan. Perhaps that is why I seek out unfortunates, much like yourself. Perhaps we are alike, Mary.

“Dracula was banished within the month. The Belmont even managed to return the kidnapped villagers mostly unharmed. And so, we assumed another century of peace was upon us. Such is the Eternal Battle. He awakens. He takes those who are destined to die. He is slain. But the century was cut short— one night, the Belmont disappeared, and in his wake, the castle jutted on the horizon once more. Dracula had returned, and the Day of Wrath rained upon the earth; I was at a crossroad. How could God have allowed such pain? I lost myself in religious studies.

“But the secret I have held all my life was that I met Richter on that night, crazed by some bright, wicked power, and he told me this: the Eternal Battle was ordained by God, and he was pursuing his purpose, his endless toil, to continue the battle for all eternity. I could not believe what he was saying. But I knew there was some truth, that there must be some greater purpose to our suffering, our place in God’s inevitable plan. And Richter Belmont was never seen again. So I resolved to become a priest. I would aid in God’s plan as is my duty. And I would lift humanity from its suffering in my holy work. And as if it lifted the veil, the castle disappeared once I had achieved this clarity, as if it had never resurfaced... I knew what I must do.

“In the decades that followed, the Belmonts were never heard from, and it was learned that Richter had accomplished the resurrection of his own free will. Though the Belmonts had been trusted for a time, they had betrayed their oath. And the church was beginning to worry, as the cycle had been broken, and the hunting-clan hadn't been heard from since that day. Humanity's steadfast weapon was gone. Death awaited us all. And so, they began funding small organizations to find an effective replacement for the Belmonts and their holy whip— to break a seal wherein Dracula’s soul had been temporarily contained. Many failed, but I was hopeful. I knew that magic, the realm of scholars, sorcerers, and the wise, was greater than any weapon. Had I not dedicated my life to the study of the Bible, of Christ, and of holy esoterica?

“I was called upon for this great effort by the church, as I had achieved great renown for my priesthood. So I put forth my own hypothesis, a magical framework I had been conceptualizing with my colleagues. You see, magic requires a conduit of sorts— a tome of spells, or a magical staff, or what have you. But this dilutes its power. In a sense, pure magic is nearly impossible for human hands to achieve, and we only have a very small fraction of its capabilities at our fingertips. But if a caster were to use their own body as a conduit... It is rare, and unpredictable, but such incidents have been recorded before. But near impossible to replicate. But I have been known to pursue the impossible. Yes, I will create an undiluted, and pure magic.

“So I created a system called glyphs, which draw upon the magic present in all things through drawn sigils. These sigils can be inscribed, metaphysically, onto objects, and if our research continues— the body. Only then will the pure, undiluted ultimate glyph will be used upon the seal, and humanity will be saved. This glyph, Dominus, was created after the rest of our sigils were determined to be of insufficient power, and it earned us the exclusive funding of the church for our research... But that is another story. The long and short of it is that even with the ability to cast from the body, it will take many years to ready a bearer who can accept and cast Dominus, and I must start from blank slates— empty tomes, as Dominus can only enter pure and empty vessels in its entirety. Yes, a vessel against a vessel, poison against poison. This is where children like you come in. I offer you food, and shelter, and the pursuit of enlightened knowledge, and a place of high regard in Ecclesia, and in turn you train to potentially bear Dominus one day, and for a great purpose. So that humanity may look to dawn without need to fear the darkness.”

It was not exactly a lie. While we were not truly going to destroy Dracula, the salvation of humanity was at hand regardless. And I am certain I would have sworn every vow with the same passion and vigor if I had known, because my trust in the Master and the Lord is absolute.

I was rapt in his story, and immediately I wished that he would take me with him. I pleaded, pleaded for his stories and his Order, and he only smiled. “Please,” I finally sputtered, unable to break his gaze— one inquisitive and calculating. He was silent another moment, but the warmth then returned. From his satchel he pulled a large and very heavy book, and set it on the weary desk by the window. He licked a finger before thumbing through the pages, each one illustrated with some inscrutable symbol. Finally, he arrived on a page near the beginning, and pointed at the sigil. A circle was drawn, and within that circle spun two balls of light with comet-tails, revolving in opposite from each other. “Tell me what you see, Mary.”

I ran a finger over the ink and knew at once there was some power sleeping within it, blinding and hot to the touch. It sparked at my fingertips, and I closed my eyes and felt the sun bursting from my chest. I told him as much, and he nodded. But I could do no more than that. I could touch this font of power, but not hold it. “How curious,” he said, with careful consideration. “Very curious indeed.”

I looked up at him, hopefully. A life in Ecclesia would be one of grand adventure and secret wisdom, and all the more stories to write. And in many ways I was right. But as I turned my face up towards him, I noticed his eyes narrow into that cold and analytical expression I had noticed before. He left without another word.

Once more, hope died and left a sorry taste in my mouth. He had wanted me to cast it, I knew it! I had no magic inside of me— no magic at all. So I stared out the window. No stories, and no Order, and no angel, and no wonderful teacher to take me away to learn as I had hungered for. I wondered if perhaps Master Barlowe had been another aimless daydream of mine, just like the ones of my parents returning to fetch me.  No, I was not special. The sun went to bed early in the evening, hiding away from the growing chill of late autumn. It would be time to sleep, soon, and I just knew that Barlowe had left me here forever. But I had hardly the will to get up and begin preparing for bed, so I waited in silence and prayed.

And again, He answered. My angel returned, with another quiet knock on the door. “Leave me be,” I said, again, expecting the matron. “It's one thing to greet a stranger like that, Mary, but a friend?” the Master laughed, and I immediately realized my mistake. I was both frustrated at myself and beaming in equal measure, and I let him inside at once. It was then he shared his wonderful news: he had come to a decision.

“Know that the choice to join the Order comes with certain obligations. You will be given new robes, and a new name to glorify and remind you of your purpose; you will be expected to train in magical studies most of the week. But the rewards will be great, and I would be honored to welcome you as one of my disciples,” he said, and extended his hand.

I accepted. Of course I did. There was no life in which I did not accept his offer. I glanced back at the disheveled old building as I left, his hand tightly gripped in mine, and smiled to myself. It meant nothing to me, now. I was no longer Mary Fortner, the forgotten child. Though I would not become Lucila, scribe of Ecclesia, just yet— not before my Naming Ceremony. Ecclesia’s central church— as we had some small outposts throughout Europe as well, mostly for mission-work— was situated in a remote place in Dobrogea, more than a weeks’ travel away from the orphanage and surrounded by wilderness and abandoned ruins. The only nearby settlements were small; among it all the stone cathedral glistened like a tiny star among the rough. I could spy it from the carriage-window, and I happily listened to Master Barlowe tell me of daily life in the Order.

I was not the only disciple, of course, as there were to be eleven more beside me, and we were to learn together in a place known as the Training Hall and on the cathedral grounds,  and contribute work to the various roles within the church. There were the warriors, who regularly left the church to slay monsters and spread our great word (though all would have opportunities to go on missions, of course); the clerics, who cared for the sick and injured when needed and aided in religious ceremony and the kitchens; the researchers, who were dedicated to unravelling the great mysteries of Dominus through careful science; and the scribes, who created new glyphs and transcribed the history and knowledge of Ecclesia. Each disciple would be permitted to find their place within the normal duties of the church, in addition to their important and unique studies. I knew I wanted to be a scribe, and I told him as much— the Master whispered that he would see to it that it would happen, and I just about burst from excitement.

A grand feast greeted me when I finally arrived— roast hog and fresh vegetables and lovely pastries and more treats than I had ever seen in my life. Master Barlowe walked towards the empty seat at the center of the largest table, and I followed him, refusing to let go of his hand. “Now, wouldn't you rather go meet your fellow disciples?” he asked, not unkindly. “I don't want you to leave me,” I replied, softly. He ruffled my bright auburn hair and wiped a small tear from my cheek. “I will always be with you. This Order is mine, and you are mine. I will instruct you all carefully and quite personally, so do not think I have forgotten you. But I am your Master, and I have certain special obligations, just as all disciples do. Please, go feast. We have gathered to celebrate your arrival, after all.” I was comforted by this answer, and at last let go of his hand. I truthfully dreaded speaking with the other children. I had never had any friends, apart from the Master, and I feared the familiar chill of isolation. But the other children greeted me with kind smiles, and I gladly found my place among them.

Here is where I met a second person of interest in this particular tale, a boy about two years older than me who had been gifted the name Albus for his shining brilliance. Always a sharp mind, and vying to become a researcher, he had grown up a wanderer on the streets before the Master found him by chance.

“You’ve finally arrived? The Master wrote a lot about you. The letter arrived this morning, actually,” he said thoughtfully, stirring his potatoes. My mind was racing at the thought of him praising me in such a manner. But I was burning with more questions. “Is it difficult? To be a disciple?”

“You will have to study a lot, and the training to cast glyphs is... Well, it can be difficult, and annoying. But we all love our time here. Father Claudius says I’m making good progress. He’s our Head Researcher,” Albus said, helpfully. “But the first order of business will be the Naming Ceremony, after the feast concludes. I believe he must have told you about it,” to which I replied, “Oh, yes, he did!” He turned to me, and quietly asked, “Just out of simple curiosity, what is your name?”

“I don't see what point there would be in telling you, if I’m going to have it changed,” I shrugged. “Yes, it's better that way,” another disciple, Ave, interjected.. Albus ignored this. “My name was Max,” he explained, despite Ave’s protests that he really shouldn't tell. “But I think I like Albus better, it suits me. You'll find that there are a lot of ceremonies like this, actually. First Bleeding, First Casting, The Meetings of Loyalty...”

“I’m not certain how I’ll keep up with it all,” I laughed, and took another bite of roast pork. “Oh, don't worry. Barlowe takes care of everything. He even chooses what we eat every day,” Albus explained. I silently marvelled at this kindness, the immense responsibility that our leader had taken on just to care for the Order.

Then, Albus interjected, “What do you want to be?” I cocked my head at his question, and he continued: “I’m going to be a researcher. I want to study the glyphs and find a way to make myself into the bearer,” to which I replied, “Oh! I want to be a scribe. I love to write, actually...” I felt a slight twinge of sorrow as I thought back to all my lost stories. No, I had a higher purpose now. Albus lit up. “A scribe! You’ll get to create new glyphs. I’m eager to see what you can do.”

“We shall work together, then, as scribe and researcher, and harness this power,” I said, with resolve. “Oh, Albus, I haven't had friends before. Would you like to be my friend?” Albus smiled. “Of course. We are all friends in the Order, after all... But I don't think you'll be in my dormitory, though. I believe Barlowe is assigning you to Magdala’s room, if I recall.” I swallowed. I had never shared my quarters with anyone before. “Oh no! I hope she is as nice as you are,” I fretted. He shrugged, and said “She is a hard worker. She doesn't often talk to others, but I think you will get along. I just wish Barlowe would assign someone to stay with me for once!” He explained that I was the eleventh child who had arrived here, and he and Magdala were the only disciples who had no one else assigned to their quarters. “Well, I’m sure the next one will be assigned to you. The Master said he wanted twelve of us.” He agreed, and  it seemed to hearten him.

Soon, the hazy hush of evening was broken with the loud and triumphant clanging of church-bells calling us to the House of Worship. The Naming Ceremony! I stood up excitedly as everyone rose from their seats, and let my worries fade. I only hoped I would receive a good name from the Master. I was delighted to see that instead of leading the crowd, he walked by my side. “I have a very special name picked out for you, and I believe you will grow to love it,” he said, warmly, taking my hand, and I was certain he was right. It was hard to imagine him giving me a name I would utterly hate. Still, I was quite happy he had decided to walk with me.

We all gathered in the little chapel at the heart of the cathedral, everyone taking their seats in the pews. Master Barlowe, however, led me up to the altar, where some clerics and higher-ranking members were solemnly arranging candles and whispering among themselves. “It is my great joy,” he began, his voice resonant, “to welcome another disciple to our ranks. She is a talented and driven young mind, full of wit and vigor for the task ahead of her. Whether she has the capacity for Dominus, I cannot say. I cannot say for any among you. But I do know that she has shown herself to be a creative and passionate soul in the short time I have spent with her, and for that reason, I have chosen her name.”

Murmurs reverberated through the House of Worship, and I became ever so conscious of the eyes looking upon me, assessing me, perceiving me. As if clairvoyant, Barlowe squeezed my hand comfortingly before he continued. He had me swear many oaths, of loyalty, humility, celibacy, and virtue, and then he finally concluded: “May the Lord smile upon our newest disciple, and bless her name. May she shed all earthly attachments, and become worthy of the title I grant to her— Lucila! Lucila, I name you for your light, the flicker in your eyes of dedication and passion. Yes, there is a light around you, for those with eyes to see it, and it is as bright and unyielding as the sun. If you are true, then that light shall never leave you.”

Lucila! I wept, and melted into his arms with joy. “Oh, thank you, thank you, sir...!” He leaned very close, and whispered in my ear, “Please keep this secret, but I have given you my favorite of our holy names. Wear it with pride, Lucila.”  I was sure then that I had never felt happier. This was the moment that my life had changed, forever. The members of the Order clapped politely, and bowed to me, and I wept and smiled. Father Claudius, the Head Researcher and an old friend of the Master from the earliest days of the Order, took me aside and shook my hand. “May you bring the world salvation, Lucila. I see great and terrible things in your future.”

This is it, I thought to myself. This is the happiest day of my life. I knew at once that I would love Ecclesia, would love my Master, with all my heart, and I made my silent vow to never betray him by losing the light that he had recognized in me.

Perhaps I would even become the bearer, I thought, as I was never too old for dreams, dreams and stories.

But this time— the time before the twelfth’s arrival— would be a short one. I spent several months in beginners’ studies. It had not yet been a year since I had come to Ecclesia— we were a few months out from a warm little Christmas I had spent in happiness— and I had engrossed myself in my new responsibilities. I stayed close with Albus, and we frequently ate our meals together and spent time in the library. Still, I never really got the impression that I knew him especially well. I ate healthily, and my time was spent readying myself to cast, as I wanted to impress the Master. With some careful training, I had reached the casting of my first glyph— Luminatio, the glyph that the Master had shown to me upon our first meeting. It was flickery, and weak, but I had done it. I had called upon my light.

My First Casting ceremony was small— the other disciples and I were each given a tiny cup of wine to drink in the House of Worship, and each one congratulated me in turn. Once it had concluded, Father Claudius took me to the Forbidden Room. It was the highest point in the cathedral, apart from the four watch-towers, and it housed something of great import: the Seal. I was nervous, of course, not the least because Master Barlowe was not there to oversee it. I was quite bitter about this— he was out on some trip, attending to “Order business” as Albus called it. I wished he could have simply waited a week. I wanted him to see me, to show me this great secret himself. But, I did not mind the Head Researcher, as he was kind to all of us and very wise, and my First Casting was a reason to celebrate regardless. I only hoped that the Master would return soon, so I could tell him of this great and wonderful news.

He took me up the staircase alone. It was rare that disciples were permitted to view the Vessel, so I relished each step. I knew that the Master spent much of his time up here, and I wished I had gone with him. Still, the Forbidden Room was breathtaking, filled with ornate statues and protected by a domed green ceiling, the color of the very sea. A great stained glass window stood at the back of the room, and light filtered through apple-crimson, casting a bloody glow upon the Seal. Claudius led me to the altar, and I dropped to my knees before it, shaking despite myself as if involuntarily.

“You must pray,” Claudius said, quietly. “Pray to God and wish for him to bless you with the power to some day break the Seal. It is our tradition.” I nodded and bowed my head, hands clasped together, and I did pray. Make me someone that the Master will always be proud of. Make me the bearer, if you can, and make me of use. God, I am so thankful for all that you have done for me, and you have blessed me with so much in your Church. So please, please, I want Master Barlowe to always care for me, no matter what.  I never want to lose this. I will be good enough. I will! And from within the Seal, I swore I could hear a murmur. I kept shaking and shaking, transfixed by the strange, coffin-shaped object before me. It was an eggshell, a prison. Something implored me, and I reached out a hand. The light I sought was—

Father Claudius pulled me away quickly. “You mustn’t touch it. It could do horrible things to you. I understand you are excited, Lucila,” he said, not unkindly. “And I am excited, too. But it is dangerous.” I apologized profusely, and backed away from the beckoning monolith. But this really had only thrilled me all the more— I had heard a secret voice, speaking only for me. Perhaps it was God, perhaps it had been Dracula Himself, both holy in equal measure and in perfect duality.

We then finished our rites quickly, and I thanked Father Claudius excitedly. When we left the Forbidden Room, though, everyone had departed from the House of Worship, apart from Magdala.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. “It was supposed to be my special ceremony... What about the concluding rite?”

“Master Barlowe has returned from his trip,” she replied, quietly. “I thought I ought to stay behind and tell you. He’s come back— and he's brought his twelfth disciple. Everyone went to greet her.”

“Oh,” I said.

And inside of me, burned a new and secret poison, one I hadn't tasted on my tongue quite so viciously before: envy.

“And I saw that all toil and all achievement spring from one person’s envy of another. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”

The day of Shanoa’s arrival should have been mine, this much was true. But I quelled my resentment, and vowed to greet this new girl with the kindness and humility that the Order prided itself on.

I joined the hushed throng peeking into the main entrance hall, where Master Barlowe had knelt down to speak to a short, bruised young girl with a short tangle of unkempt black hair.  She must have been around eight years old, and she looked half-starved, and stared at us coldly instead of meeting his eyes, and it unsettled me greatly. We whispered among ourselves— apart from Albus, who stared back at her, silently. “I heard from Beata that she caused some massive magical explosion,” Rubedo hissed in my ear. “By accident, of course. And that’s how Barlowe heard about her, and why he left so suddenly.” I assessed the girl. She did not look like she held such destructive magic, as she was scrawny, battered and weak— but her movements were all careful, skittish like any sudden twitch could set off something volatile. Barlowe said something to her, and her wide-eyed expression softened as he embraced her. “There’s no way. You're telling lies again,” Ave hissed back. 

“Stop whispering about her. Look at how frightened she is! We want to make her feel welcome,” Albus snapped at the two of them, though it did little to silence the rumours. “Will she be living with you? Has the Master told you?” I asked Albus, quietly. “I hope so,” he replied.

Finally, I watched as Barlowe took her hand, and led her through the entrance hall. He greeted us disciples warmly, and introduced the new arrival (though not by name, as her Naming Ceremony was to be held this evening). The rest of the disciples then returned to their duties by now, having sated their curiosity, and it was just us four. I greeted the girl cordially, though she simply looked down at the floor, silent.

“You’ll have to be patient. It has been a long week for her,” said the Master. Then, he fixed his gaze on me.  “I am glad to see you. I heard I have missed your first casting. Unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped... I do hope you can forgive me.” He pulled a small book from his satchel. “I have purchased a new book for the library that I think you might enjoy, to celebrate this joyous day.” I thanked him profusely, and took the book from his hands. It was a childrens’ story about a girl befriending a forest-unicorn— something I was a little old for, but regardless, I smiled and graciously accepted the gift, and I would make sure to read it. He had gotten it just for me.

Then, he nodded to Albus. “The Twelfth will be sleeping in your quarters. I would appreciate it if you and Lucila would show her around the cathedral, if you don’t mind,” he chuckled as the girl hid behind his embroidered robe. But her wide, icy eyes still stared directly at me, as though assessing me— like prey assesses a predator. “Oh, don’t be shy— they’re simply dying to speak with you, my child,” Barlowe chuckled.

Albus extended his hand. “So we finally meet! I’ve heard we’ll be lodging together.” The girl smiled slightly, and finally let go of  the Master’s sleeve to take his hand. “Oh. Hello. It’s nice to meet you...” she said, quietly. “Ah! She speaks,” I laughed nervously.

“It’s always heartening to see the young ones caring for each other,” said Barlowe. “Now, I must go attend to some business matters. I can trust you three not to burn the cathedral down, right?” The girl flinched. “We’ll be good,” I promised him, and that seemed to settle her nerves, even as Barlowe left. “Come now. There’s a lot of wonderful things to see!” And so, off we went.

“We never told each other our names,” the girl said, as we walked through the echoey corridors. “No. Your name is not important. You will receive a new one,” I corrected her. “You’re not allowed to tell me. We could get in trouble. Big trouble.” “Oh, don’t scare her, Lucila,” Albus protested. “She just needs time to get used to what it’s like here. It’s not so awful as she makes it sound.” He patted her shoulder comfortingly. “My name is Agathe. I don't think I would like it changed,” she frowned. And so I assured her: “The Master always picks such wonderful names for us. You will like yours, I’m certain!” And Albus added, “I like my new name better, anyways. You’ll see! Name's Albus, by the way. I guess we're brother and sister now.” He had a lopsided grin.

“My brother... Albus. I’ve never had a brother before,” the girl murmured. “Well, we all need someone to look out for us,” Albus said. “That’s my role. You’ve been through a lot, haven't you?” The girl’s expression turned soft and bewildered, like she simply hadn’t experienced such a kindness before. I, however, was incredulous. Albus and the girl shared no blood, and barely knew each other. And I had never thought of Magdala or any of the other disciples as my siblings. But perhaps he was right, in a way. Ecclesia was my real family. Barlowe was my Father above all.

“I’m Lucila,” I said, cordially. “Lucila Fortner. I’m going to be a scribe. My First Casting was today.” She greeted me gingerly. “It’s... good to meet you. Can we be friends?” I nodded, mostly out of politeness. I wasn’t sure what I thought of her yet, and I was still somewhat sour over the circumstances of the Ceremony. But I supposed it wasn’t any fault of her own.

“Come on, we’ve got until dinner to see the whole cathedral. I want to show you the library. That’s where the researchers learn about the glyph-magic of the world and continue to refine it,” Albus pointed down the hall. “We should go to the House of Worship,” I countered. “It is the heart of Ecclesia.” The girl shook her head. “I like Albus’s idea. We can go there after. But I want to see everything... if you don’t mind taking me. Barlowe made this place sound so...” “Wonderful? Yes, he told me all the same things. And I have never regretted the choice I made,” I finished, perhaps a little firmly.

She nodded, and I put my resentment aside. “Yes. He said he could help me.”

We had but a short time to show her everything in the large cathedral, so we quickly toured the points of interest— the library and its research-hall, where the researchers did their work and all manner of books could be found; the infirmary, where the sick and injured would be cared for; the House of Worship, which I have already described; the Training-Hall, where our skills are tested and honed; the grounds and the community garden, where the clerics grew our food; finally we arrived at the Meal-Hall, where the feast awaited us. By this time, the girl’s trepidation had mostly vanished, and she was whispering with Albus her plans to become a cleric of Ecclesia after having seen their choir-performances, and learning about their nursing-duties in the infirmary. “I’ve heard you’re quite powerful, magically speaking,” I commented. “Maybe a warrior would serve us better? You’d get to save people from monsters and see the world.”

“I don’t think I would like that much,” said the girl, and she shook terribly. “The Master says I have great aptitude for magic, but I don’t know if that is a good thing, or if it can be controlled.” Albus squeezed her hand protectively. I swallowed, unsure what to say. How could I tell her all that I already knew— that in Ecclesia, such power had a use to her Master, and a higher purpose? How could she not love having such a boon? It had taken me months to manage only one spell, and here this girl was, talking as though she had been cursed! But she didn't speak further of the matter. Instead, I took the opportunity to explain what I knew: “When you’re about to cast a spell, you go into a trance-state, and if you learn how to use it you can cast properly.” Albus continued:  “Lucila struggled with the magical buildup part of entering the trance-state. She simply didn’t have a strong enough grasp on her mana. Everyone has issues with it at first.” I at once felt very flustered. “Well, I had my First Casting today,” I quickly replied. The unnamed girl stirred her fork around the broken crust of her meat-pie silently. “Maybe,” she conceded. “Maybe that will help. Barlowe has been very kind to me, so I hope he can make me a good disciple. I was so sad and scared, but he said he could take me away somewhere very nice. And now I have friends and food and a place to live. So maybe it will be alright.”

She kept staring through me.

We ate quietly until the Master visited our small table, something quite surprising to me. “I wouldn't usually do this sort of thing, but I simply must know how our new charge is doing,” he explained, pulling out an empty chair and sitting beside us. I balked, given his refusal to let me sit with him when I had arrived, but I did so silently. “How are you enjoying the humble pleasures of our Church?”

“Oh, it is wonderful. I would like to train to become a cleric,” the girl said. Barlowe smiled politely. “Perhaps. But do not be so certain that your skills do not lie elsewhere! We all walk a winding path.” I immediately felt a surge of pride within me. Master Barlowe was already making plans for me to join the scribes’ guild at my request, but it was a privilege not all were afforded, it seemed. “And have your friends been kind to you?” Barlowe inquired. She nodded, and said decidedly that she shall never leave Albus’s side again, to which I secretly chuckled to myself. She hugged Barlowe and thanked him profusely for giving her a home.

Shortly after, the bells rang, much like my own Naming Ceremony. We shuffled into the House of Worship in a way that felt quite routine, Barlowe sticking behind to hold the girl’s hand, much like how he did for me before my Naming Ceremony. Albus and I sat in the pews nearest the front, and waited to see what sacred name she was to receive. The girl swore every oath in turn, her voice slightly wavering with each vow. Finally, Barlowe recited, verbatim: “May the Lord smile upon our newest disciple, and bless her name. May she shed all earthly attachments, and become worthy of the title I grant to her— Shanoa! Shanoa, I name you ‘nothingness’. It is—”

“So I am nothing...” Shanoa said, quietly. “I’m not... really nothing, am I, sir? I’m not sure if I would like to be called this name.” Barlowe held up a hand to silence her. “It is no insult! It is because of the vast and endless potential inside of you. You are a blank slate, a vessel to be filled with knowledge and purpose. It represents something very important to me as a teacher— how far you will come.”

“Shanoa,” she turned the name over on her tongue like it was not her own. I was at once anxious. I had hoped she would have accepted the name with the same joy and emotion that had overcome me, but it was becoming increasingly clear to me how different we were. What a strange girl... Perhaps the Master saw it too, and he leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. I could hear him from where I sat, but just barely: “This is just between us two, but I have given you my favorite of our holy names. I am excited to see you become the sort of person who lives up to it, Shanoa.” And she bowed her head graciously. Albus embraced her as she returned from her place of honor and congratulated her, which seemed to lift her spirits.

Something inside me shattered. Barlowe had told me that ‘Lucila’ was his favorite. I understand, now, of course, that he simply wanted to make each disciple feel loved, and important. I cannot help but think that this was a little thing he had told to each of us, and I am once more in awe of his kindness. He had already shown us such compassion by housing and feeding us all and enriching our lives and academic studies. But he truly did care for all of us like a Father and his sons. But in such a moment? I was horrified. I thought I had something all to myself, a special little secret.

Yes, I felt another bit of resentment for Shanoa, and then a terrible guilt, as we all retired to our dormitories for the night. Albus didn't speak a word to me that evening after dinner, spending all his time with the new arrival, and I felt woefully forgotten, as we usually said our good-nights each sunset and talked about books we had read and rumors we had heard. Perhaps I would speak more with Magdala, I thought, as I wrapped myself in our shared quilt. She was often aloof, but she was cordial enough. And so I said, “Albus isn't speaking to me,” half-expecting no answer. I had the pony book in my lap but didn't care enough to do much beyond skimming it.

“Everyone gets excited when a new disciple arrives,” Magdala shrugged. “But they're rooming,” I protested. “They say they're brother and sister now, and Albus didn’t even say good-night to me!” She laughed at my impassioned wail. In truth, that was only the half of it, as the Master’s secret whisper to her had profoundly disturbed my little world; the matter with Albus was trivial by contrast. “And I imagine Ave felt the same way when you joined us,” she snorted. I began to ramble, “But I don't get it. Everyone was whispering about her when she arrived. She doesn't even want to be a warrior. She's weird! She almost rejected her name. And she keeps staring at me! I—”

Magdala ignored me, and muttered to herself, “It's just a shame what happened to her parents. A damn shame... I think Albus just knew she needed someone to protect her. Maybe he needed her, too.”

Oh. I conceded that this was reason enough to give her special attention, and felt somewhat ashamed of my outburst. She was another orphaned, troubled stray like me, and I had extended only hostility over my own petty grievances. The Master would not like this.  I vowed, then, that I must help her, kindly and sincerely, because we were alike in this way. I am not the only one who can claim a sister, Albus, I thought, a little bitterly.

Perhaps, then, I would be special once more. Her best friend.

Shanoa’s training was to start the next day, and I intended to make good on my silent oath. We struggled to control our magic, albeit in opposite ways; I would be her tutor, I promised, and we would learn the sacred art together. It was a chilly grey morning, and the disciples had gathered on the grounds outside the cathedral to practice our glyphs. Shanoa had been instructed to watch the more experienced among us and write what she observed, and I was quick to take her under my wing.

“Lucila, I really don’t think she should only be watching you,” Albus warned. “The Master wanted her to watch all of us. We all know different glyphs, after all.” I scowled. Had I not made a vow the previous night? “I want to help her,” I said, pointedly. “We both struggle to shape our magic properly. Why shouldn’t she learn from me?” “Fair enough,” replied Albus, though his icy eyes were fixed on me long after.

I was determined to be the one to show her. Yes, I thought. She would learn to cast a perfect Luminatio on her first day of training, and the Master would be so pleased with me for extending such help to his newest charge. It was a perfect scheme. We had each been administered small magical grimoires with a series of beginner-level glyphs that were easy to master. I would show Shanoa my Luminatio, and then I would hand the tome to her.

“Watch closely,” I instructed, and sat down on the dew-strewn grass. It was easier to reach the trance-state in which casting could be prepared if I was grounded, I had found, though I had hoped to break this habit. If I was ever in real combat, it would be a grave disadvantage. Shanoa tilted her head and stared unblinkingly as I felt my vision blur into nothing. My first few attempts fizzled into sparks, but on the third I lost myself in a deeper dream. I saw the sun, aching inside my chest, and I pulled the light out of me and shaped it in my mind until it had been distilled into two tiny stars. Then, I broke the trance, and my small Luminatio swirled into the air, glowing. I was glad to know I could somewhat consistently summon it, now, and my First Casting had not been a fluke. 

“It’s so bright,” she said. “Does it hurt people?” “It hurts monsters,” I explained. “It is holy magic.” Shanoa then asked how I entered the trance-state, and I explained that I simply focused. For some reason, she didn’t like that answer. But how else could I explain it? Couldn’t she focus, too? Regardless, I handed her the grimoire to study, though I did not tell her to attempt to cast. I simply implied it. Soon after, Albus beckoned her over to show her the petrification glyph he had been studying.

“It’s called Torpor,” he explained. “I actually drafted the sigil myself. It sort of freezes things in place, like amber.” He ran a hand over a page of parchment depicting its sigil, a sort of lock-pattern, then shivered. (Magic felt different for each of us. While I saw a bright, hot blinding sun inside of me, Albus always told me that magic felt cold, like ice creeping onto his skin. Shanoa often expressed, later on, that each glyph felt like she had gained another deadly limb.) Something golden flickered into his fingers, and he tossed it onto the floor; a moment later, shards of amber-crystal rose in impaling spires from the ground where it landed.

“If anyone stepped onto the ‘bullet’, they would be temporarily frozen and completely unharmed. It’s a perfect trap for someone you don’t want hurt,” Albus said, a little smugly. Shanoa blinked. “You really created it yourself?” “It’s nothing special compared to Glaciēs. That’s one Barlowe helped make. It can freeze the whole ground around him and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the frost,” he replied, suddenly sheepish. “Torpor is just my makeshift version.” “Is it hard to make a glyph?” asked Shanoa. “As long as you can recognize the magic you are tapping into and know what symbols can invoke it, it’s not too difficult,” he ran his hands through his hair. “Even Lucila can do it.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” I hissed. “You’re not as far along in your magical studies, that’s all. I mean no insult, of course,” Albus shrugged. “I am so!” I snapped. “I’ve even shown Shanoa how to cast Luminatio!” This was, of course, a lie. But only half of one. “Lucila, I don’t think—” But I pressed the tome into her hands and smiled comfortingly, whispering, “Just think of how exciting your First Casting will be. No one else cast on their first day. The Master will be so happy with us!” I saw her eyes narrow as I mentioned Master Barlowe, and she nodded, filled with resolve. “You're right. My magic is a boon to the Order.” She took the tome from my hands and a deep shuddery breath, preparing to enter the trance. “I will do it,” she said, with utmost certainty, abandoning her dog-eared notebook.

She fixed her gaze on the sigil. It was near instant, and I realized my mistake just as quickly, as her eyes unfocused from the physical plane. She stood there, silently, but only for a moment. Something was building, an arcane spark on the air. “I feel it.” The tension in her voice was rising, her eyes widening and pupils shrinking into tiny dots.

“Cast it,” I encouraged her. Her hands were glowing with white-hot energy, this volatile spark that dwelled within her.

Her hands involuntarily gripped the tome enough to rip parchment and she gave into the great force, unable to sever herself as she drew upon more and more of its power with her mana.  I shrieked in fear as there was a horrible whoosh sound, like some great force. What happened was this: if the magic is allowed to continue to build through the trance state without release, it simply is expelled outward, an uncontrollable outburst that expends incredible amounts of mana. Most attempted castings would have fizzled into nothing in these cases, the well of mana drained before anything too awful could occur. But Shanoa...

We would one day learn how to deliberately use this to cast powerful glyphs, and it would one day be called a “union glyph”, but in this moment, the blinding, earth-shattering ball of light had no name but terror. My vision went white and my ears rang as I was knocked to the ground and my body was wracked by the sheer force of it, and I thought for certain that I was dead, lost in an uncontrollable radiance. Shanoa collapsed, her power expended, and she looked like a limp puppet. I could hear the rest of the disciples come running.

Barlowe rushed into the middle of the commotion, where Shanoa lay at its center, shaking and sobbing on the ground. No one was harmed, thank God, and Albus was silent with shock. Terrified murmurs reverberated through the circle of students, and I only stared forward, silently. No one could know what I had done.

“Silence, all of you!” the Master roared, then his voice turned familiarly warm and soft as he helped her off of the ground. “Shanoa. Explain to me carefully what happened.”

“Lucila was telling me about trance-states and controlling my magic. I thought I would impress you. I’m so, so sorry, Master. I apologi—”

“Hush,” he spoke, gently. “A First Casting is a First Casting, and no one was hurt too badly.” He then spoke to the crowd: “Shanoa has shown herself to be capable of great things, and despite the circumstances, it is worth celebrating. We will hold the Ceremony, and then I want all of you to retire for the evening.” He stared sternly at me when he said that, and I felt even guiltier than I already did. I swallowed, and nodded. I was certain that if he found out I had encouraged her to cast, I was certain to receive a lashing.

I was quite upset during the Ceremony, one that hardly felt jubilant. And I felt just wretched as Barlowe took her up the stairs to the Forbidden Room. Once again I remembered that if not for her, I would have shared this moment with my dear Master, and I nearly renounced my secret vow of sorority in that moment. But my guilt overcame my envy, and I simply listened from the bottom of the staircase, and I heard her weeping before the Vessel, and the quiet, careful assurance from Barlowe, echoing, echoing.

When the ceremony concluded in the soft beginnings of the night, Shanoa did not join the disciples returning to the sleeping-quarters. Instead, I saw the Master lead her to the spiral staircase to the leftmost tower near the front of the old cathedral. His office! 

I felt terribly naughty, following them from a silent distance. This went beyond my initial curiosity. I was spying— spying on a man I respected and had dedicated my life to. But I simply had to know why he had called Shanoa for such a private meeting. Perhaps he would punish her. I listened intently; I could hear everything through the ornate wooden door.

“Come in. I have some tea in the kettle. I recall that you like Earl Grey. Please, drink well. We have much to discuss.” “Am I in trouble, sir?” she asked, her voice shivering. “For what I’ve done. This accident...”

“I am aware it was an accident,” responded Barlowe. I could hear him pouring the tea. First one teacup, then two, then three. “And quite an interesting one. You have... an unprecedented, undiluted amount of magical attunement. You have the potential to become the greatest of my students— the bearer.” A few seconds of silence followed, and then Barlowe said, “Well, aren't you happy about it?” There was a quiet, murmured response. I couldn't hear it well. “That’s what the training will help with. Have I told you about how ‘shaping’ works?”

“No, sir.”

 “Well, there’s your problem. I’m not being a very good teacher, am I?” There was another moment of silence. Finally, she replied: “That’s a trick question, sir.”

“Good girl,” he said.“Well, it’s simple, really. You must discipline yourself into being able to enter complete focus at will, and suppress everything: the outside world; your fears and woes and joys; even your memory. Only in that state, with no attachment or fear or hesitation, will it come naturally to shape the glyph for release. You were frightened, and thus the spell could not be controlled. But to control your feelings is to control your magic. Do you understand? Perhaps you should ask good sister Lucila for more assistance.” I grinned to myself, victorious.

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, in a way that indicated she didn't really understand at all. But Barlowe said something to her, softly, and she replied “Oh, yes, of course, sir,” and she seemed more at ease. They continued to talk and laugh and drink, Barlowe treating her like a friend rather than a student.

“...And I understand that you wish to become a cleric. But you really could be a great asset as a warrior. In some ways they protect more people than even the healers... We send them out to defend the weak and spread our good word,” he explained, and Shanoa replied, “I suppose that would not be so awful, sir.”

“Shanoa, if... If anything is troubling you, don't hesitate to come to me. I am your Master, but I am also your protector and guide. I want you to think of me like a Father. When I gave you the Order, I wanted more than anything to give you a family and home you could take pride in,” he said, in a quiet moment. “I hope I have not upset you.”

“You could never upset me, sir.”

They were silent another moment, and then he spoke, loudly: “You may come in now, Lucila.” I nearly jumped out of my skin, and gingerly opened the door. I melted into apologies; apologies for eavesdropping and confessing to my grave error. I had made Shanoa cast the light-glyph, and I was honest when confronted. She looked away, upset, as I apologized, again and again.

He quietly regarded me, and then spoke, “Come with me, both of you. I have a special lesson to teach. And take that teacup with you, Lucila. I prepared it specially for you.” He led us through the halls, made so eerie without members of the Order populating them like in the daytime, and back to the House of Worship, and sat down at the great church-organ. Only he had the jurisdiction to play the organ, so we both stood, silently. Barlowe however beckoned for us to sit with him, and he pulled Shanoa onto his lap, and began playing. What a special privilege he had afforded us!

We stayed like that for a moment, my head leaned against his shoulder. When he finished the beautiful piece, he said, “What can you tell me about this church-organ?”

“It pushes air through pipes. You told me about it on the carriage.” Shanoa said. “And where are these pipes?” asked Barlowe. “Inside?” she guessed, though she was clearly uncertain. I said nothing.

“You are incorrect. The pipes of this organ are throughout the House of Worship. That is how it makes so many beautiful sounds.” He gestured to the metal pipes adorning the walls of the chapel. “In a sense, he who plays the organ is he who controls the mechanism of the church itself. It is power, you see. And who holds this power, plays this song? Who is the teacher, Lucila?” Barlowe asked me, and I responded, “You, sir.”

“That's right. Imagine if notes tried to play themselves while everyone is trying to sleep, or pray, or study! It would be chaos. Every note has a time it must play, and a time it must be silent. You two know the trouble that foolish children like Albus and Rubedo can cause. I am only thankful that you are not the same way.” His words were kind, but the gaze he had fixed on me was stern and furious. “I am sorry, sir,” I bowed my head in shame.

“And if all the notes are out of time and key...” He resumed playing an altered version of the piece he had played so beautifully for us before, slipping into many clashing, dissonant tritones. “...Now. Wouldn't that be so horrible?”

“It’s awful, sir,” Shanoa said, coldly, and I felt quite terrible for assuming that I could usurp the role of teacher. I had only wanted to help! But Barlowe was teaching me a vital lesson, one that I would readily take to heart. He is absolute. My toil is for God, and not myself.

“Think of yourself like the notes in a great hymn. It is only through obedience and cooperation that the hymn can be played. Do you two understand?” He made one more harmonious flourish on the keys of the organ. We nodded. “Excellent... My little storyteller,” he nodded to me kindly, and I smiled. He then took our hands and led us back to our quarters.

When he had gone, I apologized quite genuinely to Shanoa. “I am sorry. I sort of ruined your First Casting when all I wanted to do was to help you.”

She looked around, and then said, “Well, you heard what the Master said when I came in. He wasn't at your Ceremony, all because of me. So we have both ruined it for each other. But... Why did you do it?”

“Because we are both orphans,” I plainly said. “And we need to look out for each other.” It wasn't entirely untrue.

But the real reason was that I somehow knew that she had an important role in our great hymn yet to be played. Because I was jealous, and I wanted to be important and special once more. But I could not say that. The Master’s lesson had reminded me that there was a higher purpose to all of this: the Eternal Battle, and our place within it under the sun.

She kept staring, and I could tell she didn't entirely believe my answer. But she didn't challenge it. We said our farewells:

“Goodnight, Lucila.”

“Goodnight, Shanoa.”

We parted, and slept well.

“All things are wearisome, more than one can describe; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear content with hearing.”

I continued my studies for the next few years, and not one day did I waver from my faith. But our circumstances grew more and more constricting, and this story continues here: the day I did the unforgivable, and wavered (though worry not— this was swiftly corrected). A day that, ironically, began with an oath of that shaking loyalty.

“...But if the Lord told me to bark like a dog, and run through those woods, I’d do it! Do you know why? Because He knows all things. His will is absolute!” bellowed the Master, his fist shaking with resolution.

It was a strange time for the Order.

It had been a few years, and the Meetings of Loyalty had become more and more frequent. I looked to Shanoa, standing at my side. The strange, broken little girl had grown into a solemn, slender and well-built valkyrie of a woman over the past years, hair grown long and raven-sleek at Barlowe’s request, and she was dedicated to her pious work in equal measure— a warrior beyond compare. Her childish wishes to become a cleric had long since been abandoned. I, of course, was the star pupil among the scribes, and Albus had grown all the more keen and inquisitive in his role as a researcher, even creating his own glyph-weapon (a flintlock named Agathe, for Shanoa’s original name)  and metaphysically inscribing it himself. He was a reliable presence, though I often wondered if there was something dangerous about him.

Which is to say, if there was anyone so off-key, it was him.

“And He speaks through me! Would you obey, if I told you what He has commanded?” Barlowe continued. “Without hesitation, Master. Amen,” we murmured in unison, shivering with the same conviction. “Would you die for mankind? Would you swallow deadly poison and perish in slow agony? Would you fall on the sword and bleed for Him, all to ensure the completion of humanity’s wish?” Barlowe roared, the energy within the tiny room nearly electric with excitement and resplendence. “Would you die for the Lord?!”

“Without hesitation, Master. Amen.” Shanoa’s voice was the loudest among us, and I quivered with pride at how far our little Order had come. When she spoke, she meant it— truth shivering in every oath. “And if your fellow man had perished for the Lord, would you celebrate him, for the martyr he was?” We made the vow one more time, and I felt feverish with devotion.

“Then know that God loves you, and watches you. He is guiding you onto His path. You must not turn away, and you will be rewarded with happiness,” he finished, softly. “Stay true to His love, as I have.”

As I had mentioned, these had become a weekly occurrence. Shanoa was showing more and more promise each day, but the largest hurdle to clear was still casting without the need of a diluting conduit. It had been years and we had made no progress on that front. Albus often had ideas, but at his current status, he had no jurisdiction to test or present such things. It did not help matters that the Head Researcher Claudius, as kind as he was to we young disciples, had grown quite old and senile in the years since the Order’s beginning. Progress on our great experiment had halted. And so we were at an impasse, and the Master had grown somewhat touchy, as visits from church officials became more and more frequent. But he did his best to keep our morale high with these Meetings of Loyalty, and even if I did waver, I had never felt so passionate about our cause.

Humanity depended upon my toil. This I knew.

I felt a sort of clean, calm feeling as we all left the Meeting. I always did, like it washed away everything so petty and unnecessary inside me. It made me feel complete, and closer to God, and secure in my purpose. Yes, there would be a bearer, and we would do anything to someday see the culmination of our work.

But the cleanness inside of me ebbed away to filthy doubt far too quickly: how could we do it? How could the body be so rearranged as to create something out of nothing? Could Shanoa’s body be so changed? Was it even possible?

Could that miraculous explosion— now so long ago— be replicated? She had done the impossible, when she caused that ‘terrible miracle’ that had first sparked Barlowe’s attention. There was no conduit. But it had been many, many years, and I felt the doubt creeping inside of me once more. So I quietly killed it; it could not exist, and I still feel so sick that I had been so unfaithful. It would not benefit me, and in the end we did prevail (as you will see by the story’s end).

“I don't know why he makes us attend these stupid sermons,” Albus groused once we had broken from the crowd, walking towards the training grounds. “It isn't productive. We should be working towards a solution. We should have a new Head Researcher, but the old man just won't listen.”

“They're not stupid!” I protested. “It's important. In uncertain times like these, we need the guidance of the Lord.”

“You know, Albus, I never told you everything about my mission. I was so dead tired last night when I got back home,” Shanoa said, clearly changing the subject. I allowed her to, as I had no more to say on the matter, but I was not pleased. How had the Meeting of Loyalty not lifted them to understand the true goal of all of this? But even I was struggling to summon up the igniting passion that was once so bright within me.

“The Master said you were fighting a pack of armored beasts,” Albus replied. “They're vicious, aren't they? Or so I’ve heard.” Shanoa shrugged. “Oh, it wasn't so difficult. Their underbellies are completely unguarded, and—”

“We really should be going to the training-grounds, Shanoa,” I said, grabbing her hand, perhaps a little snippily. “Look, the door is right there.”

“And I stayed away from the townsfolk. You know what Barlowe says,” Shanoa continued. “‘The common folk do not trust holy sorcerers such as us’,” she finished in a throaty impression of the Master’s gentle, deep voice, and she and Albus chuckled among themselves. The threat was real, though, and I detested that they made merry of it. “Alright, I’d better run along or Lucila will chew my head off,” Albus said. “Be seeing you, Shanoa! Have you heard anything about Rubedo, yet?” Shanoa shook her head.

There was that, too. After Rubedo’s previous mission, (a werewolf raid, if I recall) he had gone missing. While I prayed for him every night, I had begun to believe that he was certainly dead.

We parted ways— Albus to his responsibilities in the library, and Shanoa and I to the training-grounds, as scheduled. It was a sparring-day, which I had never been too fond of, still being a poor caster. While I had mastered Vol Luminatio for a time, the glyph yet escaped me as time went on, and that greatly perturbed me.

But you can't lose magic. I was certain of it. It was the same thing Magdala told me when I confided in her about it, and I had to believe that, because the possibility of becoming mundane little Mary again was too much to bear. Before I had Master Barlowe, I was nothing, I reminded myself. Yet again, I doubted, as I watched Shanoa’s Vol Falcis clash against Magdala’s Secare. The two of them had progressed handily onto weapon-summoning, and I had fallen quite behind.  “Lucila! I don't have a sparring partner yet,” called Beata. “Now that Rubedo is gone. We used to spar together.” “He’s not gone. He will return. He is only on a mission,” I insisted, numbly. She was young and blonde, and had been handpicked for the clerics early on. Still, her glyph-training had been going well, and I was glad she had come to me. We were at a somewhat similar skill level, and I’d had much rather chosen her over Shanoa any day.

We stood at several paces’ distance before turning around and beginning to spar. She led with Grando, a sharp sliver of ice, and I jumped out of the way. Vol Luminatio had been unreliable to me, so I made an attempt at Luminatio, and stopped briefly to ground myself for the glyph-summoning. Beata took the opportunity to knock me down from where I stood with Pneuma, and the light flickered out. Again and again I tried to summon Luminatio, and again and again it fizzled into sparks each time. I hadn't successfully cast a glyph once that day.

Beata readied another casting of Grando, and my eyes wandered to where Shanoa was fighting. How was she so blessed when I am not? What is happening to my light? 

It was then I realized that Beata had stopped fighting, and had sat down next to where I had collapsed. “It's alright, Lucila. I know you don't like sparring so much. I’ll... just tell Father Iulian you won.” She squeezed my hand. As if that was supposed to comfort me.

“That's cheating,” I said, dryly. We watched the mock-battle conclude. Shanoa stood over Magdala, manifesting Vol Falcis in her hand once more, it still in that shapeless, gleaming stage of an early cast, but Magdala struggled to her feet and intercepted the attack with Vol Scutum. Again and again they clashed, metal against metal.

“Oh, Master Barlowe!” I heard Ave from a short distance across the field, and the haze of battle turned to silence. I turned around. He was here? He had come to see us? I felt at once both fear and delight, for I respected him so greatly. But he did not speak to any of us. He simply took Shanoa aside, said something to her, and then the two of them left silently.

He had been personally taking her out of practice-time for his own Special Trainings, intended to strengthen her trance state and prepare her further for Dominus, to bring her mind and body close enough to achieve that impossibility as the perfect vessel. It was a very special privilege, and with the clarity of today I can say that I greatly respect him for personally guiding his students. But at the time, I was filled with bitter envy, and felt hollow without my quickly-fading light. As I mentioned, it was a time of doubt and uncertainty. Albus talked about his research like he was chasing after the wind these days, and I believed him. I hated that I did.

Because without this noble purpose— without my light— I was nothing.

“Chin up, Lucila. We can have another spar,” Beata said. “You look so... so sad.” “This isn't about the spar,” I snapped back, perhaps a little cruelly. “But yes. Let’s go again.” Each attempted battle was equally fruitless. Bad luck, Beata called it. I left frustrated, and a visit to the library was in order for my free-hours, I decided.

When I arrived, however, I found that Shanoa had also had the same idea once her Special Training had concluded. Exactly the person I’d rather not see, I groused to myself, as I sat some distance away as I overheard her playing some card game with Albus. Magdala had taught it to them, if I recall.

“Scopa,” Shanoa said, victorious, collecting the cards off of the table. “That's the last round. Let's count out our cards,” replied Albus. They were silent for a moment. “Looks like I got just enough points to beat you,” Shanoa folded her arms. “And that's the game.”

How dull, I thought to myself,  silencing the urge to ask to join in. I didn't know how the game worked, even after Magdala explained it to me. I would lose anyway. No point.

“You’ll never let me win, will you?” Albus chuckled. “If I was losing you’d let me win anyway, because you’d feel so bad,”  Shanoa retorted, and then her voice went soft. “...I’m glad you're here for me, Albus. The Special Trainings... I’m meant to keep them secret, but they are taxing. I hardly feel like a child at all, with all that I must shoulder. But I’ve never been more proud of my role in the Order. He says there are great things, great, great things ahead for me...” Her voice wavered, wistful. “I cannot lose hope. I think he will choose me as bearer, and I am glad I can confide in you. It frightens me.”

“What are big brothers for? I’ll always be there by your side, dear Shanoa. Didn't we say we're going to travel the world together, once all of this is over?” he smiled. “Yes. Never anywhere without you. Side by side... And perhaps we should bring the Master, too, and celebrate together,” replied Shanoa. “Seeing the world that we have saved.”

“Right.” Albus said, dryly. Was there some resentment there? How could he be so... so lukewarm? I love Barlowe. Doesn't everyone? ...Doesn't Albus, anymore?

“It's a shame Father Claudius won't be there by then,” he said after a moment. “He’s always been... I don't know. He helped me a lot. He seemed to care a lot about me, becoming a researcher and all. I don't think he's all there anymore. Rambling about the ‘Advent of the Tenth Coming’, whatever that is.”

“Barlowe hasn't been looking for a replacement Head Researcher yet, you told me,” Shanoa whispered back. “But he's clearly one foot in the grave. What does he expect you to do, now that things are...?” Albus just shook his head in response, pulling at his hair (a nervous habit of his).

Father Claudius was the oldest member of Ecclesia, and Barlowe often named him as his best friend. He was a scientific genius and had aided in the creation of the glyph-language, and he knew each of our brothers and sisters quite personally. There would be a yawning void in the Order without him. Was it any wonder that the Master would hesitate to replace him, even at his age? But even that felt like a mere excuse, in this time of great uncertainty. We were on a great and stormy ship, and I had convinced myself that no one had been steering the rudder. But was God not with us? I shudder at my foolishness.

As for that brief moment, my belief in our Order and its goals felt distant. Absent, even artificial. And that was more terrifying than any beast we had faced in our trips outside the cathedral. No, I could not ask him. Not with Albus living in the same doubt I had filthied myself with, a shared unforgivable sin. The comfort and kindness of my Master was what I needed. He alone can cure me. And so I made the little journey to Barlowe’s office, on a terrible precipice. I would confess, I resolved. I would tell him everything.

“Come in,” he said, cordially, and beckoned me to the little wooden chair sat across from his desk. “For what have you sought my counsel, good Lucila?”

“I am worried, Master. I feel my heart being pulled astray, and my magic has nearly vanished. I cannot cast... I cannot cast, anymore,” I looked down at my lap, ashamed. “It started with my more powerful glyphs. They left my grasp. But now...” He rubbed his chin and said nothing, looking me over in contemplation. “Show me Luminatio,” he said, and I complied. I tried my hardest to call upon the little sun inside me, and I failed: I called forth a single spark, impotently dying, not even bringing any warmth or light to the dim little office in its brief and futile life.

“So it is gone,” he said, finally. “The use that you had offered to Ecclesia, and the reason I took you in. This is quite unheard of.”

“I don't think it is gone forever,” I elaborated. “I think there is a block, a doubt, a wavering. I need help, Master. I need you to heal me. I have begun to fear that... That we will fail...” I was beginning to panic. ‘ The reason I took you in’ was a phrase that struck a great respect and fear into me, because the idea of losing my place in the wonderful and kind church was so unthinkable. I had— and wanted for— little else. But I had been chosen for my aptitude for magic, and my loyalty and faith was wavering, and I had betrayed him terribly. Was my home not in jeopardy? I only lived in comfort that I had earned. Had I failed him so gravely? But he was not so cruel.

 “Perhaps this will even happen to Shanoa, and we won't have any candidate for the bearer— any candidate at all! It’s hard to have any hope when we’ve been so unproductive that the church is threatening to pull funding, and one of my fellow disciples has gone missing, and now this... Please, you have to help me from thinking in this way. Tell me that I have no reason to worry,” I had melted into quiet sobs, and Master Barlowe cupped his hand on my cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb. “Oh, my poor Lucila. My poor, stupid Lucila. Don't you remember what I named you for? The great and wonderful good I saw in you? Please don't tell me I’ve made a mistake in choosing you for this purpose.”

“Sir, I know—”

The hand that was so gentle had then harshly reprimanded me, and I yelped, but I did not cry. He was fair, you must understand, as he who spares the rod spoils the child, and I had never been more in need of reminder where I stood. “I do remember, sir. I remember that it was my light and my passion. I am sorry. I am sorry to have ever doubted.” He caressed my cheek again, and I was thankful for the comfort he so often provided me.

“Ecclesia will have a bearer,” he said, firmly. “You know this; you are a good child. You can be helped again, if you accept this penance. Yes, open minds can be healed.” I nodded, and agreed to these terms. “Then daily prayer and fasting may yet remind you of our noble duty. The physical and metaphysical are linked. Perhaps a physical undertaking of devotion will return your hold on your glyphs. Does that appease you?” I nodded again. I would do what I must, and he would help me. I left quietly, bowing my head, and I did not speak to Magdala that night.

The week of fasting that followed was quiet, rainy, and miserable, though quite deserved. I had become a strange and awful girl, with a mind full of contradictions that had become entirely unfamiliar to me. The Master understood that I needed to sit with these contradictions and see the folly in them, and such a process would indeed cleanse me. But in those first few days, I was in hollow, meaningless despair, and so I finally sought out Albus.

It was another stormy afternoon, the candlelit view through the stained glass windows distorted with all the water pouring down. The remaining disciples had concluded that Rubedo was dead, and we had held a small private service for him amongst ourselves. There had been deaths and disappearances in the past, but never one of our fellow youths; it was a sobering experience. Spirits were not high, but were they ever, in this awful time? Though I was fasting, I was still required to attend meals, so I did my best not to stare hungrily at my peers’ plates. Shanoa and a few of the other disciples were out on a mission-trip, but Albus was still wrapped up in his studies. “How's the fast?” he asked cordially. “I think it is helping to ground me,” I replied. “Why's he even got you fasting, anyway? I’m a bit out of the loop on that.”

Finally, I confessed: “I have lost my ability to cast glyphs, and I have doubted our future. I was... astray, Albus. He is healing me.” “That is unheard of,” murmured Albus, echoing what Barlowe had said previously. “But I’ve read some old occult texts that posit that light-magic is connected to belief and conviction. Should one fall, so does the other... at least, in theory.” “Then the fast will help,” I insisted. “I already feel my doubts ebbing away.” “I wish I could say the same,” he replied. “Come to my dorm after meal-time, and don’t be late.” “But my prayer—” I protested, but Albus shot me a look. “This is important. I have to tell someone about this.”

And that meant secrets, I realized, as I followed him. Perhaps he had presumed I was like him, contending with a spark of rebellion, and had invited me on the presumption that I would agree with him, and the idea disgusted me. But still I followed, as there was a part of myself curious and needful. It meant secrets, I thought again, even if they are dangerous, I must know. I am the scribe, the witness.

The dorm-room was dim, the quilt on the bed in disarray, pillows strewn across it haphazardly. Albus pulled out the chair at the little room-desk and beckoned for me to sit; I chose the bed instead and he sat down in the chair, crossing his legs. “The truth is that I don’t know what to think, Lucila. Barlowe has told me in no uncertain terms that Shanoa is to become the bearer. But what will Dominus do to her, when that day comes? It is a dangerous, dangerous magic...” “I don’t see what you mean,” I replied. “Dominus is holy, it will purge Dracula from this earth. How can it be dangerous? Unless you are implying the Master dabbles in dark magic.” My eyes narrowed, glaring at him.

“I am not implying, I am stating. Dominus is... It’s...” his voice dropped to a whisper. “He told me, when I had my Researchers’ Induction. He made it out of Dracula, Lucila...! He had some people go collect His remains— the eye, the heart, the rib, the nail, the fang and His ring... And he used it to create the Dominus glyph, because it will be ‘fire against fire’. Dominus is His power, and no one else’s. For how else would one kill something eternal? But what can such a glyph do? It is evil. I cannot allow Dracula to enter Shanoa’s body. I have cared for her so much in these years we have spent together as Brother and Sister. I have not told her. I don’t know what to do.”

I was shocked, of course, but I hushed him immediately. “The Master wouldn’t hurt us,” I insisted. “We have followed him for so long; we cannot cast doubt on him now. And if Dominus is truly so dangerous, wouldn’t it be justified, to save all of humanity?” But despite my protests, my heart was racing. Guide me, God, I pleaded. I cannot doubt like this again. I promised Barlowe.

“I suppose,” Albus said. “But I have been uncertain ever since.” “Then you should pray with me,” I urged him. It was the only thing that was healing me. He just shook his head, and I realized that this meeting had been fruitless. He would not sway me. “Fine, then,” I said. “I will go pray for myself. Goodnight, Albus.”

“Wait,” he called me, and rummaged through the desk. “I got some food from the kitchens. You’ve been fasting for so long, I just figured you could use a bite to eat.” He held a small apple-pastry and implored me to take it. Stolen food! I knew then that this had been placed before me by God to sway me from my faith, and I was growing more and more desperate. “No thank you. This is my penance,” I said with finality, and shut the door. “This is my penance,” I whispered again.

My light had never felt further. So I knew where I must go: the Forbidden Room. Had I not heard the voice of God, so long ago? It was not permitted for someone of my status to enter, but what choice did I have? Barlowe would understand, if it brought back my passion, I was certain. And so I justified my grave disobedience as I ascended the staircase. I needed His presence, in this, my dark night of the soul. Salvation waited with the dawn.

In the stillness of night, the Vessel was stiller than all else, and after ensuring that the door had shut quietly, I rushed to the altar and prostrated myself before it, whispering quiet prayers. I had never been more desperate for things to be right again, for every question to be quieted with an answer, and for my prayers to be heard. And so I begged God to help me.

The silence was deafening, and so I continued to beg. “Please, God, I have toiled in your name for nearly half my short life. I have done what you have asked. Please, give me a sign that I have no reason to fear this path. Please. Please, return my light!” I begged, and sobbed, delirious with hunger and shaking in the Vessel’s presence. I kept begging ‘til it was all I knew.

And then, a murmur. If you stay your righteous path, I promise you everything. I know that it was Dracula who had spoken to me then; I knew then that it was God. I know now that there is no difference twixt the two, for Dracula is God’s judge.

My eyes widened. Of course the Master is right. Of course. Of course. Of course I must be faithful, because my prayer has been so rewarded. Why did I ever doubt it? I felt a rush of renewed faith, and I found myself sobbing, because only now had clarity returned to me. My stomach felt like it was eating me from the inside, and I howled in ecstacy, dropping to my hands and knees. The sun was burning hot inside me, and my vision was only white. I thought I had been blinded and I did not care. This penance, fasting and prayer had led me here, and I had been healed. As I collapsed, great spouts of fire erupted around me, and I continued shaking there, babbling in some strange unknown language, reaching out but never touching the Vessel that had so blessed me.

I am still so moved to think of that night, and the holy ecstasy that had overtaken me. If there was but one night that convinced me to never be shaken from my faith, it was this one, and I was never the same afterwards. ‘Tis often remarked that the greatest of ascensions follows the dark night of the soul, and it was true; I was uplifted and blessed and healed, my passion restored at the reminder of that which I had fought and studied long nights for. Oh, glory be to God, for saving me once more!

And thus I was clean. Empty. I barely perceived it as Vol Ignis, the glyph that it was, but rather an extension of my very body. Was this how Shanoa had always felt it? I did not know. But I did know this: he had healed me. He had healed me. It was all I could think about, and I was warm with love and devotion. Barlowe has saved me. Faith has set me free from this temptation of sorrow. And I felt all the more cleansed.

Albus found me there, laying surrounded by the dying flames. He failed to shake me from my trance, and then dragged me away from the altar, down the stairs into the House of Worship. He held me there, silent, until I had calmed. “Oh, Lucila, you're alright! I thought I’d find you there, when you left to go pray. Your glyphs,” he said firmly, as my chest heaved for air. “Your glyphs have returned. You must tell me how you have done it, and if you are hurt— for you have cast with the body and mind alone. You had no conduit.”

My delirious mind was racing. The miracle that had occurred did not cross my mind, but it was true that I did not have my tome, or any conduit-object, and I told him as much. I then described the events that had preceded the casting of Vol Ignis: my desperation, my vows of faith, the passion that had taken over the hollowness I had felt over the past weeks in the presence of my renewed faith. The kindling to this light. And then, the following clean, cool emptiness of renewal. I felt Luminatio inside me, now, after its long absence, and so too did I feel Vol Luminatio, and Ignis and Fulgur and the other glyphs I had committed to learning. If I had my tome, I felt I could speak the whole language. But I could not replicate the undiluted Vol Ignis again.

“Light magic is powered through belief,” he repeated to himself. “And this fire magic, your conviction. Yes, I think my theory was not wrong. Magic is emotion, the mind. I think I understand now... I have to tell Barlowe.” He ran off, and I did not even give thought to the idea that I may face further punishment for intruding into the Forbidden Room. I had everything I needed. I had God, and His glory inside me. I spent the rest of the night in the infirmary at Albus’s insistence, but left quickly, as I was unharmed, and I was happy as I welcomed Shanoa’s return from her mission. All was right again. Barlowe gave me a quick congratulations, thanking me for my contributions to the church, and semi-officially lifted my fast, but otherwise did not speak to me, wrapped up in discussion with Albus of their new and thrilling science. It seemed he was not cross with me for what I had done; I actually did not see heads nor tails of him or Albus for the rest of that day. Still, I was quite content, and made a big show of my returned abilities to Beata. I even cast Vol Ignis, though not quite so explosively as the previous night, and we shared our dinner-time swapping secrets and gossip. I was admittedly relieved to begin eating again, and I allowed myself a little celebratory gluttony.

Albus was missing from the table (as was Shanoa, though that had become an increasingly common occurrence, with her Special Trainings and all). He never missed dinners, and the curiosity had me about as hungry as the previous night. No more sneaking around, I vowed to myself, as I had only just set everything right, and I wanted no trouble.

But my nosiness would be answered soon. In the time before we retired to our quarters, I continued talking with Beata and Magdala inside the House of Worship. The chapel was open for all to visit at any hour, and it had become a frequent hangout spot for the three of us when we were able. But all of our frivolous conversation was abruptly silenced as we heard odd, indistinct sounds from up the staircase. Albus rushed into the chapel, said nothing, and hurried up the stairs as well— to the Forbidden Room. There was a muffled outburst, a loud booming sound, and I listened intently to the words I could not make out. “What’s happening?” Magdala whispered to me, but I only listened, mesmerized.

Minutes later we witnessed the Master walk calmly down from the Forbidden Room, Shanoa clutched limp in his arms like Madonna and child, blood streaking down his emerald-colored robes, and a strange curved dagger in his fist, slick with the same dark red. She looked unconscious, and her back appeared so bloody as to have been torn open in ecstatic flagellation. Magdala and I looked to each other, eyes wide.

Something of great, earth shattering importance had happened.

Albus stormed after them shortly, looking back and forth with panicked eyes, and then turned around to run after the Master, shouting something we couldn't make out. “Lucila,” Beata hissed to me. “What's going on? First your glyphs returned, and now this? What has he done to her?”

“I don't know,” I shook my head. But I knew that this must be connected to the theory Albus spoke of, and it filled me with a great feeling of anticipation. The Master was a genius. How quickly he had found a way to engrave the lamb! And thus was she bound.

“The infirmary,” I hissed back. “He must be taking her there. I think I know why.”

“Lucila, what is this about?” Magdala asked, as I rushed after the Master and the researcher. “We'll find out soon enough,” I replied hurriedly. This too was proof of the power of my faith. I had wavered and the Order had stagnated; I reignited my belief and we were on the great precipice of our final goal.

Somehow, I knew— our bearer was being created. The Seal would be destroyed. And I felt all the more invigorated.

When I entered the infirmary, I was one of many who had hurried to see the unconscious, bleeding girl. Barlowe stood over her in her bed, hastily being wrapped in bandages by the cleric-girls. It felt as if all of Ecclesia was squeezed into the little infirmary, and had collectively held its breath. Ave ran through the crowd and stood next to me, breathing heavily.

“She is fine,” Barlowe said, firmly. “I want all of you to leave. There is nothing for you to concern yourselves with. Shanoa agreed to this.”

“But Master Barlowe...! Please, you must listen!” pleaded Ave. “Father Claudius is dead!”

“When you make a vow to God, do not delay to fulfill it. He has no pleasure in fools. Fulfill your vow.”

The crowd erupted into chaos.

Barlowe immediately sprung from the bedside, intent on checking on the scene himself, and he beckoned for all to leave the infirmary. Albus, however, pleaded to stay longer for Shanoa’s sake, and Barlowe eventually did agree, under the condition that he leave when summoned for his responsibilities in the researchers’ guild. He found this agreeable, and asked that I stay behind as well, though I did not realize why until the Master had left. The infirmary was empty; even the clerics had left in the shock of the news of Claudius’s death. So Albus and I were alone with the sleeping patient, her face in a drift of fitful dreams. In her arms Albus had placed a small plush cat that he had brought to her from a mission several years ago, and in her sleep she clutched it tight. It was then that he spoke:

“I thought I fixed everything. God, when I told the Master about this discovery, I didn’t think that he would do this,”  his voice shook with sorrow. “So he has engraved her?” I asked, running a hand over the bandaged, bleeding shoulder. I felt something flickering from where skin touched skin. Even I could recognize the latent magic that dwelled with her now, with only a mere touch! I swallowed back my excitement at this discovery, though, making it my private joy. He nodded, and I listened on.

“Yes. I didn’t think it would come to this. He did not disclose his plans when he had me draft the sigil-circle for him. This ‘blessing’ he has imparted upon her... Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning, with the hypothesis I did present to him. Each thing that inhabits this world is made up of physical and metaphysical properties. And you have called upon magic through emotion— emotion is the fuel of the caster, consumed during the trance-state, a sort of catharsis engine. Emotions are not physical; they are the realm of the soul, the metaphysical, and thus the realm of magic. Emotions can be shaped and engraved, metaphorically, but perhaps metaphysically, too. That is what I told him. He was ecstatic at the news, and we immediately began speaking about how one might accomplish such an engraving, and I was eager at how seriously he was taking my contribution to the Order. I felt like everything was beginning to be right again.

“We arrived at the conclusion that with enough emotional aid, the entirety of glyph-language could be engraved upon a spirit. He did not elaborate upon what sort of emotional aid he meant, and he asked me to create a hypothetical sigil that could do this engraving process. I created the glyph and inscribed it on the floor of the Forbidden Room at his instruction... The scorch marks from your Vol Ignis created a perfect circle, and I drew upon that circle’s power as I drew the sigil: a sigil that I now know was powered with her spilled blood, and his bitter betrayal of her. She needed to hurt for the spell to take. To feel so much hatred, anger and agony that it would scar her, body and soul... Emotion is the fuel. This scar is a reminder, a sort of permanent echo to summon up such conviction. Though Barlowe had dismissed me once I had drawn it, I knew something was wrong, and I ran back to the Forbidden Room. They were doing some awful, awful ritual, and Shanoa kept sobbing ‘I invoke His power, I invoke His purifying flame’, and Barlowe kept hurting her. There was blood everywhere.”

“‘For it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul’... ” I said.

“He told me it was the only way, and that she had agreed to these terms and accepted the runes unto her. I think she passed out from blood loss as the ritual concluded, but the scars... They were in these perfect little shapes. They were runes. And there was this huge outpouring of magic as she collapsed, lightning and holy flame and everything. I knew at once that he had done it. The anger, hatred, and agony would allow her to use the three pieces of Dominus, Angor, Odium and Ira, simultaneously— hence the three runes. They will test her new abilities when she has awoken, but I already know this: she is engraved, and branded forever. Ecclesia has succeeded.” His voice shook with bitter hatred. “And I have never been more disgusted. She thanked him as she slipped from consciousness. She thanked him! If this is what is necessary to create his perfect specimen, I fear Dominus all the more, as by all accounts she is not ready to absorb the glyph yet. She isn’t an entirely empty vessel. I fear what is to come.”

His Isaac bound.

“So she is to be the bearer,” I said, finally. “Didn't we always know that?” He sounded ragged and hurt. “God, I.... I should be celebrating. This is my life’s work. We're closer than ever to freeing mankind from Dracula. Some day soon, Shanoa will be able to absorb Dominus, to learn its kind. But I...” He took another breath, then swallowed. “I respect the Master and everything he's done for me, so much. But...”

“Perhaps you should pray,” I said quietly, and smiled as sweetly as I could muster. “She agreed to this, and becoming the bearer is the greatest thing that any of us could hope for. I am happy for her, and I celebrate for the Order.”

“Albus! The Master wants you in the research-hall,” Father Iulian barked from the door. “It’s urgent.” Albus gave me a pained look, and had me promise to wait with Shanoa until she came to. I promised, and watched, ever the witness. One patient, and one visitor, now alone. She slept, her tormented expression eventually giving way to something more blank, but not exactly peaceful. Finally, she awoke, and she woke in tears.

“Shanoa. Oh, Shanoa, you are alright,” I comforted her, and squeezed her hand as she sat up.

“Oh, what has he done to me...? I feel so strange,” she said, vacantly, and I told her that Albus had told me everything. She closed her eyes wistfully. “I told Barlowe that I would shoulder every responsibility for him. But it is so much, sometimes. So much.. I am meant to free the world of evil, but...” “But you will be the bearer,” I replied, firmly. “Yes,” Shanoa replied, the resolve returned to her. “I will save humanity. I have agreed to everything up until now, for that aim.”

“Then there is no evil in what Barlowe did,” I concluded. “And this is a day to celebrate.” My hand crawled up her back, to her bandages, thirsting to feel the shocks of power and magic flowing through the new runes that had been inscribed upon her, and I shuddered at the sight of the crimson-red glow shining through; she winced as I touched her. “Lucila, please. The flesh is still raw. It hurts.”

“Hush. Martyrdom often does,” I replied. She curled into her sterile sheets, shrinking back into herself. “...Does he ever hurt you? The way he hurts me? These scars...”

“Runes,” I corrected, stiffly. Before leaving, Barlowe had instructed us that ‘scars’ were not the correct terminology. “And he has never hurt me.” For a moment, I thought back to when he had struck me a week prior. But was that not justified? I had been so awful. If he had not truly hurt me, he had not hurt her. And had not faith in God and Barlowe steered us all back onto our course?

Shanoa gave me an empty look. “You’re right. He doesn’t hurt me either. I’m sorry.” I stared back sympathetically. “Come now. We must celebrate. You’ve taken on such a sacred rite, making yourself a bearer of glyphs,” I smiled and clapped my hands. “I am happy to have seen you become what you are now. A blade...! Humanity’s saviour! Our research is finally going somewhere.” Shanoa smiled in response quite genuinely. “Yes, I suppose I am. The Master will be so pleased to see how successful the binding was. My pain matters little.”

“It does matter. It is beautiful, and meaningful. It will set us free,” I urged her. “You even sound like him sometimes,” she laughed, and it pleased me greatly.

Barlowe arrived to check in at the infirmary shortly after, with a great bundle of candies and sweets for the girl, and I was heartened by his kindness. He comforted her, and presented her a new dress made specially to accommodate the runes, and kissed her forehead like a father to a daughter. All was right between them, and a great feast was planned for when she had recovered. We both thanked him for what he had done, and I was instructed to go to bed, and in the morrow to return to my scribe duties and record the days’ events to send out the news to our outposts. I bid my farewell to Shanoa and kissed her hand, filled with faith and ardor. Soon, we would change the world forever.

After the quiet, breathless night, I worked all day in the library, and in the quiet hours of the day, when all the researchers had left to enjoy their free-hours, Albus sat beside me. “How is she?” he asked immediately. “Oh, she is doing wonderfully,” I gushed. “We are both so happy, and excited for the future.” Albus gave me an odd and pained look. “I am.. happy to hear that, really. But I am worried. I don’t know if my place is at the old man’s side any-more, and you’re the only person I feel like I can turn to. I’ve shared many secrets with you, after all.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“I intend to leave Ecclesia. There is nothing left for me if we continue this way. It is not what I wanted,” he finally confessed. “But you will never see Shanoa again,” I insisted. “I would visit,” he said, quietly, and his hands were shaking, now, like the weight of his confession was catching up to him. “Do you really think Barlowe would allow that? The only outsiders who come here are church-officials. No one leaves Ecclesia, and frankly I am shocked that you would want to! Where would you go? You will have no food or shelter. I cannot imagine you on your own out there. The world is so cruel...” I grasped his hands, imploring him to reconsider. “And the people outside do not understand us. They will turn you away.” “I suppose,” Albus conceded. “I’ll think about it. If I have to stay for Shanoa’s sake, I will, but... I don't belong here.”

I bid him adieu, and reported this incident to Master Barlowe. He needed to know.

At mealtime, Albus was missing from the table. I looked over at his empty seat. Shanoa had not yet recovered enough to join us, either. Magdala frowned and asked about the researcher; I told her honestly that I did not know where he was, and we ate without speaking. Soon, though, Barlowe entered with Albus at his side, walking stiffly and with a bruise on his face. The Master stood in front of the elders’ table and called for silence.

“Our good fellow Albus has made a grave error today. I do not wish to punish him, but simply remind him of our ways. Albus, tell them what have you done.” He glared forward, his blue eyes turned into glints of ice, and he spoke coldly, voice bitter and poisonous: “I asked to leave the Order. I apologize for this infraction.”

There was a small, hushed gasp. I was glad that Shanoa was not here, to learn of Albus’s shocking betrayal. Nearly everyone lined up to tell him of what he would be forsaking by leaving Ecclesia— certainly a harsh, but necessary reminder. I abstained.

When all had concluded, Barlowe called for silence once more. “Now!” He clapped his hands. “Albus has served his penance. Now it is with a clear conscience that I can announce the replacement for our dear Father Claudius. As you all know, he was found dead the previous night, leaving us without our Head Researcher.” A hushed murmur reverberated through the hall. “I have made my final decision, as a great and wonderful discovery was made. We have successfully engraved the body, and the church is giving us a healthy increase in funding to conclude our research. We are but a few steps closer to breaking the Vessel. ...And who else brought us to this discovery than my wayward student? God works in strange ways,” he smiled. “Yes. Our new Head Researcher shall be Albus.”

I could tell, as I looked in his eyes, that this was the greatest punishment of all. I had never seen him in such pain. He could never leave.

I would find him after mealtime, I resolved. I needed to give him the same faith that had reignited me, and so I approached him quickly in the hall as we all headed to enjoy the remaining hours of daylight. And I really was quite happy for him: “Albus! Congratulations on the promotion. I understand you must be feeling conflicted, but it’s for the best. We're not supposed to think like that— trying to leave, and all. I was actually heading to the House of Worship, if you’d like to—” I reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” He snatched my wrist and I flinched on instinct, the way Barlowe struck me still fresh in my mind. He paused for a moment and stared at me, cold blue eyes damp with tears of frustration. “I’m sorry.” He let me go and walked away.

It was the last time we spoke as friends. We were colleagues, now, and nothing more.

The next few years were spent productively. I was in awe of Shanoa’s new power— I would often watch her in the Training-Hall pulling swords from her body as if they were a natural part of her biology, and her battling prowess was growing stronger day by day. She was now dedicated wholly to her duty to the Order, changed by the reality of it. She had given her life to the ordeal of becoming the bearer, and the great change she would bring to the world by taking on the power of Dominus.

“I am not a child any-more,” I recall her confiding in me. “Even among the other disciples I feel like I am aged beyond my years. Something in the magical ritual has changed me. Is this what it means to be the bearer?”

She had never been quite so beautiful to me. It seemed there was no end to the glyphs she had become compatible with, and I often drew up new sigils to have her cast them— each one attuning her more and more to her purpose as a vessel for knowledge and inscription. For each one she took into herself, the more cold and resolute she became, and I made it my joy to continue expanding the glyph-language for this purpose.

Albus was on a tight leash, now, as Head Researcher, and we spoke only for important matters. What I did was for the best, but it seemed he did not forgive me easily. I had other friends, though, and I was content to spend my time with my less troublesome peers. The Master seemed quite pleased with the Order’s progress, and we were all waiting with bated breath for the day he would announce the great ritual that would finally shatter the Vessel— which would come faster than we realized, as a result of Albus’s actions.

He had often been prone to testing his experiments on himself after the binding-incident, perhaps out of distaste for others being used as specimens for such sciences. And so it was one of these nightly experiments that roused us to action. For he had done something quite rash: attempting to absorb Dominus himself. I will recount what I was told, as I was not present:

His hypothesis was this: magic and the metaphysical enjoy metaphor, and Dominus, having been created from Dracula Himself, reacts with blood. Thusly, its dangerous, dark magic could then be sated by an offering of blood. He made a series of small tests in his free-hours in the library, then asked one of the clerics for more blood samples. He was doing the unthinkable, as he had stolen the tomes that contained Dominus in order to attempt to experiment on them directly.

To what end? To make himself the bearer.

What had happened to my friend Albus? While we were once peers and worked closely together for our aims, it felt now that we were an ocean away, and he had been tempted away by earthly things. The salvation of humanity meant little to him compared to one small life. I hated him as I mourned for who he once was and the duty we had gladly shared in.

Shanoa found him at midnight, coughing up blood and bile, and suffering terribly. She got the Master, who then severed him from the glyph. The agony of such an experience had convinced him that there was no world in which he could allow Shanoa to become the bearer— the glyph would indeed use emotions, feelings and memories as fuel for its absorption, to create a permanent trance state, as the bearer had no need for these things. Then would the vessel be emptied, and the life would be the final catalyst.

Barlowe knew this, of course. It was what Dominus was created to do; it was the purpose of the Special Trainings Shanoa had undergone; it was the sacrifice that would be made. You cannot create things like this on accident; this had always been the Master’s careful plan. He was not cruel in this; he had granted his potential bearers such lovely lives with frequent feasts and friendship and a place in the Order. And wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing, to give ones’ life for humanity and be granted honor in heaven? Oh, if only he had chosen me as bearer, would things have been different?

Knowing of this cost, Albus took his concerns directly to Barlowe, and made his intentions very clear: Shanoa could not absorb Dominus. Albus, acting in what little authority he had as Head Researcher, requested himself to take this role. And the Master knew had a choice to make, as he knew that selecting a different bearer at this point in time would set us back years. How long had he been training her for his purpose? And so he solved this problem with all the caution of a man dismantling something quite volatile.

He gave Albus the permission to make himself the bearer on the condition that he complete a short mission to prove his loyalty to the Order once more after these repeated disobediences. Albus agreed to these terms, and left; the Master made preparations to perform the ritual before he returned from his mission-trip. No harsh punishment awaited him, but he would likely receive a demotion, as his role would be complete.

It was the perfect scheme, and the Vessel would soon be broken. The mood in the Order had never been quite so optimistic. Our toils and our true purpose would finally be fulfilled.

And so Barlowe came to me with that truth one night, as we prepared the Forbidden Room for the full-moon ritual. I alone had been chosen to arrange the candles and all of our important magical objects, to channel enough power into the Dominus-sigils to begin the final imprinting process, as described prior. It was deathly quiet as I worked, until he beckoned me to the side of the Vessel and I knelt before him.

“Lucila. You have been faithful to me, and me alone for all these years. You’ve grown from a miserable child to a dedicated young woman, and never once have you wavered from your faith,” He began, dropping to one knee to look into my eyes where I had bowed.

I did. Once. But my faith was stronger than ever now. God strike me down if I wavered again.

“Even in the Order there are few I can fully trust with the truth. But no matter, it is for their own good. But you... Good Lucila, I wanted to speak with you alone, on this, the eve of the Tenth Coming.” Something about the phrase was familiar to me, and I said nothing. He continued: “First, I must tell you the circumstances we are performing this ritual under, for the first bit of truth I owe you is one that he has uncovered.” He then outlined the events described previously, that nightly experiment with blood. “The truth is, he is quite a genius. He found the way to allow Shanoa’s body to accept Dominus, but refused to allow us to go forward with it. So I am doing what I must... Yes, it is for the sake of us all. I pleaded with the Lord: don't make me do this! But did not Abraham offer up his son when the Lord asked? My poor girl... But I must.”

“So Albus was right: Dominus shall kill her,” I murmured. “She will be a holy martyr; a saint. It is a sacrifice she would be willing to make,” Barlowe replied, a little sternly. I swallowed. “I understand.” Hadn't I promised him my unshaking devotion, in those ecstatic Meetings of Loyalty? We had all promised to die if he asked. Shanoa had promised with the most vigor of all of us; of course she wanted this. “I will celebrate her martyrdom as much as I mourn her.”

But still there were questions.

“But... That isn't the whole truth... Is it, sir?” I was beginning to shake in little fits due to my proximity to the Vessel again.

“Yes. First I must tell you... This is not the Vessel of Dracula’s soul. It is his Seal, his coffin. I have lied to you, and for this I apologize. I only did what I thought was necessary. Young minds,” He began reaching for his magical tome, which he always kept on his person. “I had to protect your young minds. I care so much for the little ones, you know. They couldn't find out the true purpose of this, as they would never understand.”

“What are you saying?”

“Lucila, I want you to think back to how horrid your life was, in those days before I found you. You told me so much about how everyone was cruel and horrible towards you. You prayed every day to leave, somehow... Isn't that right?” I nodded. “All those cruel and awful people, living in sin... Don't they deserve judgment?”

I was ignited once more, another hungry flicker inside me. “Yes,” I hissed. “I am thankful every day for the salvation you have brought me... Saving me from them. God will surely judge them.”

“And who is God’s judge on earth, who appears every century to smite the wicked? How can humanity be saved without evil being purged from the land? Listen to me and know I speak truly, my Lucila: when Richter Belmont once spoke to me of the Eternal Battle, I knew that it was not senseless violence. The reign of sorrow and wrath and the ensuing defeat of the Dark Lord were a divinely-ordained ritual cleansing. When he spoke to me, that warrior of God, I knew that my place was in my toil to bring Dracula to this mortal plane... That is the purpose of Dominus and its sacrificial lamb. For does the Lord not call us to sacrifice?” His finger ventured rather deliberately between the pages of his grimoire, and I knew at once he was readying a glyph for if I dared turn away from him. I had now the choice between my loyalty and my death. “...To revive Count Dracula. Yes, I had to shield the young disciples from this truth: that He arises from the evil that men do, and men are wicked from birth. Do you understand, Lucila? I do apologize for hiding this for so long. But I had to protect you. It was the only way to keep you pure, empty tomes.”

But I had already chosen, already sworn my devotion to him, already made my vows. There was no world in which I didn't take his hand and swear every oath again with all the more ardor. It was everything I wanted, and I alone among the disciples had been trusted with this great secret that not even Albus or the bearer knew. It set my heart alight with a selfish little triumph, that in the end he favored me above all others. He had chosen me for this.

He always was my angel. My savior.

“I will aid you in the resurrection,” I vowed. “I thank you, Master. You have given me my light, and I have dedicated it to you.”

His eyes flickered a soft gold in the candlelight, and shivered with pride. “Excellent. I am so happy to have seen you become such an intelligent young scholar over these many years,” he said, warmly. “I knew that you would understand. In these final days, I would like you to be a friend to the bearer, and grant her great kindness for the sacrifice she is to make.” I wanted to ask if she knew, but I had the sense that it was our little secret. And perhaps ignorance would be kinder, we agreed. “What I have told you is not to be repeated even in a whisper, apart from with the other elders, who already know our greater purpose. And you shall become my Right Hand, now, my Witness, in these most wonderful of days. We shall see the Resurrection together, and the earth shall be healed. Do you seal this in blood?”

He took my hands in his as I stood up, still shaking violently beside the Seal. I heard that wonderful, divine voice encouraging me, swear your faith, woman. Swear it to me. Swear it to him, and tears welled in my eyes. “Yes. Upon my blood I do swear.”

He carefully picked up a ceremonial dagger from the pulpit, and held the tip to the palm of my right hand; I recognized it as the same curved blade he had been carrying in the aftermath of the binding, and my heart stuttered suddenly at the memory. I tensed, still shaking, shaking, but I did not draw away from him, as I trusted the Master above all others. Slowly, he brought the dagger down into my flesh— deep enough to pierce through the back of my hand. I yelped and squeezed my eyes shut in agony as he drew the blade from my wound. Then he repeated the process with my left. I stood there, wide-eyed and bleeding. Was this how Shanoa felt, when she was bound and branded? I had never felt more alive, perfect, and clean. I dropped to my knees and thanked him, weeping, holding my spiderly, bloodsoaked hands aloft for him to look upon.

“May these holy marks remind you of your loyalty, and the pain that we who toil for God do endure. And you shall be spared His judgment, when our rapture comes,” he ran his fingers over the wounds, letting my blood leave little traces.

“Thank you for everything,” I said in a whisper. “Oh, thank you, thank you... I have never been happier.”

He smiled victoriously, then cleaned the dagger with a handkerchief and wrapped my hands in gauze after applying some abrasive magical poultice to ensure that the wounds would scar. Then, he handed me the ritual dagger. “It is yours, now, so that you may never be without my protection. Use it well. It is of more use to you, now. Its duty is finished.” I took it and clutched it close to my chest, as though it were a piece of him. The pain snaking through me meant nothing, just as the binding had meant nothing. Because he had taught me that there was divinity and joy in suffering.

That next day, I began to comply to the Master’s wishes and attended to Shanoa at all times, beginning with our morning breakfast. We were to feast each day in celebration of the upcoming ceremony within a few days’ time, though her diet was carefully controlled to optimize her mana capabilities. She did not know these were to be her last days, nor did many of the sisters and brothers of the Order, though we all had a sense of finality in that time. Soon, our great purpose would be complete.

“Oh, Lucila, it’s good to see you,” she said. “It’s hard to believe that everything is finally happening so soon.” I smiled sweetly. “Isn’t it wonderful?” “It is good,” she nodded. “And once it’s over—” “You shall be rewarded,” I promised her, and it was only the truth. She, in her own way, would be a part of Him; it would be an honor to give her soul to become a part of the very Lord, the truest of heavens. “The Master spoke to me about it last night.” She sighed. “I wish Albus was here. I am sure he would like to see the end of all his research, too. Bad luck. He wanted to become the bearer, for a time.” “But he is not suitable,” I replied, hastily, and placed my hand on hers.

“Oh, your hands...!” She flinched away from my touch, noticing the bloodsoaked gauze wrapped around them. She immediately asked me what happened, and I came up with a fanciful story about attempting to summon Vol Culter and having a mishap. I don’t think she believed me. I’ve never even summoned a basic Culter glyph. She did not challenge my lie, though.

We continued speaking for a time, until I asked her the question that had admittedly been eating at me. “Are you frightened? We’re so close to the end.”

She thought for a moment. “No matter what happens during the ritual... I am eager to give everything I have vowed,” she said, finally. “I don’t think I’m afraid of my duty any-more. We all have our cross to bear, after all. There is nothing else for me.”

It was one of those things that made me wonder if she knew.

The night of the full-moon ritual came quickly, and it came stormily, rain beating down on the cathedral like a war drum and thunder bellowing across the valleys and mountains. Barlowe came to personally collect the disciples from our dorm-rooms so we could gather in the House of Worship for the ceremony that would precede the ritual. What joy was in the air! He began with a quiet sermon while Shanoa was given time to prepare on her own terms for the solemn duty ahead of her.

“Surely God is my helper; the Lord is the sustainer of my soul. He will reward my enemies with evil. In your faithfulness, destroy them. Freely I will sacrifice to you; I will praise your name, oh Lord, for it is good. For He has delivered me from every trouble, and my eyes have stared down my foes,” he recited the psalm from his Bible. “Amen, Master,” we repeated, and spent many hours in contemplation, surrounded by the warm solace of Barlowe’s voice, and the storm outside us, ‘til it was midnight, the hour of her death. Father Iulian rang the clanging, tolling bells, calling Shanoa to the House of Worship.

It was time.

Shanoa walked into the room, slowly, and bowed before Barlowe and took his hand, allowing us to see the runes etched upon her back, and all she was to bear. She was going to die, soon, and I felt only the heights of ecstasy in this knowledge, for I knew the greatest of raptures was to come. Barlowe helped her back to her feet, and led her up the stairs to the Forbidden Room in silence. The loudest crack of thunder reverberated through the night. And in the distance, a wail of fury.

I watched from the foot of the staircase. I watched, and listened.

“...This responsibility is yours alone, Shanoa. As you know, only you can become the bearer of Dominus. Every moment of your discipline has led you to this moment,” Barlowe explained, carefully. “Every pain you’ve ever bore.” “Yes, sir,” she nodded. “Even so, it will be nearly impossible for you to control its power. The purpose of this ritual is to make sure your body will adjust to Dominus completely.” He pointed at the runes on her shoulders. “Those will only take you so far... Don’t look so concerned, I will be handling all of this. You just have to do what you’re told, and it will go smoothly.” She hesitated. “Yes, Sir. But when it's over, I—”

Barlowe continued: “That's right, Shanoa. You will be able to wield our most powerful Glyph... Dominus.” It seemed to satiate her brief apprehension. As instructed, she stood before the Seal as I did so long ago. The marks of my casting were long gone now, but still I felt an ache as I watched the ritual from a distance.

“I'm proud of you, Shanoa. You will become our world's new saviour.” Barlowe gave her his warmest smile— after all, he surely wanted her final moments to only be the most wonderful of all. She must know how much we are thankful for her, for her sacrifice. “First, an offering, to slake its thirst.”

“This is blood...” He had handed her a small cup of thick, red liquid. “Drink,” he assured her. “It is part of the ritual, to make yourself ready for the glyph. Albus discovered that we must make a blood-communion to wet its appetite.” She nodded obediently, hands shaking, and brought the chalice to her lips, and choked as she gulped it down, blood running from her mouth. With a gagging caught in her throat, she threw the cup to the ground, shaking violently, and then going very still, statuesque, the trance overtaking her.

The sacrifice had begun: she, the new lamb of God.

Barlowe arranged the books upon the pulpits, and the tomes were cast, pages whirring as they floated into the air, and within Shanoa’s trance state she could call the glistening immaterial sigils through her body. Odium, the hateful blade, as she was; Ira, the anger of the dragon, Dracul; Angor, the agonized weeping of the sinful. She, the sacrifice, needed only to stand, waiting, deep magic flickering through every inch of her and welcoming the new language inside of her. She turned her back to the Glyphs, serenely, and accepted them; they began to converge on her, in her, through her, becoming her...

Crash!

There was a loud booming, echoing sound. The doors of the House of Worship swung open, and silhouetted, furious in the entry-way was the wayward serpent himself. Albus had returned from his mission prematurely. The storm howled around us, and I screamed. From his fire-arm Agathe, he scattered tiny bullets throughout the crowd, and from them rose Torpor, trapping us all within before we could act to stop him. And there I stood in icy petrification, still conscious, witnessing it all, that sacrament. And this is what I saw:

He ran into the Forbidden Room, crashing violently through the ritual, and the moment of delicate magical tension that had been building was instantly defused. Shanoa shrieked; everything dropped to the ground, and she was knocked to her hands and knees before the Seal, utterly severed from the trinity.

The absorption had failed. Barlowe whirled around to face him. “What’s going on?!”

And there he was: the rogue, the apostate, the traitor. The serpent. Albus stood resolute, the tomes of Dominus now summoned at his side. His hand was in a claw-like configuration, as though beckoning the tomes to him. Shanoa looked up at him, and her expression was more vacant than even before. “You..?” Albus glared, full of fury. He wanted this, to be the bearer. He knew no righteousness, even as he was taught it every day. It drove him mad and would drive him madder still. I am sure that was why he took Dominus in that awful moment.

I could have stopped him, if not for the Torpor. I wish I could have, and everything would be right. I often blamed myself.  But my dear Master never let the burden fall upon me, only comforted me as I wept. If only, if only...

The sacrifice collapsed, the immense magical energy it took to absorb without the resolution of its build was enough to knock her out cold. Albus turned to Barlowe, holding his fire-arm steadily. “What have you done...” It came out a cold whisper, just loud enough for me to hear through my prison.

“What is the meaning of this!? Albus! You know how crucial the ritual is!” Barlowe roared.  Of course Albus would have gone down this path. Of course, he was the betrayer, the disobedient of his disciples. If only we had foreseen this! “You lied to me.” His voice began to shake, his hands violently twitching. “Albus—” He maintained his stern, disciplinary tone. It used to frighten the boy into obedience when he was young, to hear his warm, admirable mentor turn cold in an instant.

It didn’t work now.

“I was to be the bearer. You promised me.” Albus said, coldly. “We each have a role! If you had followed orders, you might understand that. Above all else, Shanoa is the only one with the capacity for Dominus. You know that as well as I do. You’re wasting our time and everything we’ve worked for. Return the tomes to me,” Barlowe beckoned. “I intended to overcome my weakness. What happened to working together?” Albus stepped backwards, refusing to yield.

“Perhaps we still can. Together, we will overcome this setback as well...” He extended a hand. “Give me the glyph, boy.”

“...It's too late for that.” Albus’s eyes wandered to where Shanoa lay unconscious, and shoved the books into a satchel at his hip. His eyes glistened with ardent resolve, so much like ice. Always ice. “Tell me, Albus. What do you intend to do with Dominus?” Barlowe tried to maintain his authority, corner him into submission, but there was no reasoning with madmen.

“You think I’d really obey your command, even now?! ...You said it yourself: each of us has a role. And, like a fine master, you've finally shown me what mine must be.” He grinned, a joyless thing. Cold amusement. Barlowe was aghast. “Don't be stupid, Albus! What are you planning?”

He shrugged.  “I will be taking Dominus with me. I’m leaving.”

“Be rational! Without that glyph, our mission is a failure! You’d forsake everything just for this?!” His veneer of calm was gone. We were going to lose everything. “Return the glyphs, so help me God.”

“I have my own mission.” He fiddled with Agathe’s trigger, standing as resolute as a wolf, and I didn’t doubt for a moment that he would shoot to kill. However he did not, firing another scattering of Torpor across the floor from the barrel of his gun. As Barlowe stepped forward to try and incapacitate him, the flurry of bullets turned into the hazy spires of topaz ice. He struggled against the crystals that bound him, but to no avail.

“You are my master no longer... Farewell, Barlowe,” his voice shivered with contempt. He turned and left, not even dignifying him by looking him in the eyes as he spoke. I needed to break out! But it was futile; I was not strong enough to act, as Albus made his escape. Only to witness. The master wrestled free of the frigid prison of the Torpor glyph, but it was too late: Albus was long gone. Shanoa was still motionless, having been still as the Seal itself since she had fainted. I screamed with effort, my muscles aching as I shattered through, and finally, I broke free, and the crowd rushed up the stairs.

“Oh, my poor, sweet girl... My poor girl... My poor girl...” Barlowe repeated, quietly.

For a brief, frightening moment, as Shanoa lay crumpled there like something destroyed and lifeless, I thought the failed ritual had killed her; broken her beyond usefulness. But life returned to her, after those few minutes of agonizingly quiet, stale silence. She was unmoving apart from her breaths, but she was living— if this state could be considered as such, and her eyes opened only to stare blankly for only him. If she was malleable before, it was nothing compared to this. I realized then it had done no such thing, much like when he had engraved her with the runes. Barlowe pulled her into his arms and held her close, stroking her hair, his gaze flickering with some unreadable emotion.

No, she was not broken.

He had fixed her.

“In this meaningless life of mine I have seen both of these: the righteous perishing in their righteousness, and the wicked living long in their wickedness.”

Shanoa was rushed to the infirmary, mostly out of obligation, as the Master and I already knew what had happened to her that night. The first sacrifice had been successful, and she was now an empty vessel for Dominus to fill, once she would recover. And he made haste to create a particular deception: that Albus’s interruption of the ritual was the cause of her hollowing. Indeed, she had suffered the loss of her emotions and memories, and Barlowe told me as much as we awaited her awakening.

It was not a cruel lie to tell. We needed ammunition against the gunman, as the Master had decided to send Shanoa herself to retrieve Dominus. Without emotions, and armed with this lie, she could not be led astray from her purpose, and would perform the job with efficiency. She was pliable, responsive to authority. It was only strategic.

I was sent to visit her shortly after she woke up, and the thought thrilled me. She had been touched and shaped by the holy powers that waged the Eternal Battle, that of Dracula, and even if the ritual had failed she was still his bleeding lamb. To look into her eyes would be to look into the eyes of a saint, a martyr, a prophet. I was so, so happy for her, though perhaps I would have been happier had the ritual concluded as intended. But my dear friend had ascended, she was something beyond human and beyond mortal. Her soul in the heavens and her empty body walking among us.

I shiver just thinking about it.

I would forget all I knew if it meant a chance at the divine, elevated trance she was now in. What Dominus had done to her was create a permanent version of the trance state necessary for casting, and thus induced the most pure connection between soul and body: a purely magical object, a conduit in and of herself. All else was captured, primed to be used as the eternal, permanent fuel-source, ignited into an unending kindling: pain, memory, temptation... She had become merely a vessel, a dwelling, a messenger for the holy powers of Dominus, her spirit itself separated, though the way Albus had stolen the tomes had delayed that inevitable sacrifice. But in the meantime, she was an angel on earth.

The infirmary was as quiet and dull as ever, but I was pleased to see her.  She stared down, blankly, at her interlocked hands, placed on her lap where she sat up in her infirmary bed, not even looking up when I spoke to her.

“Good morning, Shanoa. I do hope you're feeling alright,” I said, cordially. “Everything with Albus last night... Ugh, I shudder to think of it.” “Albus,” she tasted the word on her tongue. “I remember a ritual. I saw a man there, before I fell.” She closed her eyes with effort, straining herself to remember even that brief snatch of a moment. “And then it went dark. That's the earliest thing I remember. I am sorry, miss.”

“That was Albus,” I said, placing a hand on her arm sympathetically. “He has betrayed you, Shanoa, in stealing Dominus.” She blinked. “Dominus... Master Barlowe explained it to me. Why did he...”

 “He is evil. He wanted the power to himself, no matter the cost. He wanted your fate, the importance of being the bearer. He wanted glory! Even when it meant such awful things happening to you! He once thought of you as a sister. I never thought he’d betray you, that he’d steal this from you..!”

She didn’t respond. There was only silence, where anguish and hate would have perhaps found a home. I admired her, no way to fall to wrath or envy. She was a being above sin, a being of compliance! “I imagine it would be hard, to face the man who stole your soul,” I said, prodding a bit. I liked how this lie tasted. If she could not resent him, I would, for all that he had betrayed me— betrayed us.

“I don’t have any particular thoughts on it,” Shanoa replied, expression blank, eyes like rabbits. “The Master said that tracking him down will be a just retribution. I get the impression that he has... wronged me. Or someone has.” I frowned. “Yes, your mission... Albus has wronged everyone. Without Dominus, the future is grim. Humanity will be forsaken,” I spoke with solemnity. “Whatever despair you are spared from, I must suffer, and I have suffered terribly to know you don’t remember me.”

“Were we allies?” she drew out each word slowly, assessingly. I tried to sound amicable. “Friends, Shanoa.”

“...I don’t think I know your name.” She looked away. “It’s Lucila. Don’t worry over it,” I assured her.

“Worry...?”

It was then that she met my gaze, and I felt a cold shock overtake me. I got a good look at her eyes— all the more unsettling, and blank, and unfocused. She stared like a corpse, bereft of light, deadened and empty. I nearly screamed when her hand touched mine. Part of me sort of hoped I wouldn’t have to look at her again. But why? I was glad this had happened to her, that she had become this ascendant thing. But she unsettled me so! Her eyes were a stranger’s; the eyes of a dead woman. God, how I wish that were me!

I  left as soon as I was able, profoundly disturbed by my dissonant thoughts.

There were some setbacks before she could be sent on her mission, of course, the most pressing being that her knowledge of glyphic language had fled her. Barlowe surmised that her grasp on it could be relearned over time if she was to be given an abridged course on how to interface with it, and so he spent a few weeks instructing her on the basics of absorption and wielding. I tried to avoid her in this time, even as I yearned for her fate. Once she had regained her base knowledge, Barlowe sent her on her way, to pursue that reprobate serpent. She set out for the ruined, haunted monastery he had allegedly been sighted entering and exiting.

So as she chased after him, I attended to my new duties as Barlowe’s Right Hand. By this point, the wounds inflicted upon my hands had healed into jagged pink scars, a reminder of my loyalty. I kept his records, I watched the other disciples, and I helped him attend to the Seal. I loved this work all the more, and the thrill of authority I now felt so often. Was this how the Master felt every day? It was exhilarating.

Still, it came with its own sorrows. There was a sad price to being the one who kept everyone in line, and I realized this one night when I caught Beata wandering the grounds. This was an infraction I would have to report, of course, as all were meant to stay in their sleeping quarters in the dormitory wing during the night-hours, however it did pain me to report my friend, so I opted instead to let her off with a warning. I was only being fair. “Sister Beata, you really shouldn't be out at night without the Master's permission,” I said, stiffly, when I had caught up to her. “I know, Luci. I just can't sleep,” she replied. “You're getting a warning this time, but a second incident warrants a report,” I tapped my quill on my journal. She stared at me a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“...Why are you acting so strange, lately? We used to have fun together, you know,” she groused. “Now you're like a second Barlowe. And I love the Master, but one is enough!”

How could I ever reveal the truth to her— the higher purpose we had been fighting for all along? I wish I could tell her, and we could have been friends who shared our little secrets once more. But the Master told me never to speak of it, and the ocean between us was stormy and vast. I simply knew too much. So I only said, “You’ll see. I am just so... anxious, about the betrayer. How can I trust anyone, knowing what he has done?”

“Can't you trust me?” Beata shivered, hurt shining in her dark brown eyes. “It’s little wonder Magdala says she doesn't like talking with you any-more..” Then she quickly apologized. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” I whispered, and I knew our short, fragile friendship had died quietly. I ushered her off to bed without writing her up, and I spent an hour in the community garden, numbly staring up at the sky and imploring it for comfort. But I knew that it was worth all the heartache in the world to bear the cross of faith, truth and humility. Soon, the fruits of our labor would be flowering, and a new world would be borne.

It was only a few weeks before Shanoa’s first report back at Ecclesia.

“I have retrieved one splinter of Dominus— it is Odium, sir,” she said, bowing her head. I sat beside Barlowe, recording the reported information at his instruction. His office, dim and quiet, had become a place of comfort for me, but Shanoa’s presence unsettled me still.

“How? He would not have given it to you, would he?” Barlowe rubbed at his temples thoughtfully. “Perhaps I had better start at the beginning, sir,” she looked away. “I did apprehend him in the deconsecrated monastery, but he refused to return with me to Ecclesia, and made his escape. But he left a crude little hand-drawn map behind and it led me to a little town, called Wygol. It is actually quite close to our cathedral.”

“There are no towns for miles and miles, though,” I said. “Remember?”

“It would not show up on most maps. It is a small settlement with a population of under twenty, or thereabouts,” she explained. “I arrived to find the town deserted, save for one elderly man trapped in an advanced Torpor-glyph. Apparently the rest of the villagers had been captured in much the same way.”

“Shanoa, you mustn’t distract yourself from pursuing Albus.” Barlowe began. “We will send out a search party.”

“It was Albus’s doing,” Shanoa said, blankly. “If I pursue the villagers, I pursue him. The old man I rescued steered me towards Minera, and its prison. They used to experiment on the prisoners there, or so the rumors go. So I travelled there, and there I found Albus, and some of the trapped townsfolk. So I was proven correct in my assumption.”

“And the villagers were kind to you?” Barlowe asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They are cordial enough,” Shanoa shrugged. “Why?”

“You know I worry, every time you are travelling on your own,” he cast a sympathetic gaze. “Ecclesia is not like the outside world.”

“I can protect myself if the need arises,” she replied. “Anyway. He cast the piece of Dominus onto the air in a way that allowed me to read the glyph, and that is what has perplexed me. All he said was that... he had a role to fulfill. Master, what is the meaning of this?”

“It means nothing,” Barlowe replied. “...If nothing else, a piece of Dominus now rests with us, instead of in his hands. Our task remains just as it was before. One piece is found; the rest must be retrieved.”

“Yes, sir,” Shanoa bowed her head, and stood up stiffly to leave. My gaze followed her for a long time. She had become so obsequious, so dutiful. She could not doubt, or want, or envy, and I felt another bit of sorrow inside me. I wished so desperately that I too could have my spirit repurposed in such a way. To completely become numb to all my torments, and as saintly as her. Oh, how I wanted.

The pursuit continued without incident for another month or two, and I grew anxious in her absence. Some part of me was terrified that she too would betray me, as Albus had. But I had no reason to believe such things, as she was more obedient than ever now. But what of Magdala, and Beata? We spoke no more, and it made me feel like I had less control over them than ever, and it perturbed me greatly. I felt as though I was in a den of snakes, surrounded by poison. Perhaps the Master noticed my discontent, as late one night he came to visit me when I could not sleep.

“You like to visit the community garden when you’re upset, don’t you?” He asked, as he took my hand. I nodded. “I like the cool night air.”

“Well perhaps we should enjoy it, and then share some chamomile tea afterwards,” he said comfortingly. “I understand you have been worried about our mission.”

“I have become paranoid. After Albus...” I trailed off. “I only hope he can be made to see sense,” the Master replied, shaking his head. “He was so intelligent. How can he act so stupidly?”

“He did return a piece of Dominus. Perhaps there is hope yet.” I had sat down beside him on the cold stone-brick wall that enclosed the community garden.“Shanoa has become a good warrior, but I wonder sometimes if I should have sent you, too. You have a more... diplomatic touch. She’s as blunt as a swung hammer, now.” I looked away. “Albus doesn’t like me. After I reported him for wanting to leave, he didn’t talk with me anymore. I don’t think I’d be able to help.” He rubbed his chin. “That is too bad... Too bad.”

We stared up at the stars for a while.

“When I look up at the sky like this, it calls to mind the Eternal Battle. We humans live but brief lives, but the stars burn on forever and ever. We have but a small role in their grand design.” As he spoke, I remembered something Rubedo told me years and years ago at some forgotten lunch we had shared, how stars eventually fade away and explode, and something about this memory struck a great and unknowable terror into me. Even the sun, which witnesses all on earth, would one day consume it in fire.

As if he knew, Barlowe then continued: “Shall I tell you about the world we are to create? There is no reason to fear it, my child.”  His gloved fingers probed at one of the nearby flowers, threatening to pluck it.  “Please,” I inhaled, desperate to let the cool night air fill me with the calm that had fled me.

“First, there will be untold suffering. Demons will pour over the earth and claim those who have done evil unto humanity. But they will not hurt us. We will remain, our cathedral a shining beacon of the hope that shall return. Perhaps the castle will eventually be banished, perhaps it will remain until its purpose is complete. Then we shall wake up to peace, the blood soaked into the soil and enriching the earth with fertility and hope. All of the cruel and vile people will be gone. How it was meant to be... Before the Eternal Battle had been so defied. And then the whole world will be like our community garden,” he plucked the evening-flower. “We shall share knowledge and travel the world made clean, and an enlightened, spiritual age is sure to follow. Yes, there will only be kindness, and wisdom, in His wake. This is the world that the Dark Lord will bring us, and I give it to you.” He placed the little pale-colored flower in my hair, and I had never felt so anointed.

“You have given me everything,” I replied, finally, a smile forming on my lips. “This world you are creating...” “Will come to pass, as God wills it,” he shook with resolve. “This is what we are fighting for.”  I nodded. “Amen, Master.”

“Amen, my little storyteller.”

Yes. The stars would not die.

As if I had invoked it the previous night, Shanoa arrived the next evening, with the report that Dominus Ira had been retrieved. She had followed Albus to an old manor on the coast nicknamed the “Giant’s Dwelling”, and once more she had apprehended him there— and once more he had given her a piece of the splintered glyph. We reconvened for a second meeting, and I immediately felt a bit of dread at her words.

“So. Dominus was created from Dracula’s remains,” she said. “Or so he told me.” This made me quite frightened, as she was simply not meant to know, and if Albus told her this much, what else could he have convinced her of? He knew its true aim: to create a sacrifice. But I did take solace in knowing that he did not know that we aimed to resurrect Dracula. Perhaps even if he succeeded in his quest to become the bearer, we may revive Him yet.

“Indeed, you’ve heard the truth,” Barlowe replied, quietly. “You are the bearer, so I suppose you’ve earned the right to know. After the Belmonts disappeared, the Order came into being, and we created the glyphs to destroy the Vessel, as you know, as it was entrusted to us by the Church. If we destroy it, mankind's wish comes true. That is our purpose, as ordained by God. But there remains one technicality... Against that Vessel, our glyphs came to naught. And so our research had been fruitless. If those in power knew, they would take the Vessel— and our purpose— back from us, and Ecclesia would be no more... So I sought to channel a greater power, one strong enough to  break the Seal. And so, the answer came: Fight fire with fire...” I was engrossed. Barlowe had told the story to me many times, but it thrilled me with each retelling.

“You can’t mean...”

“Indeed. The remains, the power of Dracula Himself. It was a long and taxing process, converting that power to something that could hypothetically be read. But we did it. We shaped His power with mortal hands...”

“The power of ultimate destruction, Dominus...” Shanoa looked contemplative, and still never met his eyes, submissively.

“Yes, ultimate destruction. But no less could ever rid the world of Dracula. If only we'd been wise enough to see who else among us might make use of such a power. I fear we have unleashed a deadly threat,” the Master rubbed his chin. “For what purpose did Albus steal it? To rob you of your glory as humanity’s saviour, no doubt. But...”

“He still has the final piece.”

“He must believe it's for some ‘greater good’... But I'll take the Lord's plan over his. And if you're forced to choose, you know what's right.” There was a warning in his voice, and Shanoa quickly deferred to it. “I do, sir,” she nodded. But I could feel it— there were questions, dangerous questions taking root inside of her.

She was to stay the night, as she had arrived late and needed to rest before resuming her pursuit of the rogue. I felt so strange now, sitting beside her at dinner-time. How much had changed since those days! When she retired to her quarters, I followed her, hoping to quell that danger I had seen at the meeting. “Shanoa. You mustn’t let what Albus says sway you. He is a snake, and will try to deceive you.”

“Yes, miss,” she nodded, her eyes unwavering. “Is there a reason you are telling me this?”

“After what he told you, about Dominus... I fear he will put ideas into your head. I mean, what he said in this case was true, but...”

“Yes, miss,” Shanoa nodded again, and I shivered. Those horrible corpse-eyes, never blinking, never yielding. It haunted me so, and I hated that it did. She was so, so beautiful. We did not speak further, save for a curt “good-night”, and she lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling before closing her eyes, motionless and asleep.

I would stay, I decided. I supposed I’d have rather spent the time with her than spending yet another sleepless night trying to avoid speaking to Magdala. At least with Shanoa, it was easier to pretend she wasn’t there. I settled into bed beside her, but I stayed awake far longer. I hated her and I could not explain why. And so I whispered as much: “I hate you. I have hated you since the Master brought you home, and I hate you for all you have taken from me, the envy you have placed inside me. I hate your purity, your clean, innocent soul; I hate your saintliness, your loveliness, your sharp and dangerous efficiency. I hate knowing that if you heard me, you wouldn’t even care that I am saying these horrible things. God...”

She rolled over, and her eyes were open, blankly staring forward, with tiny little pupils, but she said nothing and did not move. I rolled over, looking away. I think she was still asleep, but I felt so horribly ashamed.

It was no matter. She would be dead soon. Only the third piece yet remained.

She departed in the morning, before I woke, and it was some time before we heard from her again. The news was not good: Albus had somehow absorbed the final splinter of Dominus inside a deconsecrated church on Oblivion Ridge, then had some sort of fit and fled the scene, possessed. And so Barlowe gave her the final order: Albus was to die. So corrupted, his body held no more use, as a proper absorption was now impossible. So he had to die. He had given himself to the devil.

I felt numb to this, though with perhaps a little sorrow. We had been friends, once. Shanoa, Albus and I. By the end of this, only I would remain. How lonely it is, to be the witness! But it was how things were, I supposed. God giveth and God taketh, and the world that Barlowe had promised me was enough to keep me hopeful. I would not mourn him. He was evil.

When Shanoa returned, nursing a bullet-wound and covered in red, I did not ask how she did it. I could imagine her various means: the blades, the fire, the light, her unholy scythe, ice and lightning and hammers and arrows and blood, blood, blood. He did not die painlessly; most of the dark crimson soaking her pale skin was surely not hers. I did not know, and I did not want to know; she was a human switchblade and he was dead before the battle began. He had been freed of his misery, and it was what he deserved. He wrote his own epitaph when he left us. He wasn’t my friend anymore.

It was what he deserved.

“It’s done, sir. I’ve retrieved Dominus,” she reported, voice shimmering with some unfamiliar darkness. Not feeling, but something approximating it. “And Albus? Did he yield, or did he...” The master trailed off euphemistically. He already knew that he was dead.

Silence.

“Unfortunate... but it cannot be helped. He wanted just the same as both of us. Perhaps he simply wanted it too much. But still, there is a way to honor him. Use Dominus, and see the mission through. Our good Albus would have wanted it that way, no?”

“I suppose,” Shanoa’s voice came out dry, and she looked away. “I suppose we will find out.”

I felt a bit sick. But it didn’t matter at all. The full-moon rite was in but a day, and we could not waste any more time. The ritual must be prepared. I could not imagine how the Master must be feeling, his once-dear student dead at his command.

Shanoa did not speak to me, or anyone, simply passed through the halls like a ghost. Her empty blue eyes had become hardened and icy like Albus’s, and that unsettled me. I sought out Barlowe again, in his office that night.

“Oh, my child. Do not be frightened,” he said, carefully. “All the pieces are in place. All three pieces of the glyph are bound to her already. She need only direct that power, and finally martyr herself for God. The culmination of years of careful study is within our reach.”

“It’s about Albus,” I said, quietly. “Now that he is dead.”

“Oh, I do mourn him. I mourn who he used to be, before he went astray. But do not trouble yourself; this was meant to transpire. All things happen under God’s dominion. Or are you saying you would defy his plan?” He tilted his head, and I shook mine vigorously.

“I know not to lose my faith,” I replied. “But I worry for Shanoa. She is acting odd.” “There is no reason to concern yourself,” Barlowe replied. “She has told me she is ready for what will come. She will be the sacrifice.” I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“She would want you to be glad of it, and to celebrate in the new world she is to create. For it has been her purpose since the beginning,” he patted my shoulder. “Head off to bed, my good child. Tomorrow night shall change everything, and I want you to be ready to meet it.”

He was right. The stars would not die.

I had to witness it all. I needed to drink it all in.

And so, we arrive at that joyous, awful day... The ritual began, though with less pomp and circumstance than before. After what had happened with Albus, the Master didn't wish to take chances, and so it was lightly abridged. In the minutes before he led her to the Seal, I had carefully sneaked into the Forbidden Room, curled up inside one of the confessionals. It was a last, terrible disobedience, but I had to know, and see, and perceive. I had to know it would go right, and I had to see that the Lord was there, like a sort of mania. I had to see what her death would grant me. I couldn't not go. I fiddled with the ritual dagger in my hands as I watched through the little shafts of light that filtered into the booth.

I needed to see it. I needed to see her.

Barlowe locked the door, sealing the three of us inside, and had her stand before the altar. As all other preparations, and the absorption, had already been completed, she need only cast the glyph. I watched eagerly. She did nothing, only stared at the Seal contemplatively, chewing her lip. Her hands shook and balled into tightly clenched fists.

“Why are you hesitating...? Take all three pieces; bind them to yourself. Upon the vessel, cast the union glyph,” Barlowe instructed, drawing out his voice slowly.

She turned around,  an expression of empty resolve.

“I will not.”

She has refused?!

I was horrified. We had waited months— years!— for this to finally all come to a head, and she was refusing? Everything we ever fought for, and she... refused? She didn't even feel. Her life meant nothing. What reason did she have? I hoped he would punish her. I hoped she would see sense.

I hoped I wouldn’t have to think about it any more than I did.

“Are you frightened? You know I’m here for you, dear. All you have to do is cast the Glyph—” Barlowe went to comfort her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She slapped it away. “No.” Her voice was firm with defiance. “Don’t say another word to me.”

“What, second thoughts? You've fought so hard for this...”

There was a pause, and then she spoke quite deliberately: “I promised Albus. I'm never using Dominus.” This shocked me terribly. She was but her use, a weapon. She had no sense of betrayal or sorrow. What reason had she to forsake humanity? Even if she did know the true cost, why would that ever matter?

It wouldn't have mattered to me.

“You promised him? He must have lied to you...” the Master said, softly, holding out his arms to embrace her back into his warmth.

“You would know quite a bit about lies,” she growled.

“Shanoa, what is this? What do you mean?” The Master tried to maintain his steady tone even as he realized that the weapon had come by knowledge that was forbidden to her. Our organization was in terrible jeopardy, and I prayed that he would handle this altercation with his usual grace. “He’s been putting ideas in your head. I’m sure you must be terribly confused, my poor girl.”

“Albus didn't seal my emotions at all. It was you. You used them as a sacrifice to Dominus.” Her accusation rang in clear echoes through the room. 

Of course it was the truth. But why should she disobey? Barlowe had provided everything to her. Taking something so unsubstantial away was nothing in comparison to his endless kindness. She was ungrateful, terribly ungrateful. Nothing like me. I should have been her! I would have been such a willing sacrifice. It was in that moment I began to hate her more than anything. How dare she?! I clawed at the window of the confessional, my self-made prison.

I wanted to move, to act, but then I remembered that I was not supposed to be here. And I feared that retribution all the more. In a way, I had made myself the third traitor. The ritual was a tightly kept secret for a reason. How selfishly I had intruded. But I had to! It’s all going wrong and I’m the only one who knows!

“You lied to Albus, just as you lied to me. You sent him on a fool's errand, and tried to hold the ritual in his absence.” He didn’t dignify her with a response. She knew Albus was evil, did she not? Why would that matter? “...And you neglected to mention that using Dominus would kill me. Would you care to explain that, ‘master’?” Her voice was cool and measured, even a little sharp.

“Shanoa, if you ever trusted me, then hear me: mankind needs you... Needs your life.” He held his arms aloft, as though summoning a spell. “I am sorry for what I must do, but it is the only way... The only way...”

Shanoa backed away. Barlowe stepped forward.

“You carry such a burden, my young girl... To give your life that Man might live his dreams... Do you not see how wonderful that is?” He closed his eyes, face upturned, as if seeking out God’s guidance. "You're mad. You’re mad!" Shanoa repeated. "That Vessel must have corrupted your mind. You're mad!" 

“Now, Albus... Perhaps he had some intelligence in him yet... He found a way to take in Dominus, and I shall put his research to good use. You see, girl, we don't need you anymore. If I can replicate his findings, my flesh can host the glyph as well as yours! And since you're so unwilling to comply... I'll rip the glyph straight off your bloody corpse!” His voice turned to a roar, and I flinched. Yes, there was a storm brewing, mere feet away from where I hid, and I alone stood within the eye. But I understood and loved this rage, and carried it with me. I feel it course within me when the creatures of darkness are close to the earth and the moon is waxing. It was a holy, righteous fury. Of course I feared it. I feared God. I feared my Master, as he is His mouthpiece.

The weapon did not concede to this threat, and rather maintained her childish resolve: “I'm not ready to die, Barlowe. You still owe me answers.” Barlowe stared at her for a moment, and then spoke with authority: “Poor fool; if I could only make you see. Now die, and yield Dominus to me!” His was the voice of discipline, the growl of a warning before a particularly harsh punishment. She would get what her disobedience had earned her. I was certain he would defeat her handily. I shivered with something between fear, anticipation, and delight. I wanted her to die; I wanted to see it. I could not look away, or even blink, as the heat of battle ignited into my personal, hellish inferno.

What I saw was this:

Shanoa landed the first blow, using Vol Secare. I saw a splatter of red on the marble floors and heard a grunt of pain, then the unmistakable magical quiver of teleportation. Barlowe appeared on the other side of the room, flipping through his magical tome and locating Globus. It was a glyph he showed me, once, harnessing the power of a lesser demon lord. It was beautiful, a globe of light that rocketed through the room erratically and struck everything in its path with great force. Shanoa’s heels clicked against the floor as she jumped out of the way and readied another swing of Vol Secare, charging, on the war-path.

God, but he had trained her well. She was pure lithe muscle, pure conduit, herself an inscribed tome. But he wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. He was my Master.

“Resist no further, girl!” Barlowe snarled, electricity crackling in the pages of his magical tomes, bolts of thunder tearing through the room, and with that I held hope that he was maintaining the advantage. She was our strongest warrior now, stronger than any other in Ecclesia, as she had been designed to be.

Her disobedience could destroy everything.

She collapsed to the floor writhing, spitting out blood, but rose to her feet again, undeterred. “Luminare!” There was an explosion of light like the one on that first day of training, that now-perfected glyph union; Barlowe was knocked to the floor through the force of it, but he staggered up again, readying a new attack. Shanoa darted away— trying to keep her distance? It was a futile effort. His ranged spells would reach her regardless. Stupid.

“Glaciēs!” he boomed, and I recognized the spell as his very own. Ice frosted across the floor and Shanoa was caught in its grasp, the frigid prison covering every inch of her body with no escape. Of course, the trap was only one half of an attack, and the familiar sound of sparkling electricity made it clear that thunder was soon to crash down upon her as soon as the attack was charged. “Amateur,” Barlowe hissed. I smiled to myself. It was impossible to escape from Glaciēs, the more advanced form of Torpor. There was a shriek, the sound of shattering ice. The boom of thunder shook the whole cathedral to its foundations and my ears rang.

“Yield, Shanoa. There is no use in fighting on. What reason have you to go on living?” Barlowe shook his head as she writhed on the floor in pain. “Make yourself of some use for once.” He readied Ustio, a volley of fireballs, but Shanoa recovered in time to leap out of the way, swinging Vol Secare’s light-union, a blade of sheer white. Barlowe hovered out of reach, shifting his astral position. But in that moment did she land a second blow, slicing upwards with that bright convergence. I heard an awful squelch of torn viscera, and it horrified me, seeing him tumble to the ground once more. Why couldn’t I move? She was hurting my Master! It was as if my whole body had become sick and paralyzed. But there would be no escape, even if I could.

All I could do was stare.

The stormy haze of battle never let up, the great tempest around me, frost creeping up the sides of the confessional and then banished by a cruel heat. There was another slice of the holy sword and a spatter of blood. It was then I realized I may not be safe from the blade. When she had finished with him, who would be next? She was a murderer. She had killed Albus, too, and now she was to kill again. She was trained to kill. Would she shed my blood just to continue that purpose? She would take my Master, and me too. I was certain of it. She was winning, now .

But I still sat there paralyzed. For what disciple would I be if I did not serve witness to the final stand of my Master? That was my purpose: remembrance; to watch; to record. A scribe. Unlike her, who had no right to memory. I would remain.

She moved forward deliberately to attack him while he clutched at his slashed stomach. His voice came ragged, heartbroken and bitter. “Damn you for giving me such trouble. How dare you?!” There was a loud thud and a pained whimper. "You've even forgotten who raised you... You... You stupid disciple!" He swung his fist again at her head, intercepting her. Shanoa clattered to the floor with a loud crashing sound.

There was a grunt of protest, an attempt to scramble to her feet, then another punch. "Do you hear me?! You're sick. You don’t think. You're so damn selfish, even knowing what your sacrifice would accomplish. Stupid girl! After everything we've given to you!” He struck her again and again. “Stupid, sick girl!” I was so, so terrified. I wanted to vomit. But why now, now that he had regained some advantage over the blasphemer? What is happening to me? It’s all wrong!

"I don't want to die," the weapon spluttered. Blood was spilling from her mouth and she haphazardly rubbed it off on her sleeve. "You lied. You lied... I don’t want to die."

He grabbed her wrist tightly. "Shanoa, listen to me," he spoke calmly, even as she tried to wrench herself from his grasp. "There is no meaning to your life that I have not given you. What purpose do you have to—"

“Don’t touch me.”

"You have no right to disobey! What reason do you have to feel so betrayed? Merely a dead man's word!" he snarled. Shanoa shrieked in pain, writhing in his arms. "He— He was my brother! You used me— You murdered him!" She was in hysterics now, no sorrow or fear but certainly panic. It was like the adrenaline of a cornered animal. Pure, physical instinct.

"You murdered him, Shanoa. He simply had to die. Why can’t I make you see? Selfish, stupid little girl! You're barely alive. You're barely a person. What point does this disobedience serve? If you die, you'll be remembered forever. You'll be a savior. If I have to take the Glyph myself—" She finally snatched herself out of his grasp.

“No.”

There was darkness, there, with us: a sudden chill that shivered through the air, unfamiliar but completely unmistakable. A violet-colored glow flickered through the lattices of my hiding-spot, and I craned my neck just to see, as the wickedness on the air throbbed around my head. Barlowe stumbled backwards, afraid to even get near her now that the energy was reverberating around her. It was awful; it was dark, corrupting, it was agony. It was beautiful.

It was Dominus Angor.

She had invoked its power, and she hunched over, letting out a guttural, animalistic  sound at the sheer pain that was snaking through her. This splinter of the glyph was a direct channel of the Dark Lord’s power, and she invoked it deliberately? It would destroy her body, given enough time. She’d suffer that pain just to kill the man who gave her everything, and yet refuse to save humankind? I shudder to imagine such evil irrationality. But oh, what lovely ascendancy! Dracula’s power, in the air and all around me!

She snarled, struggling and twitching as she summoned her holy sword once more, arms shaking as she screamed with the effort of holding it aloft as her body rapidly atrophied. “I am... the blade... to banish all evil...” Shanoa drew in shuddering breaths. “And you... Master... You...”  She nearly collapsed, her back arching at the utter agony, but with her last shiver of strength she stumbled forward and rammed it through his chest.

“You will die!”

All the air in the cathedral went still. He screamed, a final lament of anguish and betrayal. Angor then evanesced, and her chest heaved. If she could feel sorrow, perhaps she would have sobbed. But she only stared at her Master as he slumped on the altar, impaled on the dissipating, glimmering white blade.

It was over.

But he had a snatch of life left in him yet. He fell to his hands and knees once the glyph had vanished. I swallowed, tears brimming in my eyes as I realized that he was to live no more. She had betrayed us all, but most of all she had betrayed him, just as Albus had months prior. She was not a loyal follower, not as loyal as I— as soon as she knew the holy ambitions of Ecclesia, finally offered the truth, she turned away from it. She killed him, and she killed our hopes and wishes with him. She looked down at him coldly as he gasped for his last breaths.

"I don't understand. The user of Dominus is destined to die. Why would you create such a power?" she muttered. “Because without Dominus, I'll never destroy that infernal Seal,” he looked up at her, hands clenching into fists. “...Seal? You told me that was the Vessel of Dracula's soul.” Shanoa tilted her head.

In that moment he decided that the truth will out. Perhaps it was too undeniable. Perhaps it was because he knew he was dying, lifeblood pouring out from the countless wounds she had inflicted. Perhaps he hoped that there was some remnant of the student he so loved, who still deserved such a privilege as to know everything.  Regardless, he spoke it: “Ecclesia's mission is to realize the singular wish of all mankind: the resurrection of our lord, Count Dracula.”

“Mankind wishes for no such thing,” she insisted. If she had her memories still, would she have kept her trust in her Father? Would she have understood his reasoning? She had not always been so defiant. Perhaps if someone else was sent to apprehend Albus...

Perhaps if it was me, I thought to myself. I was no longer so paralyzed, but would there be a point? She had already won. So still I watched.

“Dracula's power comes from the darkness in people's hearts— our hearts. Ask yourself then, why does He continue to return, regardless of defeat? Because our hearts yearn for Dracula's presence,” he explained, as he had to me. Then he laughed, as though delighting in it. “He is God’s judge, and we have avoided His judgment for far too long. He only comes because we deserve it.”

Shanoa spat. “...Just another victim of Dominus... It's driven you mad!” She was wrong. I had never seen more sense. He was bleeding out, slow and lingering, and he crawled desperately to the Seal to offer his last devotions. Pious to his last moment... It brings me to tears even now. How could she ever see him as so corrupt? “No, Shanoa... How can you be blind to this? After all I’ve provided for you ...If you refuse to see, then you are the fool,” he shook his head with heaving breath, his nails scraping against the shimmering black surface of the Vessel in a desperate attempt to break it. Then in his final moment of beautiful devotion, the most incredible of miracles occurred. He heard the voice of Dracula— the voice of the Dark Lord— in his head, that divine guidance, just like I had had so long ago.

It was the voice of God.

And He would have His sacrifice.

All the light that had illuminated the Forbidden Room turned to oppressive, choking darkness, in a cold convergence.

 It was as though all the magical energy in the chapel was being sucked towards one point within. Even my own magic was briefly stolen from my body in a delightful emptiness. The Vessel, the Seal, was an egg. It was hatching, taking all the effort it could, and with Shanoa, bound to all three pieces of Dominus, that energy was its own in this moment, sucked towards that point like its own equal absorption. All we needed was the blood of the dead to feed Him. The sacrifice.

“This power... My strength is returning! Yes my lord, I see... I will destroy the infernal seal with your blessing! ...Truly providence, that Dracula would honor me with His guidance!” He slumped against the Vessel, chuckling in disbelief and delight.

“No... I feel a new power,” Shanoa’s voice wavered, softly.

He gave his final prayer to his own Master: “...I will give my life to undo the seal, my Lord. Return to us, Count Dracula!”

And he laughed in triumph as he died, the light claiming him and then exploding like that day the weapon had her First Casting, light so incredibly bright it was seen throughout every hall of the Order's cathedral as it shook to its bones and crumpled. 'Twas the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even as it stole my sight in that brief moment of radiance; even if it meant my dear Father had died a martyr.

I screamed. Shanoa turned to look at me, lurched over to my hiding-place, eyes narrow and cold. And she slowly lifted the curtain, and looked upon me as I shrank in the booth, her movements so like a slinking cat. I had never felt my heart beat faster.

“Go and run, sister. There is nothing left for us here,” she said, icily. And so I ran away from her, struggling for breath, so terrified to meet my death, as the foundations of the surrounding walls began to crumble. Where the Seal once stood, there was now a yawning hole in those ancient stone walls. She would surely kill me if she caught me! She had ruined my life, destroyed all I loved and held dear.

My Master was dead; my home was gone.

I looked out beyond the ruined church I had loved for so long. On a distant cliff, the ebony spires of Castlevania penetrated through the earth and into the sky, inspiring the hearts of all who looked upon it, and in that highest spire sat our Dark King, waiting in His bloodthirst.

Despite it all, we had won. I wept.

The Lord had been birthed.

So shall I let the story end here, in this moment of triumph as I stood alone in the cool, clean moonlight. There is more in my life to tell, of course, but it means little. I want this story to conclude in a moment of great dignity for my dear Master. That is all, as this story is his, for my life belonged only to him. My heart grieves after having witnessed him die heroically for our cause, and I shall mourn him forever, not the least because of how quickly our triumph was undone. I am only glad he died knowing he was victorious. But I live on, and I suppose my work never ends. I find only joy in my continued toil. What has been killed shall one day live again, as it is written in the Eternal Cycle. This is the hope that keeps me alive, and keeps me writing.

Indeed, despite it all, I never lost my light, the greatest gift that my Master has given me. It is my name, and my purpose, and I carry it with me forevermore. Each breath I draw knowing that he has given it unto me. My light, my faith, shall never leave me, and I carry it on for him.

And so it is with light that I leave you, and close this storied volume of my life retold.

— Lucila Fortner —

“For there is no lasting remembrance of the wise, just as with the fool, seeing that both will be forgotten in the days to come.”

The deed was done.

The weapon staggered forward, staggered home, on weak legs, its body still feeling odd and cold and unfamiliar after being wracked by the power of the glyph, its vulnerable, shaking soul returned.

It bore many titles. Daughter, sister, weapon, disciple, lamb, sacrifice, murderer, heretic. Nothingness. But it had but one task remaining, and these names would henceforth be meaningless.

The clergy had fled the old cathedral in the days since the death of their martyr, and it lay still, trapped in time, books left on tables, candle-wax spilled on the floors. People had lived here, grown up here, and now it was empty, a husk.

The weapon found no sorrow in this ending, even as it walked through the remains of its childhood. The church had been little more than its hell, a place of sorrow and torments, a personal Golgotha. It was the lamb whose blood oiled its great wheels, and every single one of the congregation had turned their heads from its great sorrows, and pushed the dagger in deeper. But it was over, now, the night banished. The sun was soon to rise, coral-colors streaking across the sky to welcome the rising cloud of smoke.

With a simple invocation, it had set the books in the silent library alight. They contained a dark knowledge, and one the weapon feared finding new use among the occultists and night-reverents of the world. It shivered with hatred at the thought of another young girl, slain at the altar for another unfeeling Master.

All of it was going to burn, and only it would remain.

The girl.

It watched the purifying fires of Vol Ignis lick across the cathedral walls, engulfing it. It fled the burning building, the meaningless monument, and watched, quietly. It wept, though it did not mourn for the loss of arcane knowledge.

No. It wept for the death of a child; it wept under the burden of knowing, and knowing this: Every foundation its life had been built upon was rotten; the brand left upon it was permanent. The father it had so loved inflicted these deepest of wounds; he had made of it a pliant, soulless object. It ached, some needful part of it still wishing for that knife in its back. Trauma-memory, dissonant and dangerous, spurting forward like from a wellspring. It remembered it all, now, all the suffering. Raw flesh.

This body was its own, now, though once shaped by holy, unkind hands; it was the scabbard for his little knife. But now, it was hot, molten, malleable. It would fill this hole itself, no matter how painful, no matter what it would confront within that absence. Ever did the spring flow forth.

And the water ran pure, now, and it drank catharsis readily. It had wasted in the desert unfeelingly for far too long. It was a long-sought relief, to cry, to feel, to grasp the clarity it had sought.

Before it had an Order, a purpose, a Master, a mission. Now there was nothing but this fire. But with the Dark Lord dead, and this bleeding wound of the past cauterized, there was a comforting, aching nothingness— save one question:

What happens now?

“So I turned my mind to understand, to investigate and to search out wisdom and the scheme of things and to understand the stupidity of wickedness and the madness of folly.”

I thought my story was over. I thought that there was little point in continuing, with no Order, no Master, no holy purpose. It is years later, over a decade’s time, and I have never felt so wrong.

Oh, where do I start? Perhaps I should start where I previously finished, though that volume is now lost to me. Oh, but I remember. I stopped right as I looked up at the newly-birthed Castlevania, brought to the mortal plane once more by the sacrifice of the man I considered my Father.

I had never been happier. I had never been more destroyed. Everything I knew was gone. I knew the Order wouldn't survive this— Barlowe was the glue holding us together, in a sense, the charismatic mechanism that kept the gears turning. The organist, you might say. And that did put a fear in me, as Ecclesia was my home. I was an adult, of course, twenty-two years old, but I felt neotenous, like a domesticated puppy lost in the woods and expected to become a wolf. What had I, without my home, my church? I kept staring. The remains of the Order had rushed out of the cathedral in the aftermath of the battle; Shanoa had disappeared.

“So he's gone,” Father Iulian said, once we had all reconvened outside of the half-destroyed church. “So he is,” I said, shivering and staring down at my hands, marked forever by him. By this point, my tears had given way to numb, terrible shock.

“What happened? Did Shanoa—” Sister Beata, one of my fellow disciples, began. “Shanoa has betrayed us,” I said, swallowing dryly. “I saw everything. She turned against the Master, and he gave his life instead. I don't know where she went.” “Gave his life...? Lucila, what do you mean?” Beata shook me. “What happened in there? Why has Castlevania returned?!”

Father Iulian and the other elders murmured amongst themselves for a bit, then Father Cristan spoke. “As we are the highest ranking remaining members of the Order, we have decided that before our Order disbands, we owe the truth to our youngest colleagues. If we may?”

“Disband?!” Now Magdala had spoken. “Why now, when our greatest enemy has risen again? What is happening?”

“Because our duty to God has completed, and Dracula has been revived,” the elder said slowly, and deliberately, and explained further our great philosophy. Magdala, Ave, Beata, Xanthus and the other remaining disciples protested in horror, as did many of the other Sisters and Brothers; I alone stood resolute. I was the Witness, you see, the bearer of knowledge. And I took pride in this role. I already knew this great and lovely truth. “Yes. Humanity is saved through His judgment,” I said, coldly. Beata stared at me, in a way that felt quite hurtful.

“So you’ve lied to all of us,” Magdala muttered. “All of you. Barlowe, too... Yes, we should disband. I don’t much like liars.” “So be it,” spoke Iulian. I felt a part of myself dying. “Shouldn’t we remain in some form, in case He must be revived again?” I asked, panicked. “No. Our duty is over. We were created to achieve the Tenth Coming, and that is all,” Cristan shook his head. “It is as the Master wished. We must say our farewells, and wander the earth as it is purified, sharing our knowledge. What use would we be, hoarding it to ourselves? The awakened age must come about with our aid.”

I accepted these terms, as they were indeed his last will. We said our farewells and completed our last blessing-rites. But where was I to go? How would I feed and shelter myself? He was gone. Gone! I had no one. As the meeting ended, I begged Magdala to take me with her. “Please. We are the closest thing we have to family. You and Beata... It will be better if we figure this out together,” I said. “We can have fun together, like old times. The world is ours.”

“You've gone mad. You know that, right? How can you believe these things?” Magdala said to me, coldly. Beata said nothing. Like the others, they disappeared into the darkening woods in opposing directions. I pleaded with the elders, but they too refused, as we all had a winding path. I was left alone by my little ruin, and I wept there in the velvet night. Not a single star shone above me, and I felt more dead than alive.

No, I had one place to go, that one place of God, the judging-house, the glimmering black silhouette penetrating my horizon: Castlevania. There, I was certain, Dracula would take me. He would smite me, there, or he would grant me the enlightenment I did seek. Whatever happened, it would be deserved, divinely ordained. So I walked, deliriously, through the woods and towards that great cliff.  But it was not to be.

The great palace of God crumbled before my pilgrimage could be defeated; I watched it happen. The sunlight that came that morning was cold and sorry, barely peeking out from dove-pale clouds. First, the throne-room tower, then the stairs, each spire, the walls... It was like it had never come. It was gone. Destroyed. Like everything else I had pinned my hopes on. Who had done such a thing? Shanoa? Some unknown Belmont? I knew it was premature. This wasn't meant to be. God’s plan once more had been defied. The Count, my God, was dead once more. I knew it in my core, which felt all the more hollow and empty. The Master had died for nothing.

I had nothing.

It was all futile.

I would not seek out Shanoa for revenge; we were not a violent sort. Hell awaited her regardless, I knew, and I hoped bitterly that she was suffering, wherever she had gone. If she could even suffer at all, that empty, feral thing. I hated, hated her more than I ever had previously. She had stolen everything away.

Those days in the woods grew hazy, aimless searching for the nearest roads. I knew I could not go to the nearby settlement of Wygol, as Shanoa seemingly had allies there— no doubt they had corrupted her, but all other towns were far, far away, up near the more mountainous areas. Somehow, though, half-starved and exhausted, I ended up in a town called Veros across the woods and mountains. The Veros Woods were part of a larger mass of forest, the half on the other side of Tymeo being known as Ruvas. Some speculated that Veros and Ruvas had once been the same name for the same woods, but to me it had only been a threatening mass of trees and animal eyes gleaming in the dark. I was glad of it when I finally found myself to the town gates.

Veros was a sunny little place, but the sunlight was harsh to my eyes. It was a popular little town, full of passing traders, craftsmen, merchants, and fortune-seekers. I had never seen so many people, never spoken to such strangers. All I had known was the Order, my family. I didn't know how to talk to people at all, and it was terrifying!

Of course, a mysterious girl wandering around the alley-ways of a well-populated trade hub drew some attention towards me. But it also attracted some pity from Old Peter, a local innkeep who was getting on in years but had a kind disposition. I was very, very thankful. Once more, I had been blessed, and enjoyed the privilege of free meals and a small, dusty old room. No one rented it, even in the busy days (I never said he was a particularly popular innkeeper).

“Look, just don't cause any trouble,” Peter said. “I get the sense you’ve got to get back on your feet. Where did you say you came from?”

I didn't talk about the Order to anyone.  They wouldn't understand.

“I lost my memory,” I lied, even as it pained me to not launch into a sorrowful recounting of Ecclesia’s fall. “I don't remember.” “And you came in from the Veros Woods, half-dead,” he nodded. “Yes, yes. Just don't cause trouble, and you can stay as long as you need. But between you and me... It wouldn't have anything to do with the recent defeat of Dracula, would it? I thought we were dead for sure.” I shivered, and shook my head. “No. It couldn't.” He couldn't know. He’d hate me, turn me away, just like anyone else who was not so enlightened. I remembered what Barlowe told me.

I'd pretend. I always did.

He was nice enough, and didn't really speak to me outside of smalltalk at mealtime, and that suited me just fine. I wanted no friends; I wanted to write. It was in that place I began writing Futility, a memoir of sorts, and the careful collection of my memory. My tribute to the Father I loved. This was how I would maintain my eternal vow, the vow that still left jagged scars on my palms. I typically hid those, too. The last thing I needed was more needling into my past, so I made a habit of wearing gloves. I spent a quiet year in solitude, always writing. I did not sleep at night, but I couldn't weep, either. Yes, I wrote, and I prayed. I felt manic. All I could do was obsessively bleed my memory onto the page, and any moment not spent in forward momentum felt like atrophy. I couldn't let us be forgotten. It was around this time I began using my surname, Fortner, once more, under the name ‘Lucy Fortner’, as I felt it was mundane enough while still being close enough to the truth. I was surprised I had remembered it, all this time. It was useless to Ecclesia; we were each others’ family.

It was a good year, but I knew it wouldn't last. The first sign came quickly. I liked to listen in on conversations in the inn, even as I avoided partaking myself. I knew everything that went on in Veros, even if I did not venture far from my self-imposed cell to explore the town, simply by watching and listening. So I watched, and listened, as two men sat down a few tables away. I had grown bored of the latest dish I had been served, and it had grown quite lukewarm, but I pantomimed eating so they didn't notice my prying eyes.

“...I’m telling you, this is the last scandal. No one trusts the church any-more,” the gruff, larger man said, sipping a beer. “Why would they? Funding some weird cult that's connected to the resurrection! That's too far.” His short companion frowned, and muttered, “They'll cover it up for sure.” I almost spit out my drink. They were talking about Ecclesia! But of course the church had funded us! We were doing holy work. 

“It’s a miracle He’s gone already... Who stopped the resurrection anyway?” More laughs and swigs of alcohol. “No one knows,” replied the taller man. “But I heard Ecclesia vanished overnight. Good riddance, I say. The last thing we need are more cultists around.” He drew a finger over his neck. “Insane, the lot of them. They hang around all the little towns around here; they’re usually undercover, but you can always sort of tell when it’s them. Not Ecclesia, but some other wackos. ‘The New Church’, they called themselves. But Ecclesia's the worst of a bad lot, if only because they held so much power and influence."

I wanted to forswear my secrecy, to tell them how awful they were being. It confirmed everything I had been told about the outside world. We are no cult! But I remained silent. Ecclesia was gone. Barlowe was gone. I just listened, and knew intimately that if I was not a stranger, if they knew who I was, they would want me dead. They all would! All of Veros. Here I was in my den of snakes once more, and I was far too aware of how tenuous it all was. I just wanted my church back.

I wanted him back.

I spoke to Peter that night, and asked him of the church. He launched into a bit of an aimless ramble. “Ecclesia... You don't want to get wrapped up in that. They are operating near here, or maybe were. No one knows their current status. Getting their money from the church, and all that. Supposed to replace the Belmonts. Ha! Turned out they were just another cult. Sacrificing virgins and all that, and the higher-ups in the Vatican are staying mum about it. Why do you ask?”

“Heard some rumors,” I replied.

His eyes widened. “...You're not thinking you were involved, were you? Look, rumors travel fast around here, and my friends from the local paper are saying things about this... amnesiac witch-woman, part of the Order, and everything. Not that Frontier let them publish that story, heh. I just mean to say that if you're hiding—”

Damn you, Shanoa! I thought to myself. “I know nothing of this, sir. I was merely curious,” I said, snippily. I hated when he pried. “I don't care to remember my old life, regardless of what occurred in it. Please respect that.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, as he polished a glass with a ragged looking cloth. “I wouldn't want to remember a nasty pack of Dracula-lovers either, if that was the case. Not saying that it is, of course.” I feigned a small chuckle. “You always know the worst things to say, sir. It's a little impressive.” I snorted, and he rolled his eyes. “Let no one say that Old Peter here doesn't at least try to be comforting. I do wonder if you're spending too much time cooped up in here. It can't be good for you, you know. The merchants are coming around next week. I’ll give you some gold; you should pick out something nice for yourself. Talk to some people, all that.”

“I’ll think about it,” I shrugged. Frivolous dresses and necklaces were the last thing on my mind. The only clothing I wanted for was my embroidered Ecclesiate robes, but I had to leave them behind to make good my disguise. I dressed somewhat modestly now, as it was best not to attract attention. Chatting up the local shopkeeps sounded like the last thing I needed, too. More rumours could only be a bad thing.

I thanked him and then retired to my room, feeling bitter and caged. I did not like Veros, this town of eggshells and hidden secrets. I hated not being Lucila. I wanted to speak freely and illuminate; I wanted my family. My Master. Old Peter was nice enough, but a poor replacement. I wanted my Master!

I wrote obsessively that night. I didn't sleep, and never did. Futility had been completed by morning. I did not know what to do with my private little story, but I did buy with the money Peter gave me some book-binding materials. I wrote him a small story about a wandering knight to keep him from asking what I was using it all for. I felt like he regarded me as more of a project of charity than a friend and I was happy enough to keep that distance.

Soon after, he brought in another such ‘project’, some old woman who had lost her house in a fire. “Bad luck,” Peter explained. “You leave the fireplace burning while you take a nap to stay warm, and you end up out in the cold. It goes to show God is laughing at us sometimes.” “You shouldn't speak ill of Him,” I replied, coldly.

Her name was Therese, and I knew we would be at odds from the start when she began boarding in the room next to mine. She made a small complaint about my pacing and wakefulness in the night-hours, to which Peter tried to play the neutral party. With this new intrusion, and with nothing much to write, I sunk back into a depressive slump, day after day. She had disturbed my comfortable little normalcy, and I hated it. She didn't like me. The worst was when I found her sneaking around in my room one night. I knew then that she was going to find something she shouldn't, eventually, no matter how long I stalled for. But stall I would.

“I know you know something,” Therese said to me, after dinner. “I can see it in your eyes. You haven't forgotten a thing.” “I don't know what you're talking about,” I backed away, not meeting her pale grey eyes. “The truth always comes out,” she tapped her bony fingers on the table. “And I know there is rot in this wood. And you know, too.”

“I’ll tell Old Peter you've gone mad,” my voice turned stern.

“I do not want rot in this wood,” she repeated, dryly. “My husband was killed in Dracula’s siege this past year. Heaven pity the fools who orchestrated His resurrection.”

She knows! It unsettled me. I spent the next day avoiding her and making excuses to idle in the town square, away from Old Peter’s inn. But perhaps I should have known. I was on edge the whole time I was out of the inn, the pale silence of daylight too arresting.

When I returned for the night, the inn was quiet, and eyes followed me nervously. I spoke to no one but felt jaws around my neck, waiting, waiting. I walked up the creaky wooden steps to my borrowed room, and knew at once it was not mine any more.

Therese stood in the doorway, clutching Futility in her shaking hands. “How could you,” she hissed. “I knew. I knew all along, hearing your occultic ramblings in the night. I knew you were one of them!”

“I mean no harm in my beliefs!” I insisted. “Please, do not tell Old Peter. My place in the inn is all I have.”

“He already knows,” her voice shuddered with contempt. “God, but you are sick.”

I felt a shiver of recognition. How long had it been, since I had been that little girl, my writing confiscated? And here I was again. This time, I had no rescuer, no angel. You will find that my life skips and repeats like a scratched record, and is played with the cruelest needle. Indeed, this tale is quite phonographic...

It was then that Peter walked into the hallway, silently. He didn't meet my gaze. “Lucy. Didn't I tell you that if you really were hiding something, you could tell me?”

“Apparently not,” I cast a bitter glance at Therese; Peter turned away. “Give me a week. I’ll be on my way. I know when I am not wanted.”

“You must leave tonight. When word gets out, it gets out fast. If they find you, they'll kill you. And furthermore, I cannot trust you. You invented this... this story, to exploit my kindness.” He took Futility from Therese’s hands. “While hiding the truth under our noses. That you're some Dracula-worshipping—”

“But I did need your kindness! Please, at least return my manuscript,” I protested, hysterical. “I have nothing else! Peter, were we not friends? Did you not care for me?” He didn't respond, only clutched Futility close to his chest. “You conspire for humanity’s demise at the hands of Count Dracula. What kindness do you deserve? You are a blight. A blight upon Veros! I am only glad I found you out!” Therese spat.

“It’s for the best if you go,” Peter said, plainly. I think he thought he was being kind to me.

Two of the men who had been staring at me in the dining-hall had come up the stairs and abruptly grabbed my arms, forcefully escorting me out the door. Two of Peter’s employees, if I recall.

“If you are so cruel, then perhaps I do wish death upon you all! What a grave you’ve dug!” I spat. “May the Dark Lord raze Veros to the ground! The Eternal Battle cannot be delayed forever!” My surroundings were blurring into shapes and colors and delirium as I was dragged out of the city gates and back into the unforgiveness of the Veros Woods. I couldn't even fight back; without a conduit, my glyphs were just out of reach, and my body was feeble.

I was alone, again. I cried and ran for a while, deep into the shadows, and collapsed in the dirt when I could run no more, and waited for the night to take me, my face hot and red. I hated them all, Old Peter most of all, somehow even more than Therese. And my book! They would surely destroy it. I felt severed from my memories, as if bleeding them onto the page drained them from my head. I was in utter despair. There was nothing. I was nothing.

And I was afraid, and got the horrible feeling that I had been hurt or broken in a way I had never yet realized. Not in Veros, but something older still. This past episode was merely the symptom of a greater sickness.

When I awoke after who knows how long, I began wandering aimlessly again. Anything to get me far, far away from Veros. It was unsettlingly easy to slip back into the strange mindstate I had been in following Dracula's premature banishment, never eating or resting, always faint and half-conscious, but my light stayed furious— perhaps the only thing that kept me alive. Maybe I’d find another town, I told myself, in my more lucid moments. Or some kind church to take me in. I’d be an honest young girl, I decided. I’d keep it all a secret, and forget everything. If it would keep me safe from prying eyes... I needed faith, I needed a church, I needed to confess. I needed something to trust in, to hold me up before I collapsed forever. But if I forswore it all, I would be no better than a heretic.

But the fire inside me was always threatening to spill out, that well of my magic and faith. Some kind of elevated trance state had taken over me, and I welcomed it. I scrawled the sigil of Refectio onto my dress with some tree sap, and let the glyph course through me, keeping me vital despite the lack of care I had given myself, and I walked forever.

I collapsed on one of these days in some shadowed glen, slumped against a withered tree, and watched my surroundings silently for hours. Something was watching me in return.

They moved slowly and quietly, and I found myself ensnared by a circle of people in red robes. Each of them held two throwing-sickles, and wore skeletal masks. I screamed, but couldn’t move, frightened that I was dreaming again. The masked woman in front of me walked forward, making no sound, and raised her sickle to my throat. All of the robed figures were staring at me.

They must be angels of death...

“Please don’t hurt me,” I finally managed, my throat dry.

“We won’t,” the woman promised, and slowly raised a pale hand to her face and carefully, deliberately removed it. “I am the Tongue, of the Remains,” she said, short locks of mousey brown hair spilling from her crimson hood, and I met her gaze;  her eyes were warm. “I am the Arm, of the Remains,” the short man next to her spoke. He did not remove his mask. Everyone in the circle spoke their names in turn: the Rib, the Heart, and the Fang. The last robed figure did not speak; I later learned his name was the Ear. Then the Tongue spoke again. “We’ve come a long way to find you, tracking you through the woods. Tell us: are you Lucila, of Ecclesia, exile of Veros?”

Perhaps I should have known that they were another occult group; they were hardly unique in this area of Europe given that it was the epicenter of Dracula’s appearances on earth. So, I shook away my fear, and I responded: “I am.” She slowly drew her sickle away from my tender throat, and nodded. “Rumours travel fast.”

“Yes, the rumour that you were chased from Veros for your faith in the Dark Lord. That you aided in the Tenth Coming. Oh, you poor thing... You look like you’re on Death’s door,” the Heart shook her head. “You must join us. We have been without an Eye for some time. Perhaps...”

“Who are you all, then?” I asked, as the Tongue helped me wobble to my feet once more.

“We are the Remains,” the Tongue nodded. “We are... a church educated in the ways of Shaft and other such occultists. But we’re a little different in our traditions. We do not bring forth the Resurrection, but await it... When Dracula returns, we will be ready for our souls to be judged. We basically spend our lives in contemplation, healing our souls in preparation for His judgment. Maybe... you would like to be healed, too? We have heard such great things about your Order, and only the chosen are permitted to join us. I was wondering when we’d cross paths with a member of Ecclesia. You’ve come a long way.”

“Indeed, I am lost... Perhaps I shall, at least for a time,” I nodded, for I had no-where else to go. And I did need to be healed, didn’t I? I was sick. I was more sick than ever, without my Master. “Yes, I am lost, lost in an eternal despair, a fear with a nameless source. Something is very wrong in this world, and a place of healing will be beneficial.”

“Good. Then you shall learn our ways, then we will take you to meet the Mind, to see if She approves your presence,” the Fang said. “Only the chosen will be saved.” The Ear nodded, silently.

They led me through the darkened woods and through the dawn to a tiny forested chapel. It was a small white building, about the same size as some of the houses in Veros. A small, crumbling graveyard spanned the clearing, with plants cultivated between each headstone, and the cross on top of the chapel’s thatched wooden roof had been haphazardly flipped upside down, slightly crooked. It looked like it barely managed to fit the altar and meagre lodgings. The sun dappled through the trees onto the stark white church, and I smiled.

“It’s beautiful, my Tongue,” I bowed my head.

“Here, you will begin a preliminary period of quiet worship and healing. We are eager to know all you have learned,” the Rib bowed his head. “Then, if you are chosen, you will become a Priest, and part of our Body. And someday, your soul shall be clean, and pure, for Dracula. The Heart is our head Priest. She will help you.”

“A Priest? But I am a woman,” I frowned.

“We are all Dark Priests, here,” explained the Tongue. “It’s just our way. Now, I should show you to your quarters. No offense, but you look like you need a lot of rest.” She smiled at me quite kindly, and I bowed my head with humility. I had been chosen, found a place that welcomed me for who I was and what I believed. It was so easy to slip back into my worship, and I knew then that Dracula smiled upon me, blessed me even now, after Ecclesia’s failure. I thanked my Lord, and followed the Tongue to my bed, inside a tiny cell that must have been inhabited by a monk in some far-away time passed by, when this was a real chapel.

“Here is where you will sleep. It’s not particularly roomy,” the Tongue laughed, all pretenses of solemnity shed now that we were alone. “You get used to it eventually. At least no one has to share, since we don't have many chosen members.”

“Oh, thank you, my Tongue—” I replied, but she hushed me quickly, with a little exaggerated sigh.. “Just call me Eulalia. Eulalia Ionescu.” “Did you not give up your name when you became a Priest?” I tilted my head. “It’s a formality,” she explained. “A title, of sorts. It’s a bit silly to me sometimes, but I do wear mine with pride. Why, did you give your old name when you joined with Ecclesia?”

“Of course I did. My name, Lucila, is my purpose, my gift given to me by my Master... I am glad I will not have to relinquish it. It is special to me,” I looked away shyly. “Eulalia, hm... It is a pretty name. ‘Well-spoken’, I believe?” She nodded. “Yes. I was named for Saint Eulalia, by my mother. Though I have never had any doves fly from my mouth, thankfully. However... it’s kind of an ironic name, given what drove me to join the Remains.”

“Do tell,” I urged her. “Tell me, and I shall tell you of my sorrows. Perhaps this is the first step in my healing.”

“Of course! We do start with a Confession. And then you attend services, and prayers. It's all quite uplifting! So I’ll bet the higher-ups will be pleased to know you’re ready to begin... Oh, Lucila, I really hope we can be friends.” She clasped my hands, and for the first time I felt alright about someone seeing the scars left upon me. “I’ve been the most recent new-chosen for years. Now I get to guide someone else for a change, hehe.” She spoke in such a strange way, somewhat informal and with a sharper tongue, compared to what I was used to. But I found myself charmed by this lonely girl, and I listened as she told her story to me:

“It’s not a very happy story. I was a crooked merchant’s daughter, and I helped him hawk his wares in a little town called Jova. It's pretty close by, actually, across the woods and through the swamp... He was once an honest man, and frugal despite his large inheritance. We didn’t really struggle, much, because we were of high standing, I guess. But he was frightened of the idea of losing all his wealth. I think it turned him paranoid, and greedy. I saw him one night, when I was about sixteen, beating a man in an alleyway within an inch of his life and taking all his gold. I was horrified, and I asked him why. And he told me that we needed more money, and he was doing it for me. So I said nothing, not even to my mother.

“I thought that was the end of it, but over those next years, he lived in sin, killing and stealing simply for want of more money. But we weren’t a poor family, and I confronted him again. And so he told me again: it was for me. That when he died some day, he wished to leave me without want for anything. We needed money, he said again. And I believed him, because it sounded amazing. I never said anything, because I was so selfish, and I loved him.

“Of course, it was all a lie. We, my mother and I, we found... When he crossed the wrong man he... He was destitute, really. A gambler. He was spending all we were earning and keeping the family afloat with his ill-gotten money because he just wanted more. So we had nothing in the end. We were a respected family, once. Now he is dead, and gone, and I realized what my silence had earned me— nothing. I had been living in sin, just as he had. And then the Remains found me, and told me about the punishment waiting for evil men,” I saw the same light in her eyes that had kept me illuminated all these years. “That Dracula would rid the world of evil. That justice still exists... That was a couple years ago. When I visited my Mind, She told me... I had been silent, but now I could speak freely, and my voice would someday end some great injustice. And so I was named the Tongue... She can see the future, you know. And She healed me, Lucila. I’m so much happier now, and all the richer, in a sense. So I guess it just goes to show what good that we  ‘evil Dracula-worshipping Satanic cults’ can do.”

I squeezed her freckled hands in mine. “How miraculous... What a winding path we all walk. Shall I speak, now? I have much to say.”

“No need to ask permission. Speak freely,” she nodded. “We all do.”

I recalled to her everything that happened in the years I had spent with the Order, and how broken I had been by the loss of my dear Master, my many crises of faith, and the bitter betrayal that had laid ruin to my church.

“So that was what happened to Ecclesia,” she said, quietly. “Indeed. I wish the elders had allowed us to continue operations... Or we could at least have kept living in the cathedral together, like old times... We were meant to wander, and see the salvation ourselves. But... the Resurrection didn’t save us. It didn’t save me at all. If not for Shanoa...! How I hate her! I hate her with all my soul. There is such bitterness inside me. All I want is for everything around me to die! I just want him back,” I looked away, tears caught in my throat, and I stared through the tiny window in the stark white wall of my cell. “But I am afraid! If only Dracula hadn’t been returned to his grave..! Even still, there is a part of me that shakes from my resolve. I hate this anguish; I want to kill it! Please, Eulalia, tell me I can be saved, that it isn’t all hopeless now!”

“Dracula will return,” she assured me. “The Heart always tells me He will come when He is needed. So, we really shouldn’t trouble ourselves with making sure destiny comes to pass. I don't worry too much about it.” This was, of course, the opposite of Ecclesia’s belief, of redemption through humility, and toil to such an end. But I welcomed its passivity and acceptance, for it comforted me. “Just let the Remains take care of you. It really works. See how He has led you to our church? It's meant to be.” Her voice sounded so distant, but I had never felt closer.

Meant to be... The idea thrilled me. There’s no need to fight against it. There’s a purpose in all of this. And she is here...

“Yes,” I said, finally, and allowed Eulalia to embrace me. “I understand everything, now.”

Yes. I will be healed once more.

With that vow, she kissed the top of my head, and ushered me to gentle, forgiving sleep, the most rest I had in days. I dreamed of fire, licking me, but never hurting.

“I find more bitter than death the woman who is a snare, whose heart is a trap and whose hands are chains.”

“Sin! Sin is the root of all sickness, and all sorrow. To free yourself of sin is to free yourself of all spiritual ailments. Ask for help, and He will help you, if your mind is open,” the Heart recited. “Free your soul and body!”

I raised my arms, lost in the moment as I stood up from the pew, weeping with happiness. “I must free my soul and body,” I recited in a whisper. I had spent the last several months in quiet, pious prayer, but these rousing sermons gave me by far the most comfort and excitement, perhaps because they reminded me so much of Barlowe’s Meetings of Loyalty. I still missed him terribly, but my place in the Remains calmed me. I wore now the strange red robes that were characteristic of the church, and I took pride in my role as novitiate. We all took to dancing in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

I loved it, being among the Remains. None of the solemnity or fear, no fasting or punishment, but only a liberation of the soul. While some of the one-on-one prayers the Heart led me in were taxing— breaking down my ego most thoroughly— but they left me full of a profound happiness.

“Lucila, you’ve made such excellent progress,” the Heart nodded to me as the service ended. Eulalia clapped for me politely. “You look so much happier. I’m... glad for you, Lucila. And good luck. Your meeting with the Mind is soon, isn’t it?”

I nodded. The preliminary months were nearly over, and that frightened me somewhat. I had never met their leader, the Mind, and I had begun having little nightmares about her refusing me, and turning me away into the woods once more. That night, I woke from one of those nightmares, and sought out Eulalia. She had assured me I could come to her for guidance in such moments, and I often did. Indeed, she had taken on a sort of pseudo-mentorly role for me, eagerly letting me taste all the joy that the Remains did offer, but on a more equal level. And she spoke to me in those private moments in a way that felt truer than the way she spoke to the other Remains, as though she were merely Eulalia and not the Tongue. Why, I could not say.

I confessed my worries to her, and we took a walk through the graves outside in the cool night air. “Master Barlowe used to talk to me in the Ecclesia community garden all the time, just like this,” I muttered, once I had calmed a bit. I thought desperately of that night where Barlowe had convinced me that the stars would never die, and crowned me in flowers. I had been so hopeful, then. I shivered with grief. “And he told me all that would await when Dracula came. I miss him terribly.”

“Was he nice? You talk about him so often,” Eulalia said, kicking her legs as she sat on one of the headstones. She had a watering-pail at her side, as it was among her duties to tend to the garden of death.

“He was so kind. He took me in as the Remains have taken you in,” I said, twiddling my fingers. But I wanted to change the subject a little. I felt so odd, discussing him now. “What sorts of plants grow here? I see you tending them every day.” She seemed to understand, and responded: “Oh, all sorts. Flowers, and vegetables, mostly. Some attract pollinators, which helps all of them to sprout. I didn't really realize how much I liked growing things until it became one of my grounding-duties.”

“So all the vegetables we eat at meal-times feed on the corpses in the soil. This is a grave-yard,” I said, folding my arms. She stuck out her tongue. “Eugh, don't remind me. The Heart always says it's okay, because the dead enrich all soil, and it helps the plants grow, but it doesn't mean it doesn't gross me out.” I smiled, and laughed. “And what's this plant?” I pointed at the clusters of violet flowers at the next grave as she hoisted the pail of water.

“Aconite,” she grunted. “Don't touch.” “Oh, monkshood,” I nodded. “Why grow a deadly poison, though?”

“It’s the same reason we carry sickles. We have to protect ourselves, because people hate our beliefs. They try to shut us down. Poison is my preferred... Well, I like it better than other methods,” she looked away, and I felt a rush of sympathy. The Remains were a peaceful, contemplative church. To be forced to kill to keep themselves safe... I ached to imagine how cruel the common-folk could be. Especially to her... “I prefer poison because... Because I’m not the one killing them. It's an act of God. I’m not... It's not me.”

“Do you have to kill often?” I asked. “It's dreadful what the people out there can do to us.”

“Oh, not at all,” Eulalia smiled. She was lying, and I knew she was. I knew as soon as she had placed that sickle to my throat. But I couldn't fear her. My quivering heart only yearned for her protection, here in that lovely, blurry place between love and friendship.“But it will be a shame when I have to poison you, my dear!” She wiggled her fingers at me with an exaggerated cackle. I shrieked and stumbled backwards, tripping over on a gnarled old root.

“My goodness, you’d think they didn't teach you about jokes,” Eulalia snorted. “They did! You just startled me,” I huffed defensively as she helped me up, but then giggled after a moment. “Well... Enough about poison. What of medicinal plants? I’ve always wondered about folk-healing. You all take passion in healing the ill, after all,” I said, brushing myself off. “We have no need. Faith keeps us from sickness,” she shook her head. “Faith heals us all.” I was confused. Ecclesia had a whole infirmary-wing for the injured and ailing, after all. But I believed Eulalia, because she believed in what she said. There was a light inside her as bright as my own. I was sick; they offered healing. Had I not experienced such a thing? “I suppose that's true. I once lost my magic, but regained it through prayer.”

“Exactly. You understand,” Eulalia smiled, a little crooked crescent moon. “I want to hear more about Ecclesia’s philosophy, though. Your Order was so wrapped up in the church’s affairs that most information didn't reach us in the underground.”

I described our ways and our glyph-magic, our constant hidden struggle to revive the count. Eulalia was intelligent and inquisitive and devoured whatever she could glean from me, and I told her all I could recall. We launched into friendly debates on theology, destiny, and the role of Dracula as God’s Shadow, and I felt all the more enriched for it. While I often was left wanting for more academic and scientific pursuits in my time among the Remains, Eulalia filled that need for me hungrily. She did not agree with my views on all things, but she challenged them in a way I found rigorous and entertaining. Oh, what two scholars we were. I told her she would have made a good disciple. Barlowe would have loved her.

I wanted to see the whole world with her, transcending just the body.

I thought to myself that she was the truest friend I had ever had. Beata and Magdala and I had mostly spent time together out of obligation, but Eulalia... I had chosen this. To be her companion, part of her Body.

Eventually, she asked: “Do you think you might be chosen as the new Eye? Our old one, well... He was blind, that's all. He couldn't get well. I’ve always had a feeling in my gut that you’ll replace him.”

“I was the Witness,” I explained. “In that I saw everything that befell Ecclesia. I even watched the Master’s martyrdom. If I am not the Eye, I’m not sure what I am,” I chuckled.

“Ha... I’m sorry, that sounds awful. Well, I look forward to your induction. I’ve been counting down the days. I am certain She will accept you.” She grinned, her thin lips crooked and crimson, wolfish in the pale moonlight. “It is nice,” I whispered to her, under the shade of a weeping tree, “It is so nice to have a purpose, now that I am so far from my Order. Something to make me so whole. I tried writing, to occupy my mind, but...” She tilted her head, listening closely. “Well, I don't like to speak of it. Oh, promise you won't betray me, too, like so many have! That is what has wounded me so! Albus, and Beata, and Magdala, and Shanoa and Peter... Even my parents, who left me nothing. My faith is in jeopardy once more, though still I resist. Make me trust you, Eulalia, my Tongue! Say the word and I will be eternally faithful.”

Of course, I had not yet contextualized the greatest betrayer of all. I simply couldn't.

She laced her hands with mine, hands running over my stigmata-scars, and promised many vows to me that night, and she spoke very softly. “Lucila, I will never hurt you. Never, never. We are of the same body,” she swore. “We are, we are. I promise I’m going to heal you and keep you safe.” We did not kiss, nor touch, as we kept to our vows, but something about this felt somehow more intimate, and I drank in every word. I felt desperate and possessive, eager more than ever to join her in the body, bound forever. Yes, I loved her!

I spent the next day attending solemn prayers alone with the Heart, after she collected me early in the morning. I liked that we did all our rituals with the day-light, unlike the night-time secrecy of Ecclesia. It made it feel all the more spirit-raising. But I felt strange around the Heart at times, and this final day as a novitiate was no different.

She was extremely kind, of course. She reminded me of Barlowe in many ways, which made me miss him all the more. Her sermons transformed me, brought me to my base instincts in a way that frightened me. But this was necessary, as it was all part of the transformation of my immortal soul. It was the only way to rid me of the great spiritual wound placed upon me. They were transcendental, and not really ‘magical’. Perhaps it was something deeper, I told myself.

I nodded to the Ear as I entered the altar. He listened in on all things and reported the goings-on to the Arm, who held a strange authority of his own and enacted it upon those who had gone astray, though how he conveyed this I could not say, as I had never seen the Ear speak a word. I wasn't sure if I had reason to fear him, but I was respectful and subservient.

“Once more, you must obliterate all you are,” the Heart guided me, taking my hands. I had long since stopped wearing my gloves, as I had nothing to hide. “Your loyalty is a virtue, but it has been betrayed so many times. Yes, you must detach yourself from these sorrows. Acceptance heals the soul. Obliterate,” she snapped her fingers.

“...And there will be no remains of me,” I finished, and closed my eyes.

“Yes. Now you are nothing, a tiny infantile thing. And you are slowly, slowly, growing into a little insect. And then an animal, something small, like a mouse.” I drifted off to this suggested vision, and I did indeed feel so miniscule. “And then a larger animal, a lion with a fearsome maw...”

I felt a sound rise from my throat, like a woman possessed, not quite howl, scream, or roar. The Heart gripped my wrists so tightly that it hurt, and I felt my pulse quicken in panic.

“No fear. No fear. You're a massive bird... Now an angel, more radiant than all others and raining judgment at God’s will...” I felt the fear sucked away from me once more. “You are more than this, you are ascending, you are the earth, you are Dracula, and your soul is...” She snapped her fingers again, and I winced. “Nothing. This is how you must grow, and allow your soul its ascendancy... But you must open your mind to it. You must obliterate, and confront what lies within the subconscious mind.”

I truly did feel like nothing. I felt cleansed as I willed myself to forget once more; I had never felt so wounded. I obliterated everything; I willed everything away. I cried in her arms and allowed her to comfort me, with the assurance that I was making excellent progress. This was a taxing ritual, but I felt another part of myself obliterated with each one. I could forget. The memories I had chronicled in Futility had never felt so distant, and a shattered peace came over me. Was this how Shanoa felt, in her transcendental gnosis?

I tried to confide in Eulalia about the rite, and she assured me that the effect was quite intended.

“It's destructive, but you need to tear down old walls to build stronger ones,” she explained. “It was hard for me, too. But you’ve been through worse. And it gets easier, I promise.”

So I ignored it. It was a trivial sorrow, and I would be healed, I thought to myself as she stroked my hair in my bedroom. The Ear then collected me for the final induction.

“So I shall finally meet my Mind,” I said, and smiled to myself. The arduous part was over, and I was ready to live a renewed and spiritual life. The Ear nodded, but still did not speak. I asked where the Mind lived, and he pointed across the grave-yard as he led me outside. You see, beneath the little chapel was an old charnelhouse kept underground, and the entrance is beneath a large stone door. It is here that the Mind lived, a sort of anchoress or ascetic. The Rib attended to Her and kept Her fed, and the Heart received direct instruction and orders, but She had no other connections to the world outside.

When the Ear pried open the stone door, he beckoned for me to enter, and I did. He did not follow; he shut the entrance behind me, leaving me alone in the dark to descend the staircase. I fished through my pockets for some ink and inscribed Ignis on my hand, letting the tiny glyph light up my surroundings as it flickered from my fingers. Countless hollow skulls leered at me, piled up all over the walls. I respected the dead, though, and gave them a respectful bow. This was their house, after all.

There was no fear inside me as I reached the lowest point, deep underground. Upon a skeletal throne sat an equally skeletal old woman, wispy silver hair cascading down her bony shoulders and shrouding her silver eyes.

“So you have finally come to me,” she said, hands shaking. “Studying well, in careful contemplation... Are you ready to hear of your destiny... Lucila Fortner?” She pointed a slender finger at me, and I shuddered. I nodded, though, as I knew that this was the path that would lead to my acceptance. She took my hands in hers and stared down at my scarred palms, assessing them.

“Hm... You will be betrayed, and betray, and be betrayed, over and over again. You will walk the earth weeping, weighed down by the terrible burden of the holy truth you will uncover and all you have seen. This cross you do bear,” She spoke in such a strange, shivery way, like some greater power was animating Her voice. My blood ran cold at her words.

“So this is my fate,” I looked away, sorrowfully. I was going to lose everything once more, and I had been bound forever to this destiny.

The Mind continued: “My life was like yours. But perhaps yours won’t be in vain. But perhaps I am vain to think even that...”

“But you lead the Remains! You heal souls! How can your life be in vain?” I asked, incredulous.

“We are running in place, like rabbits in snares, trying to pry our necks out. But you cannot change fate; there is a common destination for all lives, the worthy and unworthy, and it is death. I was too blind to see, and now I have a body built on a story I convinced myself of. What parasites we are... It is futile.” She was speaking nonsense now, and I would hear none of it. They were led by a madwoman! “No, but I will have my sight now, my witness now... It will end.”

“If you hate the Remains so much, why continue to lead it? Dismantle the church then,” my brow furrowed. “Or do you yet recognize the great goodness that we are capable of?”

“A Mind needs a Body. I am nothing without those who hold me aloft. Nothing more... But my Body lives forever, and I grow ill of such immortality... Oh, you will see everything in time, my Eye. Perhaps you will bring me a little more wisdom,” she shook her head. I could feel all the skulls in the ossuary staring me down. But I could not refuse her. This was my fate. This was what I wanted, and she blessed me.

The ceremony concluded, and she fished behind her for a small metal bowl of some strange oil, and anointed my forehead. “Yes, my Eye. You are chosen. May Dracula save your soul.”

“Thank you, my Mind,” I bowed my head, and soon after, the Heart came to return me to the world of the living. When we re-emerged I was led into a great and wonderful dance, and I tried my best to put the offputting prophecy out of my mind. They were all celebrating me, and Eulalia danced happily with me, as Eye and Tongue. I had never loved her more.

And so, I spent the next year seeing, and praying, an intensive period of contemplation. I was accepted quite handily as the Eye, and I was trusted and loved as an equal. We were all parts of the great body, the Remains, and we each brought our own wisdom and held our own place of authority within the church. They trusted me, respected me, and I was quite happy with my new standing. I was chosen!

I cannot pretend that I was not in love with Eulalia; I knew she harbored similar feelings. It was a fragile, untouched love, one that could not be acted upon. We had made our own vows, after all, and seemed to share a common understanding that to speak our mutual desires would be to violate some unspoken rule. But we did love, in our own way, and it was easy, because we were dear, dear friends, content in what we shared. But I could not forget the prophecy. I never told Eulalia about it, as though speaking about it would be what made it real, much like this silent love. And so I tried to ground myself in the comfortable daily life of a Priest in that brief year.

Eulalia frequently hunted for meat in the surrounding woods, and it was a pale grey morning when she invited me along, and I finally had enough free time set aside to say yes. The woods were so peaceful, but I always yearned to have seen them populated with monsters like the years leading up to the Tenth Coming. Now there were only animals, and only the Remains. I did not see many townsfolk from Veros or otherwise, as they never strayed from the main roads. I was glad of it. It was a verdant chapel to bestial spirits all our own.

“What are we after today, Eulie?” I said, sniffing the air. There was a distinct scent of petrichor, but the sky was clear and sunny through the tree-canopies. “Just checking my rabbit traps,” Eulalia shrugged. “Unless you’d like to go single-handedly catch a wild boar for us.”

“I could try,” I grinned. “I’m not utterly useless, combatively.” I had my own little handmade grimoire, now, and had continued trying to teach myself new glyphs, to mixed results, but I had a decent grasp on my magic, still. “What does it feel like?” she asked, as we traipsed through the underbrush. “I always wondered, but it feels like such a stupid question to ask.” Her fingers brushed against mine and lingered shyly.

“Like being set on fire. A sun inside me. It's different for each caster. But I feel this light, and I know innately: this was Master Barlowe’s gift to me. I cannot waste it,” I explained, and then noticed something metal glimmering in one of the shrubs. “Ah! Is that one of your traps?” Eulalia bunched up her trailing robes in her hands and knelt down, and poked at the metal wire with a twig. “It's been sprung. But the rabbit must have escaped. Look.” I peered down. “There's blood. It will have left a trail,” I sniffed. “Let us follow it.” Eulalia gave me a respectful nod, a gesture I had grown used to seeing. “That's why I like having you around, Lucila. You're sharp.” I blinked, still not used to her praise after all this time. Then I beamed, quite pleased. God, I was in love with her.

“I have my own stupid question,” I said, eventually, as we followed the crimson splatters. “Mm?” Eulalia replied noncommittally. “What... was it like in that town you came from? I never really experienced much of the outside world, and you’ve never spoke much of it. It leaves me deathly curious.”

“Oh, Jova? It's a boring place,” she rolled her eyes with a grimace. “Not very exciting. I guess some people like that, though... But last I’ve heard there's been more occult activity, what with the New Church hanging around that area... So maybe it's more interesting now. Honestly, Aljiba is probably a more noteworthy place to visit, but it's a little far. I used to go all the time, and the locals would gossip about the Belmonts. They used to live there.”

“New Church?” I had heard the men in the inn mention the New Church, so the name was thus familiar to me. “‘The New Church of Our Lord of Dark Divinity’ is their full title... They're weird. They have some nontraditional ideas of how to resurrect the Count, and they go from town to town looking for new members while disguised among the laypeople. I’m not sure what I think of them; their rituals are quite secret. They reveal their mysteries only to people already fully inducted. Though some people say they're fraudsters. Who knows...”

“Ah. Well, I was just wondering about Jova, in case...” I trailed off, my mouth going quite dry. “In case this doesn't work out. The Remains, I mean. If things go belly-up, like Eccle—”

“What are you saying? We're going to stay together forever, Tongue and Eye,” Eulalia balked. “Or are you not well, yet?”

“You’re right. I have no reason to doubt. I apologize,” I bowed my head.

Then, a squeal. I looked up, startled. We had found our prey. We cut through the shrubbery with our sickles and found the bleeding rabbit, shaking and heaving and squealing in a panic. It had long since given up on trying to dig its way out of this snare, its paws a bloody mess. “Ha, it fell for the same trap twice? How stupid,” I sneered, but my voice came out hollow and sad. “...I always thought rabbits were sweet little things. Look at how scared it is... And it got out the first time. Maybe we should let it go.”

“It’s in pain,” Eulalia frowned. “Why let it keep suffering? We should put it out of its misery.”

“I suppose,” I nodded, and thumbed through my book of glyphs, trying to find the quickest, most painless way. “...Your sickle,” Eulalia said, quietly. “Right,” I looked away, pulled my scythe from its belt-loop, and sliced the rabbit’s snared neck, my eyes squeezed shut. It squealed one more time, burbling blood from its tiny nostrils, and died.

Ice splattered across my face. The cold rain had finally come, as if mourning the innocent little life I had taken. “I always liked rabbits,” I repeated, prying it out of the trap and cradling it with my bloody hands. “They would always sniff around the cathedral gardens. Father Iulian hated them because they ate the crops, but I liked to watch them. I’d feed them my leftover vegetables from dinner if I didn’t like them. Iulian didn’t like that at all, but Master thought it was funny...  Skittish little things, but they eventually started eating from my hands.” I felt immediately quite childish, and looked away shyly.

“Poor thing,” Eulalia sounded distant, and I could scarcely tell if she was referring to the rabbit or to me. I held it close to my chest and stroked its white fur, streaking everything with red. “It’s nothing. Just a gift from Count Dracula. It will feed the Remains,” she continued. “You’re so damn soft... I wish I was the same, sometimes. After all that happened with my father.”

“You feel desensitized?” I inquired.

“Watching your papa beat a man gets old the third time,” she shrugged.

“After seeing the bearer kill my Master... I don’t know if I could ever get used to violence like that. It was awful. Even after killing some monsters on missions myself... It’s not the same. It just wasn’t the same. He was a real person,” I shuddered. “He was real... He was my angel.”

“Lucila...” Eulalia swallowed, and took one of my bloody hands in hers and pressed a kiss to my knuckle. “Lucila, I know you are the Eye, the witness, but... Ugh, I hope you don’t have to. Look, I’m right here. I’m never leaving your side. We’re of the same body, aren’t we, now? ...I shouldn’t have had you kill the rabbit.”

“It’s okay, Eulie, really. I’ve seen worse. It’s just an unpleasant chore, isn’t it?” I smiled, and let my hand fall from her grasp. “How many traps are left? Two? Let’s make it quick, and let’s do it together.”

The other traps were not so fruitful. When we finished our rounds and returned to the chapel with our robes soaking wet, the Ear collected me for another of the Heart’s healing sermons. I was somewhat glad of it, though for what reason I could not say.

“It’s an important one, today. Your progress in spiritual healing has slowed, so I have decided: we are going to find the source of your sickness, your wound. And you are going to confront it alone, so we may continue your healing,” the Heart said, her voice shuddering, as she grasped my shoulders on that sunlit altar. “Kneel, my Eye.” I knelt.

She walked me through the process of obliteration once more, shrinking me down into a spiritual nothingness upon which everything could be built. But instead of guiding me into that familiar ascendency, she continued: “Yes, nothing, an infantile thing... Now something even smaller, and tinier. There is nothing, only darkness, and you. Only darkness, and you, and the source.” I could not open my eyes, and I shivered. “You are closer and closer to the source. It is growing bigger, and undeniable, and bright, so harsh it blinds you, but you cannot look away. You see now, you see what it is. What do you see, my Eye?”

“I see shattered stained glass; I see a dead rabbit; I see nothing but white,” I recited. “I see blood, and the hand that feeds.”

“Keep going, keep going,” said the Heart, her voice fluttering with pride. “Cut to the source. Cut to the source.” But I felt another dark obstruction. “It’s... white. All white. I can’t see anything, now, it’s too bright,” my brow furrowed. “It’s getting too bright.” “Cut to the source,” she repeated. “There must have been someone who has left you in such despair. Obliterate! Obliterate, damn you!”

Yes. I would find my way  to the core of this; I sank deeper and deeper, flowers and scripture and darkness and pure, pure light, and I saw the shape of its source. The inflictor of this great and terrible wound, the one who made me into this zealot was...!

I shrieked and woke from my reverie. “It’s not true! It’s not!” I howled, and banished the thought immediately, hating my mind for willing me to see him in such a way. Because it was not true; he had only been kind to me; he had given me everything. “You cannot reject the truth, my Eye,” she shook her head. “No matter what you have seen.”

“It’s not true. I have not yet seen the source,” I shook my head. “I do not think I can continue, my Heart. Not today.”

“So be it,” she nodded. But her gaze was ice cold and stern. “But do not let your mind lead you astray from our Lord.”

I had even betrayed myself. I could not tell her.

I felt sicker than ever. I had only gained a further illness in my disloyalty, that I would dare cast doubt upon him. As I left, the Ear stared at me unblinking, and wordlessly escorted me to my little room. It had grown so claustrophobic, and my sheets felt cold and unfamiliar as I drew them around me in a little nest. I didn’t speak to anyone that day, not even my dear Eulalia. The rabbit’s blood was still under my nails, and I couldn’t get it out.

Or was it my own?

I was distant and nervous in those next few days, set off into panics at the smallest things. I excused myself from my usual daily devotionals, trying to ground myself by taking walks through the grave-yard. I could not trust my own mind, for it had lied terribly to me, and I needed Barlowe more than ever.

“You really shouldn’t be avoiding worship for so long,” Eulalia said to me, one evening at dinner.

“I want to get my mind right, first. I don’t think I am approaching it the right way,” I frowned. “I am astray. I need to contemplate.”

“Fair enough. But... you can always talk to me, you know that?” Her eyes were warm and kind, but that sharp sliver of gold inside them seemed to shine through again. I leaned close, and whispered, “Do you ever wonder if... If something you’ve thought was good your whole life is actually wicked? And you feel horrible for even wondering?”

She blinked, rubbing my palm with her thumb in attempted comfort. “I can’t say I ever have. Lucila, I think you really need to speak with the Heart when you can. I... I don’t want your sickness getting worse. If you feel so bad, it must be a good thing, not wicked. You’re going astray, you said it yourself. Doubt isn't... good for you. I want you to get well, alright? The Heart will help.”

That is what I am afraid of, I wanted to say, but my words died on my tongue. I just bowed my head and left dinner early. God, I was wicked, I was so ungrateful. Why had I seen Barlowe’s face, in that moment of prayer and nothingness? Why had I even thought of him that way, when everyone else had betrayed me— everyone but him? I loved him and feared him desperately.

In my room, I played with the little ceremonial dagger that he had stabbed through my hands, what felt like so long ago. He alone had trusted me among the disciples to bear this truth, to bear this pain, and I had bled loyalty for him gladly in our little private sacrament. I prayed, privately. The Heart made me so nervous, now, and this privacy was the only thing keeping my light from flickering out. In my shaking hands I held the dagger up to the dim light and carefully rotated it around and visualized the vow I had made, which had become a nervous habit of mine. I then clutched it so close to my chest, like I had that rabbit, and willed it to return that certainty to me. I thought about bleeding again, but I did not acquiesce to that urge. The scars I had were proof enough.

No. I loved Barlowe. I loved Barlowe. I loved Ecclesia. I loved being loyal, I loved our great work and I carried that memory with me forever. If only he could return, things would just be simple again! I thought the grief had been numbed over the past years, but it never was, and it washed over me anew. I was so, so spiritually sick. I needed love, and guidance! I needed him! I was nothing already; it was little wonder that the obliterations had been so destructive. Desperately, I thought to myself, that the Tongue could guide me. She had offered such companionship. I could always go to her, as a friend and fellow Priest. I had to talk to her, and be truthful. I could at the very least trust her.

She was waiting at our usual meeting-place, that night. “I was wondering when you’d start coming out to see me again,” she patted the soft spot in the grass next to her, beckoning me to sit. I leaned my head against her shoulder, letting my fiery-red ringlets spill over her. “Oh, Eulie, I don’t know what to do. I do not trust the Heart anymore, or at least not her guidance. She led me in this ritual and... she told me I would see the source of my pain. But I saw... Well, what I saw doesn’t matter, because it wasn’t true. She has shown me an untrue thing, and it has destabilized the ground I stand upon. I feel myself wavering, and I am sicker now than when I came.”

“But you know what is right. You won't betray us,” Eulalia insisted. “Lucila, honestly, can’t you just trust us? Trust the Remains, as you trusted Ecclesia? We’re helping you. That’s all... That’s all.” She shivered in the cool air. “Don't you trust me?”

“What if I’m being helped in the wrong way... In the wrong way, and I cannot be set right again, and I’m being drawn further and further away from the truth? I don’t know what I believe anymore. I just want him to— I just want you to heal me, Eulalia!” I gripped her shoulders, wild-eyed, as a paranoid panic set into me. “I don’t want any of the rest of the Body, only you! The Mind told me I have a tragic destiny, and I have been abandoned by everyone I loved. Just as she predicted. Except you. I am frightened of everything, and the Heart worst of all... I don’t want to go where she leads me, for it is far too dark. I just—”

She backed away, and I stepped forward. “You... You can’t be saying this. You can’t! We can’t exist without the rest of the Body! You’re sick and you need help, so please... Please... I’d hate to see what happened to the previous Eye happen to you, because you’re so...” She sniffed, a sort of sincerity that I wasn’t used to. It struck me then that I had never seen her cry.

“Dear to you?” I asked, with a light, sighing growl edging my voice. Our mouths were so close, and I knew she felt the warm breath dance upon her lip; perhaps that was cruel of me. “Say it. Say that you won’t hurt me, too. That you love me more than the bonds of loyalty we’re indebted to. That I have no reason to be so confused, and this is a brief temptation from my path, from my Master. That we’ll run together from this place of delirium. Then you will save me.”

She backed away.

“Eulie, please—”

“You’re sick,” she shook her head. “But I’m going to make you well. I’m sorry, I... I’m going to go to bed. Sorry. You’ll thank me later.”

We parted, and without my knowing, the Tongue spoke to the Ear.

I cried myself to sleep. I was betrayed either way, wasn’t I? Either my mind was right to lead me to that awful place during the ritual, or the Remains were only steering me away from what was right and true. I was once more lost in the sort of dissonance that I had felt when I lost my light. Either answer was unpleasant, but I knew, innately, that I trusted my Father more than my Body.

But Eulalia... Wasn’t that the worst part?

I was woken in the middle of the night by the Arm. “My Eye, I am told you are afflicted with blindness, and you had some kind of episode. When one part of the body fails, the whole suffers. A penance, and careful prayer and contemplation, is the only way. You understood this when you joined us, yes? This is the decision that the Heart has settled upon.”

My eyes went very wide, and I wanted to scream. She reported this to the other members... So even she has betrayed me. But my throat was dry, and all my tears were shed, so I only weakly allowed him to snatch my wrist and take me where he willed. I would take this penance if I must, and then I would leave. I would leave! I could not stay, once more in my den of snakes. Not even for her.

He led me down to the charnelhouse, and through the skeletal labyrinth to the darkest room, sealed with a heavy stone door. It opened inward from inside the room, but was constructed in such a way that it could only be pushed, and not pulled, thus trapping me inside. “This is where the most spiritually ill go. The Ear will check on you, at the Heart’s discretion. When you are no longer sick, you will be free.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice hoarse and ragged.

“It is ‘my Arm’, not sir,” he corrected me. “We must use our titles. It is respectful. We have given you too many affordances.”

“Yes, my Arm,” I muttered. “I was... just reminded of someone else.”

He did not respond, and shut the door, trapping me inside. I was completely, utterly alone in the silence of it. I must have been there for days before the first promised checkup from the Ear, and I screamed and scratched at the door till my fingers bled, hoping the Mind would hear me and show the Body some sense. There was nothing, and I heard nothing but my own voice, not even an echo. At least I had my dagger, my little gift, my reminder of all Barlowe had given me. I clutched it obsessively, needing it more than ever. I always kept it with me.

The Ear left me food and drink every few days, carefully assessed me with the candle he brought down the staircase, said nothing, and then left, like clockwork. I was going to die down there, I knew. I did pray, I prayed to Dracula and God and Barlowe and every saint I could list off the top of my head from my religious education. Make me well, or make them think that I am well, or... something. Ha! Where is my angel now? I laughed, bitterly.

Then, one day, the Ear came down with no food or drink. He stared at me for a long while. Then he spoke to me for the first time: “Do you repent?”

“You speak!” I gasped. “I speak when it is needed. Again I ask: do you repent?” His eyes narrowed. “I do, I swear I do!” I begged, unafraid to grovel. “I am so sorry to have been led so astray. But I cannot turn against what I know is true. But I am healed now, I swear! Please, let me leave...”

He looked me up and down again, then turned around and left. Whatever test he had for me, I had failed. I was going to die. But my light was still there, and still I prayed, still for hours and hours, waiting for death or salvation. If there were a difference. You brought me an angel before, God... Just one more time. I don’t know what I must do, but I will do it.

And then she appeared, echoing down the stairs, a red candle and a steaming bowl of porridge in her shaking hands. “Eulalia!” My voice cracked with emotion as I looked up from the dusty floor. It was enough to forgive her for what had happened, I was so relieved by her presence. “Why? Why did you tell them about that fit I had? Of course I forgive you, but...”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I just wanted to get your mind right again... I thought I was helping... I didn’t realize they’d take you to the sick-room. I never meant for any of this... I’m sorry,” she sniffled and helped me from the floor where I lay, and drew me into her arms. “You should... You should eat. I brought this food just for you. They didn’t want me to get any for you, so you really— You really need to eat.”

“Oh, Eulalia...” I took the little bowl in my hands. In the dim candlelight, she looked so perfect, so beautiful. “Can’t you tell them I am cured now? That I may emerge? Or perhaps we really could even run away together. You said Aljiba was nice, didn’t you? Or maybe further still... We could re-found Ecclesia. We could make the Order anew, just you and me. I could teach you so much about the occult sciences, and no one would hurt us.”

She looked away. “Yes. Yes, I’ll tell them. Then we’ll leave together.” A shuddering breath. “Please eat, first. You— You look like you need to eat.”

I almost took a bite.

I hesitated.

I knew what was happening. The bowl smashed to the floor and shattered, and I backed away from her comforting touch, as much as I needed it. “What’s wrong with you? You’re going to poison me! The aconite? It's really too obvious!”

“Lucila—” she moved forward to try and comfort me, but on instinct I grabbed the dagger from within my robes and plunged it into her stomach, in a moment of pure hot fury, the light as rabid inside me as it was during any spell. She staggered back as I wrenched the blade out of her gut. The wound was deep, and she howled and yelped in pain. It felt good, in a horrible sort of way, before the anguish reclaimed me.

“God, why can I always tell? Eulie... Why can I always tell, when you’re lying? Wouldn’t it be easier if I couldn’t?” I muttered, in shock at the blood on my hands as she whimpered. “Why this? Why kill me, like one of your rabbits? Is this your idea of mercy?”

“It’s what I... What I have to do. Because you can’t get well... Like my father. Like the first Eye. So I’m using my gift. That’s the only way the world can be right. The Heart told me... Oh, Lucila, I don’t want this. I don’t want this at all.” She clutched at her stab-wound, eyes hazy. “You're making it so hard for me, and for what? Oh God...”

I didn’t know how to respond. I hated her more than anything. What hope she had given me through these past moons, and for nothing! “I wanted to trust you,” I said, hopelessly.

She sniffled, not meeting my gaze, for a breathless moment, jumpy as a hare. I could feel my heart drumming. Please tell me I still can.

Then, she glared up at me, some venom inside her finally showing its forked tongue. “Then don’t. Oh, yes, I’ll let you go... Get out of here, and never show your face here again. I can’t believe I ever thought that we were— that we were friends,” she spat. “The door is open. I’ll tell them you put up a fight and I buried you in the woods... God. You could have died peacefully! Now you live on in sorrow. Isn’t that terrible? You must hate me as much as I hate you.” She grinned joylessly. “This will be the worst punishment of all. Knowing how much I hate you!”

She was lying again.

“So be it,” I spat. “I will depart. Nothing remains here for me.”

I left without another word, and knew my next destination intuitively. No, I should never have wavered. These people had hurt me, confused me, tormented me. Not like Barlowe, who raised me so kindly, gave me my light, and made me who I was. His little storyteller. Yes, I was eternally loyal, but this was my strength, not my sorrow. I still had him to carry me onwards, no matter what. It was like a hazy white veil had been lifted from my eyes, one that the Remains had placed there to tempt me from what was righteous. They knew little of God’s plan, and what was necessary. I would find what I must do, what He required of me.

Oh, they did cure me, though perhaps not how they meant to.

I was going to Jova, my mind clearer than ever, with no delirium and only the clarity of fury.

“This is the evil in everything that happens under the sun: The same destiny overtakes all.”

Jova was indeed not far. I did not linger in the Veros Woods long enough to hear what happened to the Remains in my absence. They could all die, for all I cared. No, I had renewed purpose.

My intent was not to join the New Church, at least not at first. After everything that had occurred with the Remains, I wanted some time to myself for a spell. No, I needed introspection. No one but myself, but with the eventual promise of the like-minded. I could not say if I still believed in the prophecy, but wasn't it safer, this way, not at the beck and call of anyone but myself? No one could betray me if I loved no one. So to the townsfolk I was Mary Forsythe, the local recluse— my new pseudonym. If I encountered the New Church, I would assess my prospects, and come to a decision then.

Yes, I would become a little hermit again, studying on my own, and learning to live on the outside again. I would trust no-one, unless they gave me reason to. And so I fell into another year of isolation and reading any occult tome I could get my hands on, and writing up my further thoughts on theology, archiving more glyphs, and writing as manically as I had when I wrote Futility. I stayed in another inn, a room I had bought with the last of the money that had been lent to me by Peter so long ago.

Apart from Sundays. There was a little wooden church down the road, a rather unnoteworthy one. If there were other sects gathering in Jova, I had not seen them. But I did take immense joy in this worship, as I did so love the Lord. It was almost a comfort after the delirious fervor of the Remains. But I did not speak, only listened. I barely spoke to anyone those days.

It was another of those silent Sundays when someone finally bothered to approach me. I was quietly reading through my psalms when I felt a little tug on my sleeve. “Miss? Your hair is really pretty,” muttered a young girl, bundled up in proper wear for the January weather. “Don't bother strangers, Natalia,” her mother pulled her back and nudged her to leave. “It's alright,” I smiled. “I don't bite. Thank you... Natalia, is it?” the little girl grinned and nodded. “Do you wanna see my bird? I got a toy bird for Christmas,” she fished through her mother's bag to show me a painted wooden robin.

“Don't bother her,” the mother gripped her wrist again. “We really must go. I’m sorry about her, really—” I was sympathetic to the young child, joy dismissed uncaringly. “I’m Mary. I think your Christmas-bird is very nice. Does he have a name?” I knelt down to speak to the young girl. “She’s a she,” Natalia huffed as if it were obvious. “And not yet. Maybe I’ll name her Mary, because you're so nice,” the child grinned, as her mother hurried her along.

I was sure if I was a mother, I’d have been much nicer to my daughter than some people tended to be. How could people be so dismissive of the life they had helped create? No, if I had a child, I would guide her as Barlowe had guided me, and never treat her like a burden.

Not that that would ever happen; it was a childish daydream. I had made my vows, after all, and I intended to upkeep them.

“This town is full of little rascals, isn't it?” I jumped; the man from the pew behind me had spoken, taking me by surprise and breaking the little hush of the tiny church. He was a slender man, and had strikingly beautiful eyes, a sort of yellow-green that reminded me of sun through leaves, and he sat between two silent women in matching white dresses; if they knew each other there was no indication. “I haven't seen you here before, sir,” I said, regaining my composure. “I’ve always been here,” he shrugged, then coughed, a little awkwardly. Still, there was a gentle glint of humor in his eyes, and his hair was slicked-back platinum blonde in chin-length waves; and he was strikingly handsome, with high cheekbones, fair features and a straight jawline. He looked to be a little older than me, though only by a few years or so, and tall and lanky. If I had to guess, I would surmise he was of French descent, from the way he spoke.

“My apologies, Mister...?” I brushed some hair behind my ear, suddenly very self-conscious. “Just Raoul is fine,” he smiled. “And you?”

“Mary,” I said, and his eyes glanced at me inquisitively. “Like I said, I haven't seen you in Jova before.”

“I come and go,” he said, evasively. “Is not everyone welcome in a church?”

“Everyone is,” I replied. “I just found you so... so...”

“Striking?” Raoul raised an eyebrow.

“I’d say so,” I got a little bold there, perhaps in spite of myself. I was not used to this sort of shallow infatuation. When I fell in love, it was a deep, hidden, shaking thing. Things had only gone on so long and so well with Eulalia because there had been some unspoken agreement to let that tension be, but with Raoul? I wasn't sure. There was something dangerous about him, that could draw out that volatile thing inside me. I would keep him at a safe distance, I decided. My vows were to Ecclesia alone, after all; I could not take a lover. And what of the prophecy?

If he betrayed me too, it would destroy the little hope I had left.

“Well, you know where to find me on Sundays, then. Perhaps we'll meet again. May the Lord guide you, Mary,” he said, and with that he disappeared. I knew at once that he was my wolf-king if ever there was one.

That night, I dreamed of love and little midsummers I could not touch.

He was absent another week. Then I saw him again in the town square, ducking into a little hidden bookshop, notorious for a hidden shopfront of magical wares (I would know, as I occasionally patronized it). Oh, this handsome stranger, Raoul, clearly was not merely passing through. I had known as soon as I had met him. And so I decided to do a little sneaking, and followed him inside, watching, watching.

“Ehehehe, good to see you, Valentin,” the old librarian muttered. This told me at once that Raoul was definitely not a mere traveler. He coughed several times, loudly, something between a hoot and a ragged bark. “Ugh, this dust will be the death of me. Don't you ever clean up? No matter. You said you found it for me? In your letter,” He whispered, drumming his leather-gloved fingers on the desk. “Yes, yes. I have procured your father's chalice once more,” the man grumbled, and handed some small, glimmering cup I could not clearly see to Raoul, and began fishing through the dusty bookshelves for the books the mysterious stranger had requested. I took this as my opportunity to duck out of the shop. He emerged shortly after, arms full of Agrippa, Dee, and texts on Gnosticism. Whatever the chalice was, he had hidden it by the time he left. But if he had been hiding his occult inclinations, he was not doing a particularly good job.

“Oh, fancy seeing you here, sir,” I said, when he noticed me.

“Oh, Mary! So we meet again.” I did not care to make small talk, so I cut to the topic immediately: “So, you have an interest in the occult?” He faltered a little bit. “Hmm... How observant. Well, yes, I do find these old ramblings and heresies fascinating, nothing more,” he shrugged. “As do I,” I nodded, vigorously. “You could perhaps call me a theologian, in my spare time.”

“Really,” He smiled, assessing me. “You are a new arrival to Jova, yes? I was curious what brought you.”

“...It is a private matter,” I said, evasively. Perhaps I would tell him one day, as we clearly had some similarities, but whether Raoul was a scholar of Dracula I could not yet say. I had learned after Veros to be more secretive, and so I would not trust him with that information.

“Grieving? I am sorry,” he said, his voice a frosty purr. “In a sense,” I nodded. It was the truth, after all. Still I yearned for Barlowe’s fatherly warmth, but it had at least seemed to settle in, now, that he was gone. The ache was duller, but present, always present.

Perhaps I grieved Eulalia, too, in a sort of roundabout way. I grieved the space she had taken up and the absence she left behind, the poison in my throat. My love for Raoul was superficial fluff, but it did decently well enough to fill that void. But as we continued to meet, this shallow affliction deepened, yawning wider. God, but do I love a sharp, authoritative mind! The dim little bookshop became our meeting spot when the church could not allow for our secrets, and he even once took me to the nearby river to watch the sun set, and we talked for hours about the nature of the universe. He was a comfort-object to me, much in the same way the little dagger was, and an easy replacement for Eulalia’s friendship. He was someone to confide in, the only one who knew of my magical studies, though perhaps not the full breadth of them; I did quite enjoy showing off my glyphic knowledge. I became desperate for his attention in such a typically girlish way! It surprised me in its intensity. He called me a pilgrim, the way I traveled from place to place seeking enlightenment, and I was quite pleased with that.

Indeed, I was happy, very happy, with the little life I had in Jova. The innkeeper did not bother me, unlike Peter, and I was slowly emerging from my shell. With Raoul, I had a friend, at least, like Eulalia had been. And the locals eventually started recognizing me, and wishing me well. Perhaps I had found the place I would stay. It was a poor replacement for the Order, but Jova fascinated me. Far from the boring town Eulalia had painted it as, I was transfixed by the little joys in slow mundanity. And with Raoul, ever a mystery, even as we grew closer...

It was another such night, winter having given way to a warm and amicable spring, as we spoke of gods and angels, when I then breached the subject of Dracula. “...What do you make of Him, philosophically speaking? Some worship Dracula as a deity, because he is an immortal being.” I attempted to sound neutral, and noncommittal. I hoped that he would not hate me for my beliefs, if the truth came out. I already felt so wounded by the incident in Veros, and reliving it with the man I had these feelings for was a dreadful prospect.

“I think He is mortal, but no less of divine invention. That is to say, He is ‘higher than the human level’... At least, that is how I define divinity,” Raoul explained. “Mortal? But He lives forever,” I frowned. This was very strange and unknown to me, and he responded: “By dying and being birthed multiple times. Have you heard of reincarnation?”

“Certainly, but to suggest that the divine is mortal is a rather strange belief. I always regarded this as a sort of banishment being undone,” I argued. “He is ‘undead’, yes? Thus immortal, in that the state of death is transient and impermanent. He does not truly die. He remains.”

“That fire in your eyes... I like when I can tell you’re passionate about what you’re saying,” Raoul chuckled. “But is not birth as significant as death? There’s more than one way to sacrifice a virgin, you know. What I am saying is that He is a mortal with an immortal soul. He is born and he dies.”

“Everyone has an immortal soul. But I think I understand what you are implying,” I nodded; I wanted to agree with him, and for him to agree with me; I wanted, wanted, wanted. I was so typically fawning. “Perhaps ‘undead soul’ is more suitable,” he clarified. “A soul that defies the bounds of death, and birth.” What strange words! He sounded almost as if he were hurriedly correcting himself to contort his views into a shape I would accept. But of course I would accept him. I loved him, didn’t I?

Finally, I asked: “Are you a worshipper, sir?”

His eyes narrowed, fierce little splinters of topaz. “I am as much a worshipper as you are, dear.” And the conversation moved on. We said our usual goodbyes after he walked me back to the inn, but I knew at once what he had been implying, and my heart soared. He was as passionate as I was, most definitely, just as learned in the ways of the Dark Lord as I was. But what strange things he had told me! Dracula was not birthed, at least not in the conventional way. The Resurrection was simply too different in nature. But it intrigued me, and I spent that night eagerly thinking of what we would discuss further. This was dangerous, very dangerous for me, as my feelings were undeniable, and there was no barrier but my dwindling attachment to my vows. We were of the same kind, Raoul and I, and I hoped desperately that Barlowe would forgive me if I transgressed my vow of abstinence, whatever heaven his soul now dwelled within.

I knew, of course, that he was of the New Church. It made too much sense: his odd philosophy, his occult ties, and the way he passed through Jova regularly. I always got the sense that he was hiding something, and hoped needily that perhaps he would show it to me. And would joining him be so terrible, an incorrigible little voice in me spoke. You could have all you desire. You will toil for the Dark Lord once more, and you will once more have a home, one like Ecclesia. Not like the Remains. He understands you. Would it be so awful? Your vows are null and void, now. Ecclesia is gone. The prophecy meant nothing. He would forgive you; he would want you to be free. Right?

The light inside me burned. Yes, I would confront him, I would tell him that I recognized the truth and I would confess my deep feelings for him, and we would face this world arm in arm. I didn’t care about anything else. I would beg to join, and then things would be alright again, and I could stop missing Eulalia, and Ecclesia, as much as I did. He would fill the hole, and I would be okay again. This too was superficial.

Yes. The next time I saw him...

It would be another few weeks before this happened; he didn’t show up to church like he usually did, and I suspected he hadn’t really been that committed to the faith to begin with. But why go at all, then? How serendipitous that we had met on that January day at all, in that time where I dared not to tread far from the little inn apart from to worship. Perhaps he sought me out, I daydreamed. He came looking only for me. But his disappearance did perturb me. I prayed each night for his return.

The little girl Natalia came to visit me again, when I was sitting by the fountain in the town square. “Oh, hello there,” I said, quietly. My initial desire to be a pious little hermit was long forgotten, but I remembered her early kindness to me, before I had been caught up in my infatuation with Raoul.

“I brought you a lunch, Miss Mary. Mama told me not to, an’ to just get one for myself, but the nice man who used to go to church with us gave me a little extra money when I mentioned you,” she explained, handing me a skewer of sausage.

“Oh, Raoul?” I smiled, taking it from her. To think he had been thinking of me! Perhaps he was in Jova once more, and I would see him soon. I would wait near the bookshop as soon as I could, I vowed. “Yes, yes. Oh, I wonder why I stopped seeing you two in church so often,” Natalia fiddled with the little toy bird she always took with her.

“You know we grown-ups can be very busy sometimes,” I said, but something about that was off-putting to me. I still tried to go to church whenever I could, but it was true that my devotions had become infrequent. Raoul was so often inviting me somewhere or showing me some new text he had found. It was easy to forget. Had my faith wavered? No, as my attachment to him was so wrapped up  in the spiritual. But I supposed it mattered little; it was not a true church, as it did not teach the whole of God’s will. For what was God without His shadow, His judge? Raoul understood, I was sure of it, and really I was offering a greater devotion by continuing my work in secret. Still, I felt a gnawing guilt. I was learning to like my time in Jova; it was a much friendlier place than Veros. And here I was, about to leave the town! No, it was important to me. This was the only way to continue my toil. Is that not what Barlowe would have wanted? Toil is how we made ourselves worthy of His heaven. Toil would make my mind well again.

“Natalia, if I leave Jova, will you be alright? I know you always are happy to see me,” I said, chewing the little snack she had brought to me. “You wouldn’t leave, would you?” she gasped. “I travel all over the place, my life a story I cannot tell. I am sorry; I was not meant to stay forever,” I said, quietly. “Birds have to fly away when the seasons change, remember?” I felt a sort of lump in my throat. “I guess so,”  she shrugged. “I would be very sad, though. ...I’m gonna go look for nice looking rocks. See you later, Mary!” It was the last time we spoke, and once more I thought to myself about motherhood. Maybe Raoul and I would have a child— what a foolish little dream!

I saw him later that day, hanging around outside the inn near the church. He was looking for me, I knew in an instant. “Raoul, I must speak with you of important matters,” I stated. “We should go watch the river again. I want to see it with you before I tell you everything.”

“Mary? What is this about?”

“Nothing bad,” I assured him, taking his hand in mine. I had made my decision, and my heart fluttered. Yes. This was what I wanted, someone kind, the tourniquet to my bleeding heart, the patch over the undeniable hole, my little relief. My comfort-object.

At the end of the forested little road, we stopped on the bridge and watched the river play spritely games with the dwindling afternoon sunbeams. I would make my intentions clear: “Raoul, I know you are from the New Church. And I wish to join you.”

“Clever. Yes, very clever— you’ve figured me out, and passed the test I left for you... Lucila Fortner.” I gasped. “How do you know that name?!” He explained: “Word travelled fast from Veros after your exile; the New Church frequently walks among the laypeople, so we have eyes everywhere. I knew I had to find you, and then my provider reported your appearance in Jova. You, who aided in the Tenth Coming... I know that you, Lucila, are the piece we are missing, passionate, learned, and intelligent, and then fate brought us together serendipitously. So I have the feeling that you are the woman I have sought for the Eleventh... But there is but one thing I must know: are you a virgin?”

“I don't see how that's relevant,” I huffed, embarrassed, heat rising to my cheeks. “I took a vow of celibacy, if that's what you mean.”

“My father founded the New Church of Our Lord of Dark Divinity on the basic belief that birth is as spiritually significant as death. This is how we shall bring the Dark Lord to His new life, so we may all be freed from this world— a more loving, free and constructive ideal for Dracula worship.” He looked out at the setting sun and closed his eyes, the spring breeze toying with his hair so beautifully, like flaxen gold. “That is to say, the act of conception is of spiritual significance. I am seeking a way to birth him into this world, so he may resume his vengeance against evil.”

“And we alone will survive,” I smiled, thinking back to the promises Barlowe gave me. “And the world will be ours.”

“No... I believe He will kill everyone, freeing us from the false world of suffering. For could Heaven ever exist on earth?” Raoul sighed. “No, God could perhaps be called a Demiurge, and Dracula the liberator of our Souls. A rejection of the immortal and eternal! That is why he must be reborne as a mortal.” He then coughed again, that distinctive baying hound. “Oh, damn this evening air. Please, forgive me for disagreeing. I am simply... firm in my belief.”

“When I was told the New Church had strange ways, I did not realize how radical they were. But I suppose I see a logic in what you say, even if my faith in God’s design is much stronger than yours. And He shall someday be borne into a mortal body, if I understand this right... Like Christ.” I leaned forward over the bridge-railing, my gaze fixed on the shadowy part of the water. I wanted to agree with him immediately; I needed his acceptance. I needed this companionship, and I could not squander it over just this. “All my life, I was trained to aid in His resurrection, and all I want is to see that come to pass. I want... purpose. I hope you can forgive me for my brief disagreement. I want purpose.”

I want you, I wanted to say, but knowing now that he led the New Church complicated things; it had been so much easier when I was with an equal, like Eulalia. But he had a power over me from the start, didn't he? He was speaking madness to me, but it was madness that made me love him all the more, a deep thinker in all the ways I loved. And by contrast, I felt very, very small. It made my wanting so painful, like it was too big for me to hold.

“We are not so odd. We believe in love and freedom. I think anyone could agree that those are good things. We simply believe in a special happiness after death,” he shrugged. “Dracula is simply the great death-bringer; perhaps you could say we worship him as Death’s emissary... Regardless, your work with Ecclesia would be a boon to our aims, even if the ritual fails again.” Again...? There was that familiar envy; I had a hunch what his rituals involved. I had to tell him what I felt for him, my comfort and respite. He had to be mine.

“I find this all agreeable, and I do indeed intend to work with you for this goal. But.. There is another reason that I wish to join with you,” I began, stammering, and my hand crept close to his. “It is embarrassing, but I have fallen into a dreadful infatuation. I don't know if I should follow it, but I know I want to be with you.”

“Then join me,” he whispered. “And we'll bring the Dark Lord to this earth together. This is what I have always wanted.”

“Then so be it,” I took his hand, and though I loathe to say it, we kissed, deeply. One part of me was overjoyed, and the other part of me was crushingly disappointed. No, he was my first kiss, and it was wonderful, and I wanted to kill the part of me that was consumed in guilt for this first transgression.

“You will need to prove yourself, before I grant you ascension. It is s rule my father established,” he said. “I am sure you understand; a full induction takes time, and a sign, some omen from Dracula or great feat. Most are not inducted, but we still readily provide housing to those who need it and join with us.” We were very, very close, there on the little bridge in the evening light. “I am a patient woman,” I said, my thumb brushing against his neck. “Yes, then you will be mine,” he chuckled. “Lucila, my lady, I believe this is the start of something beautiful. The universe has conspired to bring our souls together... on a higher level. Yes, we were meant to be.”

We walked together, and I squeezed his hand a little tighter. We made haste to the Grand Antichapel of the New Church in the darkening moonless black, as it wasn’t far, located about equidistant between Jova and Aldra. It was an old, crumbling wooden manor, once called Brahm Manor after the noble family that lived there, but it had since been repurposed, and generally referred to simply as the Antichapel. It was surrounded by small houses. Perhaps it could be called a little commune of sorts. Most were inside their houses, but in front of the Antichapel I saw a woman in a white dress with a red sash reading a storybook to a small gaggle of very young children; I recognized the same white dresses that the women who were with him at church were wearing. I smiled to myself. Yes, I was glad to be leaving Jova. 

All I wanted was here, in this glorious, beautiful secluded place. He explained to me as he showed me the Antichapel that what he had told me was considered ‘higher knowledge’, one of the great mysteries of the New Church, and I felt quite special for having been told immediately of his plans for humanity. I found myself agreeing, more and more, with his vision of death. Had I not attempted to prostrate myself for Dracula to kill me, after He was revived? Had I not wanted to give my life through Dominus? I had wanted it more than anything, but it felt so hazy and distant now. Once more, the guilt of betraying my vows clawed at me. But if I was to bring Dracula back to life, so be it. I would swallow this terrible guilt away. We had all been trained for a redemptive death.

No. This was meant to be.

“Where will I be living? The little cottages are beautiful,” I said, mildly. He explained: “We are in love, aren’t we? You shall live in the Antichapel with me, like all my lovers do.” I smiled winsomely. “That will be wonderful, sir... Should I refer to you by a specific title, now that we are leader and apostle?” I asked, tilting my head.

“No. I consider my church to be equals in joy and love. I am simply Raoul. They already know to respect me,” he smiled. “And if they do not, then they are glad of the freedom I give to them as our contract is voided. Yes, our contract of love.”

This was somewhat relieving to me. I had an avenue to leave, if needed. Not like the Remains, who had trapped me within their Body. But I suspected I would not need to. I told him I had no intentions of leaving, and he immediately embraced me with a kiss.

“Oh, your loyalty drives me mad. You must be so happy, finally in a place that deserves it,” he sighed. “Ecclesia deserved it,” I said, perhaps a little too firmly, pushing him away slightly.

“I mean, Jova, and Veros... But I sense there is more you were running from, yes?” He tilted his head.

I swallowed. I had not spoken about my time in the Remains to anyone before; the memory was still so painful in the few months I had to bury it. But if anyone should know, it should be my lover. And so I recounted what happened, how they had tried to convince me of Barlowe’s evil, though I left out the brief love I had shared with Eulalia. Something about that felt embarrassing and far too personal to tell to Raoul. As I described the time I spent in the sick-room to him, I watched a small tear fall from his eye.

“Look at that, Lucila... I have shed a tear just for you,” he stroked my hair softly. “Oh, my poor, lovely Lucila. I am glad you are here now.” I had never felt so safe and comforted, except for when I was with Barlowe. I vowed my utmost loyalty to him and to him alone, eager to drink in all of this comfort and sweetness.

“Do not fret, my dear, you are home... Yes... I suppose it is time to give you your robes, and show you to your room. You have decided to become a church-member, haven’t you?” he said, finally. “Of course I have. Is there an induction ceremony?” I replied. “Just for joining? No, not really,” he shrugged. “I have accepted you among us. Isn’t that enough?” I smiled. “Of course, my Raoul.”

I was escorted up into the highest floor of the Antichapel, where my bed-chambers were to be, a large room with a large arched window and a few different beds, and waiting there at a mirrored vanity was another woman, a beautiful woman a little older than me; she had long dark hair, tan skin and a fuller figure, and rich brown eyes; she was with child, and wearing one of those white dresses typical of the New Church. I felt the familiar throb of magic on the air around her; perhaps in another life she could have been a glyph-wielder.  “Hello,” she said, amicably. “I am Gertrude. You must be Lucila. Raoul has told me much about you.” I shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure. And congratulations. You are with child, yes?” It truly did fascinate me, as I had only really heard mention of pregnancy in books, never in the Order. She nodded.

Raoul was then called to his study by Hugo, one of his inner circle, for some occult business, and though I yearned to go with him he simply wished me well and told me Gertrude would tell me all I needed to know. After Raoul left, I was swiftly shown my church-robes, those modest white cotton dresses with a bright red sash around my midsection. I thought I looked rather elegant in mine, but I was curious, as Gertrude and some of the other women did not wear that same red sash.

“It simply means you haven’t received the Great Gift, yet. Raoul will explain it to you when it is time,” she said, softly. “Now, we should come to bed. It is rather late.”

“Ah, are these your quarters?” I asked, looking around. I was certain that Raoul had said they were my bed-chambers, but perhaps I was wrong. “I should go—”

“No. All of Raoul’s lovers share the Antichapel quarters,” Gertrude twiddled her thumbs and looked away shyly. “But that’s only us two, right now. I really do hope we can get along well.”

“Oh,” I said, quietly, as I changed into my robes. I wanted to be his one and only, and learning this had once again unsettled me, and made me all the more desperate for his care and attention. Had he not wept for me, and given me the home I so desired? And I was not sure if I felt any sort of contempt towards Gertrude, either, as she had been kind enough to me. But I did feel a bit deceived. “I think I will go visit him in the study before I go to sleep. I will be able to find my way back, don’t worry.”

I knew at once that the child she carried was his, and I needed reassurance that I was first in his heart. He was working by candle-light, all ink and parchment, with the little chalice I had seen him purchase at the center of his little desk. He was drawing some kind of summoning circle, a more crude affair than Ecclesia’s glyph-language.

“Lucila! Are things well with you and Gertrude? Are the lodgings to your liking? I really can make any changes you wish for—” He insisted.

I held up a hand to quiet him. “That baby she’s having...”

“Is mine, yes. But please do not make hasty judgment! I am a holy-man, but recall how I said that there is ‘more than one way to sacrifice a virgin’... I am convinced that this is the way: to return Dracula  to a pure, mortal body so he may bring us rapture, unbound by his ‘undeath’. A virgin birth, like Christ... Was He not given mortal flesh, borne to a human mother? This is what I’ve been doing. Those who agree to it attempt to conceive a child at a full-moon ritual, and once it is borne we determine if the child is the ‘Malus’, Dracula’s mortal vessel,” he explained. “I think it is beautiful. We conduct our affairs and do our worship without violence or pain. We leave Death to His authority unless it is absolutely necessary.”

I was split at once; I did not know if I found this religious concept blasphemous or wonderful, but it was thrilling all the same, and I told him, with bemusement, that he was a mad genius of sorts. There was part of me that was delighted in knowing that I may one day conduct such a joyous consummation with him, and perhaps even raise a son or daughter. But I did not want to be one of many, and I was desperate to be the only one in his heart. And so I asked, “Do you love her? Gertrude?”

“Not like I love you,” he said, quietly. “We agreed to be lovers for this aim, but there is nothing more. I suspect the child will not be Malus, and we will conclude our tryst afterwards. You, though...”

So I asked, “How do you determine whether the child is suitable?”, and he replied,  “Three things: it must be borne on a day of spiritual significance, a holy-day. It must be conceived of a virgin, during the ritual. And it must be attuned to dark magic, though that is not so easy to tell—”

“I can tell,” I said, quietly. “I was brought up reading magic-languages. I can always tell. I can tell you have very little mana within you, for example. It is like a scent on the air,” I explained. “I will determine for you, if it is needed. And I’ll draft you a better sigil if you wish.” Raoul faltered for a moment, glancing over at the circle he had drawn. “That would... That would be wonderful, Lucila.” He clasped my hands, his gaze growing warmer. “See what I mean? We needed you. I needed you. Your education...”

“I know,” I smiled, feeling the envy ebb away. “My Master was the best, truly...”

“Yes, if anyone can be the New Madonna, it is you. If you earn the right,” he kissed me possessively, and it was a great comfort to me. I had never received such affections from anyone, so every moment was delightfully alien to me. Consummation was yet more unknown to me, and somewhat terrifying, as I knew little of what it involved; it was an uncharted sea of desire. Yes, I would be his holy Mary! I was certain I must prove my worthiness to him. Rather than retire to the bed-chambers with Gertrude, as much as I liked her, I pleaded to stay with Raoul; he accepted my offer, and I fell asleep in his arms, finally safe in my little eternal summer. From him, I felt my light flowing back inside me, warm and soft, and I knew then I was right to walk this path, and to be so loved.

The next several months were spent practicing this new faith, writing (including a rewrite of Futility which proved difficult and went uncompleted), and roving our little corner of the countryside. I often felt like I was forcing myself to believe in what he believed, but is not will a key part of faith? Regardless, it was all very romantic; I was pleased to note that despite the swiftly coming arrival of the child he sired, Raoul poured all his attention onto me, and nearly every moment we spent together, in the study, in the Antichapel, in places all our own. We were a perfectly lovely pair, I dressed in white and he in black, as all the women and men of the New Church did, and I felt proud to be seen with him, even as I was always so anxious for his approval. He had not yet said if I was to be his next ritual-bride, and I prayed and wished for it to be so every night.

I make it sound as if I did not get on with Gertrude, but she was a fine enough room-mate and a decent friend. She wasn't really an academic, really, but her poetic leanings did intrigue me. Our similarities were not so sparse; we both dreamed of writing books someday, and we spoke a lot about the prospects of motherhood, as neither of us had experience with it, and where I had no mother to speak of, hers had been rather cruel. We stayed up late and talked and talked, very often, and I shared my writings and knowledge with her whenever I could. I even taught her a spell or two, though she never quite got proficient.

Her child was born in the warm breath of late summer, and I was quite disgusted by the whole process, as we had all been called to watch the church-doctor perform his duty to the mother and child. She had lost a lot of blood, and the birth was somewhat complicated, but eventually, by some miracle, the child emerged and was placed in her arms. Her eyes were wide, scarcely believing the child was hers. I was encouraged to seek for dark-magics within the child; I confirmed that I felt nothing; Raoul seemed to expect this outcome. Raoul named the child Martin, and Gertrude left the Antichapel to sleep in her own commune-house alongside another family after that— another failure, he told me, as if it were just nothing.

Yes, I was horrified by the agony of birth, but I could not let this dissuade me; I was in love, and love means having a family. It was my duty to Raoul, wasn't it? The resurrection of the Dark Lord was of utmost importance to us both.

I missed Gertrude terribly, when she left. We had been good friends, in the short time we had spent together. Something about being alone in that upper room with Raoul made me nervous, now, as if I had to constantly be my best and most appealing self. There was nothing more terrifying to me than the prospect of him eventually growing bored of me; my loyalty to the New Church was entirely tied to my love of him, I was very aware of this. But he said I was different.

I ran into Gertrude again about a month later, on the Antichapel grounds after Sunday service, and I was glad of the opportunity to speak with her, as I was so busy preparing myself for full induction, waiting for my sign, and she was so busy caring for her child. She was nursing Martin, sitting on a little stump outside her commune-house, and I happily sat beside her.

“Hello, little Martin. I hope you aren't being too much of a handful for Miss Gertrude?” I asked, cooing at the little baby, and he babbled in response. I at once had a soft spot for the creature, which reassured me somewhat. Yes, this was meant to be; I would have a child all my own, my own Malus. I would be indispensable.

“He’s done nursing, if you’d like to hold him. Make sure to support his head,” Gertrude said, softly. Despite the warmth and maternal affection, I could see a profound sadness in her eyes.

“...Are you upset that he didn't become the Malus?” I asked, clutching the infant close to my chest. His tiny hands clutched at my white robe, eyes wide with wonderment.

She shook her head. “I don't care about that— well, I do, but... I feel disposed of. I was special, and loved, for a time, but now he's... sent me away, and I still feel so... new. It's a terrible feeling. But I shouldn't speak ill of Raoul. I apologize.”

“Well, that was the contract, wasn't it? That you joined with him in order to bring the Malus to the world, and nothing more,” I frowned.

She laughed, harsh and humourless. “Oh, is that what he told you, too? No, I truly loved him, as much as you did. But I knew it was hopeless once he found you. I am sorry, Lucila. But it is just his way. You are the seventh.”

“Oh...” This was a sobering thing to learn and it upset me greatly; once more I was to be betrayed. But he had said such lovely, sweet and kind things to me, and told me I was his one and only. Surely... No. I would make myself undeniable to him. I would bear the Malus! I was so certain that I was unlike any other girl he had loved. I would change his way; I would make him mine.

“I only joined because of him. I mean, I do believe in our Dark Lord and always have, but... I don't know. Once Martin is weaned, Jacques says he's willing to take him in. I think I will leave. I’m not a real mother. I don't think I should be,” she swallowed. “I wasn't ready for any of this.”

The idea of abandoning the child disgusted me, but he would be in good hands; Jacques had a good head on his shoulders and little Martin would be happy growing with the other children. But I was still rather upset by this; neither I nor Martin would ever see her again!

“Don't you love him?” I asked.

“What? Of course I do. But sometimes it's better to sacrifice... He can't travel at this age, and I'm just not prepared to care for him. I want him to grow up happier, but I am just not meant to be here. He is, and it's better for him this way,” she explained. “I sometimes wonder if I should have brought him into the world at all. I hope Raoul won't be upset.”

“Oh, he won't! He told me, when I joined, that if anyone wishes to leave, he grants them freedom,” I smiled. “Then that is a relief,” she nodded. “I’ll probably move back to Aldra. Maybe you could... come visit, sometime. And bring Martin to see me, when he's older.”

“I promise,”  I said. But I still felt so hollow at this new knowledge. I would go speak to Raoul of this; I would make sure he could not dispose of me. I yearned only for his praise, and I fawned after him desperately. I found him waiting in his bed-chambers (now shared between us two, as Gertrude had left. My old quarters now were uninhabited) finally having returned from an under-cover trip to the neighboring town of Oldon.

“I’m glad to see you again; I missed you terribly. I heard you’ve been speaking with Gertrude, still? It gladdens me to see you be such good friends,” he beckoned me to join him on the bed.

“She said I was the seventh,” I said, numbly.

“This is true, yes, but you and I are different; we are in love—” he began. “She said she was in love with you, too,” I muttered. “Please, just reassure me I am not merely one of many girls, another toy to discard when I do not succeed.”

“But you are different! My strikingly beautiful and intelligent young love. I fell for you at first sight. My love for you always comes first; our duty to the New Church is merely secondary. Why don't you believe me? You wound me so!” He shivered. “You must feel so hurt, to believe that you are not so loved. What sorrow this brings me...”

He drew me in for a kiss, and I shuddered with delight and relief; he could not control his passion for me. Still, I could not kill the feeling inside me, that I was terrified of being punished for such brazen displays of affection and lust; everything was alien and grew all the more strange. But I felt at ease, there, in his arms, and he gripped at my sleeves hungrily. I had never seen him kiss Gertrude like this.

“No, we must wait for the ritual...” he muttered to himself. “I can't have another failure.”

“I will not let you down,” I promised him. “But promise me, you will not seek out more girls until you are certain whether I have borne Malus or not.”

“I promise,” he said, with a strange, bitter air.

I continued writing through the autumn and winter, and aided Gertrude in slowly weaning the child. I could still scarcely believe she had the will to abandon him, though I supposed I must accept it; even as the time passed her will had remained the same. Her place was simply not here. Raoul held up his end of the bargain, but I could tell he was growing impatient. The way of things was that his brides must prove their worthiness through some great feat for the New Church, taken as a sign from Dracula of his impending return. Having holed up in the Anti-Chapel all this time, ever the hermit, I had not accomplished such a feat. I was somewhat glad of it, though, as I still felt unready for such a responsibility, and preferred to wait for Gertrude's departure.

The time would come, though, in late spring. Gertrude was leaving, and I gave her my farewells; I did not speak of this to Raoul, as I assumed she would confide in him herself. However, her disappearance was reported that next morning, and he reacted in horror and shock.

“We have to find her,” he said, quietly, to a small assembled search party he had gathered. Jacques and I looked back and forth at each other, with an unspoken agreement not to mention that we knew she was to leave. “No one is to leave without me granting them their rites of freedom, first. She should never have gone alone in the woods. Where is the child?”

“With me, Raoul,” Jacques said. “She left him to me and Bianca, but did not explain why.” It was a decent little lie, I supposed.

“No doubt she’s headed back to Aldra,” said Alister, who often tended to the study and its books, and was part of what Raoul called his inner circle. “That is where she came from, yes?”

“We’ll head out posthaste. Jacques, Alister and Lucila. You shall be on the search patrol with me. Lucila, your magical abilities will do well to protect us, if the need arises,” he assured me, and I gripped my tome of glyphs where it lay on the desk in the meeting-room. “I will find her,” I vowed.

We left for the woods, and Raoul headed up the rear, stating that he had breathing issues at times, and would need to go slower than the others; as such, Alister led the search. I, however... Gertrude left no trail, but the pulse of magic that wormed its way through my head led me off the well-trod forest path. “She’s gone deeper,” I muttered, tasting the air. “Deeper, deeper. I will find her.”

“Lucila, where are you going?” Jacques frowned. “I am following a trail. You all, keep to the path just in case, but I will let you know if I find anything,” I nodded to him, letting my eyes unfocus. Just me, this feeling, and the distant calling of birds. Between the firs and beeches, the little thrumming on the air led me down to a steep ravine. I was certain this was where she must be, as the magic I detected was strong and undeniable to me, and I carefully made my way down the tumble of rocks to the center. Yes, there was the scent of magic— and the scent of blood! My senses rebelled in terror. Was she dead? Surely not. I begged God for her to have not died so foolishly. I whirled around, and there I saw Gertrude, collapsed on the ground and bleeding, mourned by a procession of ferns.

“Lucila... You’ve come to rescue me...” She wheezed, blood dripping down her forehead. She must have fallen, and my heart ached. “Are the others coming? I need to get to Aldra. I fell when I was running away. I can’t feel my legs. Are the others coming, Lucila? I need to get to Aldra...”

“I’ll call them over... You should have told us. Raoul would have sent someone to help you cross the forest,” I fretted. “Raoul, Jacques and Alister were with me. How could you be so foolish?”

“Don’t cry, Lucila... Yes, Raoul will help me. You’re right. He said he would grant me freedom,” she winced, once more trying to struggle to her feet. I skimmed through my tome in search of Luminatio, and cast the twin comets into the sky, a sort of flare to lead the search-party to us. Then I turned the pages to my healing-spell.

“This is a glyph called Refectio,” I said. “It’s weak, but it should keep you alive. I think you’ll be able to cast it if you focus.” She placed her hands on the sigil and hoped. Nothing happened. I cursed myself for not instructing her better, but thankfully, it was then that the party arrived.

“Lucila! Are you down there?” It was Raoul. I was flooded with relief at the sight of him. “Yes! Gertrude is with me... She is horribly wounded.”

“Allow me,” he said, as he quickly descended down the tumble of rocks. “She needs her rites of freedom. I will take her.” He held his hand out to me, pulling me from Gertrude’s side. Her chest heaved for shallow breath, and I knew at once she was dying.

“And you’ll help her?” I shuddered. 

“As I always intended to,” he nodded, his amber eyes brimming with some unreadable cold feeling. “Now go— Jacques and Alister will need you to guide them home. You have done... a very good thing, today. Yes. You helped her. She is going to be free.”

I nodded. “And you’ll return by nightfall?”

“I’ll see,” he said. “But there shall be a celebration waiting for you when I do, my dearest Lucila. I am... proud of you.” I smiled.

I trusted him completely. And so, I left the two of them in that broken rift in the earth, and led the party back to the Antichapel, made so hollow without her there. We all knew what was to happen, but I smiled regardless. It wouldn’t do, to dwell on Gertrude. She was free now.

In the woods, somewhere, a poor, ensnared rabbit squealed its last.

I willed myself to believe that he would not kill her. No, she was escorted to Aldra, I told myself. Raoul gave her freedom.

I had become astonishingly good at making myself ignorant.

“And I saw something else under the sun: In the place of judgment—wickedness was there, in the place of justice—wickedness was there.”

“Yes! In aiding Gertrude to attain freedom with those strange magics of yours, you have earned your place, here, as my ritual-bride, and the ritual shall take place upon the summer solstice. Then we shall conceive the child,” Raoul announced. I bowed, and allowed him to place a crown of flowers onto my head. “Lucila shall be our virgin Madonna, and shall perhaps birth our Malus. Perhaps, perhaps. But only time will tell.”

The congregation in the Antichapel clapped politely; the entirety of the New Church of Our Lord of Dark Divinity had crammed into the wooden sanctuary. I was hyper-aware that this must have been the seventh time they had pinned their hopes on a throw-away girl; I prayed I would not be so disposable to him, my dearest love. As the induction concluded, we all drank and made merry.

“The summer solstice... That is only in a few days time. What serendipitous timing,” I said. My memories of the days leading up to Ecclesia’s great ritual were still fresh and kicking in my mind, but I put them aside. It was different; I was his bearer. Not Shanoa or any mere traitor. My loyalty was all I had!

“Yes. I grew so impatient for your worthiness, but... This was fate, my darling,” Raoul said, lips dancing upon mine. “This was fate.”

I alone would save this world from evil.

The days passed quickly, and I was by now quite accustomed to the feeling of Raoul’s skin against my own as we slept in each others’ arms each night. I was familiar with the anatomical aspect of the upcoming rite, but the intimacy still thrilled and frightened me. But Raoul was always quick to tell me that it was the way of all people, to love, and that reassured me.

Still, on the night of the solstice, I went to bed silent and nervous; I was to be woken at midnight to begin the rite. As I slept fitfully, I fell into a familiar dark dream. I was writing, again, cast in multicolored sunbeams under a large stained glass window. My quill kept running out of ink; I scowled. It wasn’t coming out right; I misspelled another word. What the hell was I writing, anyway?

“For whom else will remember Barlowe, my Teacher, my Father, my Master, the bringer of my light? Who else will remember my quiet, insignificant life as scribe and witness to a great and wonderful ascension? I weep at the thought of it. He must live on through my work. Thusly, I write.”

The words that opened ‘Futility’. Barlowe leaned over my shoulder as I wrote, and I felt a shiver of twin relief and terror. He was alive. Here, and with me! I had to show him my work, had to share all that I had accomplished in the days since his passing. This was no mere dream, but a vision!

“Master,” I smiled. “I wrote it for you.”

“You have written it incorrectly,” he shook his head. “I want you to try again.” I ripped out the old page, and crumpled it up, smiling. “Yes, sir.” I rewrote those opening paragraphs two times, four times, ten, each time not quite right.

“You need to try again. None of these words are right. Do you even remember? Stupid girl...” he frowned. Again and again he berated me, and the ink ran everywhere with my tears.

“I’m sorry, Master. I don’t know how to write properly. I don’t know how to do anything, now that you’re gone. I need you... I need you to guide me once more. Why have you been silent, all this time? I need you,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. “You cared about me. You made me who I am. Have I not done all this, only for you?”

“And you are nothing, without me. Prove that you still deserve it. Write it properly. That is your purpose, my Witness. That alone is the reason you still live,” his hand on my shoulder tightened, and I winced in pain.

“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “I won’t disappoint you.” But as I wrote, my hands stung with so much piercing, bright, blinding pain that I dropped the feather-quill, and the ink all turned to thick, coagulated blood, the scar-wounds on my hands opening up and spilling across the pages. I looked down at my hands and I shrieked in horror, stumbling backwards from the little library-desk and knocking over the creaky wooden chair. The book, the desk, everything, all soaked in my ugly, messy blood. I had ruined it.

“Stupid, idiotic child!” Barlowe roared, rushing forward and grabbing my wrist so harshly I thought my hand was about to pop out of its joint, knocking me to the ground for my disobedience. I screamed and struggled, sobbing and apologizing, sheer white curtains smeared with blood falling around me, turning into white sheets, and I found myself awake in my bed. Raoul had grabbed my wrist in the night, though not nearly as tight as that dream.

It wasn’t a dream. At least half of it was a memory. I remember now... I realized, and that thought tasted sour in my mind. I shook myself, prying my hand from Raoul’s, and massaged my wrist. That pain, a phantom, felt too real... Too real. I hated myself for being so upset by it. I hadn’t gotten it right, had I? I didn’t remember it right. I wasn’t remembering it right. He was kind to me. Kind to me! I sniffled, the tears coming despite myself. It was a quiet, pale night. The moon was round and full and milk-white, soft beams of silverlight splashing on the fertile ground. I stared out our little window at our surrounding woods, trying to ground myself.

The ritual was tonight. There was no reason for me to be worried like this.

“Lucila?” Raoul had been awoken by my silly sorrows. ”Oh, Lucila, you are crying. Please tell me you are alright,” he fretted, pulling me close into his warmth. I stared at him, still rubbing at my wrist. “Have you ever... Had a nightmare about someone you love?”

“Not me,” he swallowed, his voice wavering. “Not you,” I said, and it seemed to comfort him. “But I feel so dreadful. It was about my old Master, Barlowe; some far-reaching part of my mind has become convinced that he has hurt me, somehow. But he was only kind to me; he gave me all the light I now wield. The dream was so frightening, and I am afraid! Afraid that my faith is now thrice in jeopardy. It is as though every time I become certain about my place in the world, this awful feeling catches up to me, and ruins all I have. Please, tell me it’s alright. That we’re going to be alright, and nothing is going to tear us apart.”

“I promise,” he said, quietly, running his fingers over my scars, as if recognizing that they were gifted from Barlowe, in a soft motion that made me ache for Eulalia, the way she always used to touch me. Always softer, like she knew I was a little fragile. His breath came shallow and strange.

“He gave those scars to me. With this dagger,” I pulled it from my night-gown; I always kept it sheathed, but on my person. I hadn’t used it as my comfort-object in some time, perhaps because Raoul was always so close, and so kind, and so much easier. “The ritual-dagger. He gave it to me, to always protect me.”

“Perhaps it has,” Raoul mused. I continued:  “It’s a reminder of my loyalty; if I become so disloyal, then my suffering means nothing. And what of his suffering? He martyred himself for God!” I wept.

“What a fool,” he replied, bitterly. “I hate God.”

“How can you say that?” I was stunned, horrified. “I know you say that the world He has created is a false one, but it is still one where we have grown up, and found each other. Do these experiences not make us who we are, and make the joy that awaits us in Heaven worth it?”

“Suffering exists because of Him...” he hissed, but then softened as he saw my wide-eyed, terrified expression. “You shouldn’t speak ill of Him... You shouldn’t...” I whispered. “You may not respect and fear God, but I do.”

“I am sorry, Lucila. I understand that our beliefs do vary. I should have been more sensitive to that; you need comfort. But... I understand how you feel about your Master. My father was the original founder of the New Church; I was his first failure, and we still have not succeeded. When he died, though... I was his firstborn. I inherited the church. Father Valentin, he called himself, and he always told me I had to make my life useful before its end. But I did away with such titles, such discipline. There is nothing I want more than to make the New Church even better, kinder and loving, than the one he created. Sometimes I hate him. But he has given me everything: my life, my church, my high standing. It does me well to remember his kindness. He truly loved me. My father, and your Master... they would want us to continue the great work. To come together tonight... Can’t you see that I am like you?” Another little tear brimmed in his eye, and I wiped it away. “Yes. We are the same,” I said, in a little hush and brought the tear to my lips, salty and secret and shared. “I love you, Raoul. I am sorry for my faithlessness, my dream...”

“Everyone dreams,” he assured me. “Dreams mean nothing. Your Master sounds like a lovely man.” Again he possessively squeezed my scarred hands. “Everyone struggles with faith. But tonight, we will prove that it is all worth it, and I shall finally take you,” he swore, then coughed, lightly, covering his mouth. I had begun to notice it more and more, and I often wondered what had afflicted him.

The door creaked open; it was Alister, come to collect us. “Raoul. It is midnight. The rite must begin.” My heart thrummed with excitement; all my worry and fear melted into delight. We would finally, finally consummate our love! I felt like I was dissolving, overflowing, with all the affection I had for him; what once began as something superficial and physical had become the foundation upon which my very soul had settled like a weary bird.

“So be it,” he nodded, and we rose from our bed. I was dressed in my white robes with the red sash once more, and quickly escorted to the dark basement of the manor, where a circle was drawn and the higher members of the New Church had gathered. I felt a bit of trepidation in the dark, recalling the days I spent locked away in the ossuary by the Remains, but Raoul’s hand squeezed mine, and I knew I would not be alone.  I recognized the sigil, the one I had helped Raoul to perfect. At its center was a chalice filled with rich, dark wine, and this too I recognized: it was the one I saw him purchase from the old librarian at the bookshop, so, so long ago. 

“Stand in the center, and hold the Chalice of Fertility close to your chest. We shall begin the invocation,” Raoul said, solemnly. More priest than lover. I complied obediently, and the congregation bowed their heads in the circle. “I call upon all demons of lust to bless us on this night! I call upon Magnus, the great Incubus! I call upon Asmodeus! Upon Satan! And I call upon our Great Lord of Dark Divinity, O Dracula! Bless us this night with your child!” he roared. I shivered; the powers of the demonic were a great and powerful force of temptation, but they could do such wonderful things. The stale air in the basement went chill and drafty as they annointed my body with candle wax, but I felt no presence. I had never seen an invocation like this one.

“Now, Lucila... Your dagger. The gift,” he commanded, and I held it out for him; he took it from me and brought it to my stomach, cutting through the red sash; a shallow cut. I winced as he turned the blade to catch the crimson on its surface; thrice now had it cut me. “The blood is the life,” he sighed. “Hold the chalice aloft for me, dearest.” I did as he commanded, and he plunged the bloody dagger into the wine, dripping purple down my arm. My hands shook, and he drew the twitching dagger from my full chalice, unsullied and gleaming in the dim candlelight, and he took the chalice from my grasp and held the both of them close to his chest. The congregation moved towards me and stripped the bloodied red sash from my waist, and I dropped to my knees, bowing for him and for my Lord in humility. The chalice was then passed around the circle, and each drank deeply of my blood; I was the last to receive it, and I drank every last drop of this unholy communion.

“You are ready, now,” he breathed, and sent the congregation to go make revelry in the main halls of the great mansion, and slowly, softly, removed my white robe, and I shivered with embarrassment and fear at being seen nude. And then he— how do I put it? I was pinned to the ground and set upon me like a beast, and it felt like I was adrift in the air and all around us, all spirit and no body. Never had I known such ecstasy; gleaming moonsilver in my darkest reaches. Pure light, and the air stolen from my chest.

Some weeks later, it was confirmed that I was with child, and Raoul was delighted at the news, as was I, and silently, I prayed and hoped for the Malus. I would birth the dark-child, I must. I could not become disposable to him.

Despite my delight at the prospects of motherhood, the changes to my body I found quite distressing, and disgusting. I wanted a child, but I wanted it outside of me, not turning my insides to something alien and hungry. My painful, swollen midsection, heavy with child, looked like it was not meant to be a part of my body, as though I had been parasitized. I wanted the child out! I went to Raoul for comfort in those nights, and was glad of his company. Even with the feeling of sickness inside of me, I was still eagerly awaiting the birth. There was nothing I wanted more than to raise a child with the same guiding hand that Barlowe had used for me.

Why, then, did that thought make me feel a twinge of pain?

My labours began during Easter service that next spring, and I was rushed to a bed and the doctor-priest was fetched. The birth was painful, complicated, and upsetting; I thought I was certain to die, but as if by a miracle, the wailing, blood-covered child emerged, cut free from my cord. A little daughter, they told me, with light blonde hair the same as Raoul’s,  and I clutched her to my chest and watched as her expression turned to one of peace as she suckled from my teat. My hands shook. This thing had come out of me?

God, but I wasn't ready. That poor, vulnerable, tiny creature in my hands, and I was expected to mother her? I could barely mother myself on the best days.

“She is borne on Easter— a holy-day,” Jacques said. “Our Malus has come.” Raoul looked around in shock. “Does the girl possess dark magics?”

I held her closer, and felt the soft beating of her heart and the choking, thrumming feeling of darkness around me and within her. But I had felt the power of Dracula before; this child was not His, but her darkness was as strong and hearty as my light. She would be a fair magician. But only that.

Dark magic was what they wanted. Did it matter? We were special and important, my baby and I. We had to be. Weakly, I murmured, “Yes. I feel it, the same as I felt on that day, when the Tenth Coming occured.” Gasps and murmurs spread around the room.

“But she is a daughter,” Raoul stammered. “Perhaps she is not—”

“I don't believe that was ever specified,” Jacques replied. “The child meets the three conditions.”

“Then she is to be named Malus, and prepared to become the new host of the Lord of Dark Divinity!” Raoul announced, and great merriment was made; the birth was announced out the windows of the great mansion and the New Church danced on the manor grounds for days. Raoul peppered me with kisses and congratulations, and I knew it was worth it. I would not be abandoned.

I was of course rather bedbound in those early days of Malus’s life, but the dancing kept me company. I frequently stared out the sunlit windows for comfort while the child suckled me. I knew she was not some reincarnated soul; I knew instinctively ‘Malus’ was just like me, a mundane little girl. Magically gifted, certainly, but so was I. My deception would not last forever, and most of all I could not deceive myself. So secretly, I gave her another name, to serve her if the truth came out.

Thalia. My little muse. Thalia Fortner. But to them, she was Malus, and to me, as I continued to deceive myself. I needed her— us— to be important to him.

She grew quickly, and I still could not believe that I had given birth to her, been so transformed by her. She was getting so big! Raoul was a rather attentive father, at least to the new child; I had never seen him go to visit Gertrude and little Martin in this manner. But it seemed the novelty of an infant grabbing at his finger with new hands had not lost its lustre to him.

“What a sweet young thing we've brought into the world,” he cooed. “Oh, Malus, I’m going to teach you everything. My little divinity. I am your father, and your guiding hand.”

He sounded so much like Barlowe, then. My heart swelled with affection for our little family. That little blue-eyed Malus would have someone to guide her as the Master did for me, and I would pass down my knowledge in turn. I finally felt valuable, for the first time since Ecclesia’s fall.

I hoped she would grow to be friends with Martin, and I ached for Gertrude, a pain I learned carefully to ignore; I wondered often what sort of person she would grow to be. Intelligent? Shy? Brash and prideful? Humble and sweet? A writer, like me? Or something different entirely?

No. Raoul and I would ensure her childhood would be just as wonderful as mine. She was going to be just like me.

How terrifying.

We were close, as close as mother and child could be, despite all the exhaustion and responsibility that had been piled on me quite suddenly. I loved Malus dearly, and was content to dedicate my time to her; I read to her from my writings and from occult texts whenever I could. I was doing important work, I told myself. She is our Lord.

She was weaned slowly, and I found myself delighted by showing her new foods and seeing her react in wonderment to the breadth of human experience. Seeing the love that she had for everything around her reminded me how fortunate I really was.

How can Raoul think this world is so awful, when it's filled with so many blessings? I thought to myself, during prayer. Master Barlowe was right. This world was a gift from you, my Lord.

The twin deities were silent, but in a comforting sort of way. I already knew they were watching. I think she liked attending services. She never cried; she liked hearing Raoul’s rich, resonant voice. But it was after this particular day in the Antichapel that he and his inner circle began moving to separate her from me.

“Malus’s education must begin soon, to make her into the life-eater,” Raoul explained. “Only then will the Eleventh Coming be complete. I’m sure you’ll understand; you have been a good mother to her, but she needs a priest as well.”

“She's just a baby,” I said, a little possessively. “Only six months old. I don't think any education would stick with her just yet. She only just started speaking. She said ‘mama’ to me, just last week.”

“You misunderstand,” Raoul murmured. “This is one of the Higher Mysteries. It is not knowledge that you are—”

I was somehow very afraid of what her education would entail. She was so vulnerable, and to be dragged deeper into these secret rites was distressing to me. I had never cared for something so small and so mortal, so innocent. “I am her mother! I am entitled to know all that happens to her! Didn't we agree to guide her together? I should have jurisdiction over everything that happens to my daughter!” I roared, in perhaps my best imitation of Barlowe’s authority. Malus sniffled and cried, startled by my outburst.

“Lucila,” Raoul said, softly. “Didn't we agree to bring Dracula to this world in mortal body? I thought you trusted me. You will still see her, and care for her, but the Inner Circle of the New Church knows best how to teach her. Please understand.”

He looked so wounded.

And so I agreed to this, and allowed him to take her for that night’s lessons. And I was so proud of her, really! I almost believed that Raoul was right, and Dracula dwelled within the child. But still some part of me wondered, if this was how Albus felt when Shanoa was taken away for secret lessons. Albus... I hadn't thought of him in so long, apart from to smear him as a traitor. But I almost sort of understood his madness.

Almost.

I would never have done what he did. Never!

She was growing so quickly; Raoul still never revealed these ‘Higher Mysteries’ to me and I was terrified of the part of me that grew to distrust him. I knew what happened afterwards.

It had been going on for a while, and as winter chilled through the woods that year, my worry gnawed at me. So I had to know. The basement was part of the Antichapel, after all; it was my home. I lived here. The Malus was my daughter. I had a right to know. Foolishly, they left the door-hatch ajar, allowing me to go unnoticed, and I saw there that the underground chamber in which we had been consummated had been made into a tiny menagerie of rot, crawling and buzzing with big, ugly flies. Raoul and Alister were tending to a little spiderweb, which had multiple of these flies caught in its threads, spun by two large black spiders. In the center, at a little table and chair that had been stolen from the study, sat my Thalia, babbling and cooing at her father and the fellow priest, like it was all a little game for only her.

What was this?! I could scarcely believe what I saw. What purpose did they have for these animals— rats and mice, a bird in a tiny cage, a malnourished cat?

“She has done well with the flies so far. I have seen her grab one out of the air,” Alister said with a jovial air. “This part of my father's outline for the Malus... God, how unpleasant,” Raoul grimaced. “Are we doing the spider, then?”

“And then the bird,” Alister confirmed, plucking one of the spiders from the web with precise little tweezers. “Open up, little Malus,” he said, and she opened her mouth expectantly. The spider was placed on her tongue, alive, and with some encouragement, despite her protests and wrigglings,  she swallowed it.

“Blessed be the life-eater,” they all murmured. “Today, this small creature is freed, and in the morrow, our souls from our bodies. Amen.” The other spider was then fed to the little thrashing finch-bird in the cage.

“Amen,” Raoul finished, an expression of satisfaction dancing on his lips. “The bird, please.” The cage-door creaked open, and the bird shrieked. I felt sick. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I ran up to the bed-chamber immediately, and pretended desperately to have seen nothing. I wept. They were going to kill her, or they were going to make her very sick, or... something! I could hardly call myself a particularly experienced mother but I did at least know that this was not right. The Master had never done anything this disgusting.

Soon, Raoul brought Thalia back to me, as though nothing had happened, but still I saw the smear of blood on her lips, a downy feather caught in her hair. My poor child. My throat was dry.

“Why, Raoul? Spiders and flies? You mean to kill her!” I sobbed.

“You saw?” His eyes went wide.

“She is my child,” I clutched her protectively. I didn’t care anymore; perhaps if he did dispose of me it would be better than squirreling away with my child to feed her live animals, making her this zoophagous thing. “Why? Why do this?”

“To make Malus into the new Lord, she must be trained to be a life-eater. My father was very clear in his instructions, that she must be brought up to kill and consume so that she may one day free us, too. She is making excellent progress. I am so proud of our little girl.” His voice was so soft, so warm, and my tears melted away. How could I not believe him? He loved little Malus as much as I did. “We are not hurting her.”

He sounded just like him.

“I will tell you everything we intend to do. I realize now that it was a mistake to hide the Higher Mysteries from you. Are we not man and wife, after all?” he said, finally. “I would like that,” I nodded. “I just want to know. I love her so much already.”

But she was special, to him, to the New Church, and I was glad of it.

And so, I buried my dissent. It was better to just believe, rather than invite more heartache and distress. I knew this by now. I trusted Raoul; I had his child. There was no reason for me to object over my own disgust. “You’re right,” I smiled, wiping away a tear. “I am proud of her, too. She’s growing so fast, isn’t she? Her first birthday is soon.” I placed her in her cradle, softly, and tucked her in. “Only a few months until springtime.”

And we met in winter, too...

“Indeed. Shouldn’t we celebrate?” Raoul’s eyes flickered wolfishly. “Just us two?” I knew what he implied, and I giggled coyly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I blushed, feigning naivety in a way he liked.

That night, he illuminated me once more, and all was right. I swore my loyalty to him, again and again, my little sun glowing as bright as it could muster. It was so much easier this way, if I let myself be content with it all.

I dreamed again, that night, a whispery nightmare. I was wandering some dark forested place, the Malus in my arms, wailing from hunger. My wounds had reopened; bleeding all over the swaddle-blanket and my pure white robe. It was so, so cold, cold and snowing. I knelt down silently on the frigid ground, and raised my hand to her mouth, letting her drink of me, like the Christ-like pelican’s bloodied breast. Despite her hunger, she did not suckle, and her cries grew silent in the white night.

“Thalia,” I whispered, her true name, trying to awaken her, but her eyes were as empty and cold as Shanoa’s. She was dead. I screamed, sobbing, hunched over the babe and the silent snow, and feeling like something had been cut out of my chest. Then, I looked up, and before me stood the Dark Lord. Dracula.

I bowed my head in respect, the dark miasma about Him stealing away my breath; all three of us were dead.

“This blood is not for her,” His voice boomed across the snow-clearing. “You have bled for me, girl. You bleed for me alone.”

“Yes, my Lord,” I wheezed, shivering. He was towering, taller than any man, a silhouetted monolith, with dark red eyes shining in the darkness. “Yes, my Lord...” I was certain that this was a real vision, a true vision. He drew closer and closer, fangs bared, like a wolf, His breath cold on my neck, until—

“Lucila! Another dream? You were thrashing in your sleep,” Raoul fretted over me. I described the vision to him with great terror and concern, and I could see the great concentration in his expression. Then, his eyes soften. “This is a good sign. I understand it perfectly; when we feed her life, we are feeding Him. He has acknowledged our sacrifice,” he breathed with satisfaction. “So we stay our course,” I said. “This has brought me some peace, dear Raoul.” Yet again, I buried my fear. Yes, this vision was only a good omen. I would defer to him on this.

In this peace, a year of happiness unfolded. Malus was learning quickly how to speak, requesting favorite foods by name and imitating my speech. I never realized how much I would enjoy being a mother; she was an assertive young thing and quick to pick up on new knowledge. I was still reading to her frequently, and often stopped to allow her to imitate my words. The time passed too quickly, and in my heart somehow I knew this would not last forever, and it was a feeling I tried to ignore every time Raoul brought her back to me, smeared with blood.

I was reading her a little story I had written, one night, and Raoul had joined me, always happy to add silly voices to the dialogue of the storybooks— it always made her laugh. “The mouse sniffed around the corner, looking for some excellent food that had been placed on the great table in the main hall of the Antichapel. Her whiskers twitched with worry, for how would she avoid the great and horrible black cat?” I began. “She snuck underneath the tables, careful to be very... very... quiet.”

“Quiet,” Malus repeated. “Veryyyy.”

“She had made it to the feast! She scurried up the chair and hopped onto the table, grabbing crumbs from abandoned plates. But then she heard a low, rumbly purr, and turned around to see that the cat had hopped up into the chair. She had been following the mouse the whole time, and was sure to catch her! And the cat said...” I trailed off. Raoul liked to read the cat’s lines.

“Little mousies shouldn’t be sniffing around here. I am the star mouser of the New Church,” he snarled. “You will be my next catch!” Malus giggled at the exaggerated dialogue. “Miss Mouse protested that she was only hungry, but there was no reasoning with cats,” I continued. “And the cat—”

I was cut off by a violent coughing fit. “Raoul!” I fretted. “Are you alright?” I massaged his chest, trying to soothe him, and the coughing eventually subsided. I was used to his frequent breathing issues and barking cough, but something felt wrong now. “I supposed my time would come eventually,” he said, distantly. “My family has always bore a sort of curse. I figured I had more time, however...”

My heart dropped. His hands were covered with blood and spittle, far too much, far too much.

“Should I fetch the doctor?” I asked. “He couldn’t diagnose it when it took Father Valentin. Why should it be different, now? It is a curse, nothing more; the penance for dealing in death,” Raoul shrugged. “We were descendents of Death-Worshippers, you see. And so It ‘blessed’ us with early graves, for our devotion. I have made my peace... I will be free. I suppose that is a blessing after all. I got to see the Lord be birthed, and that’s all I wanted.” But his expression was one of cold, quiet panic. He was afraid!

How can he say that? I sobbed, the story-book abandoned. Every time I find myself at peace, something awful happens. The prophecy! I must be cursed in equal measure.

The strange curse, or sickness, at least seemed to only progress slowly over the next several months; the coughing fits and blood were certainly infrequent enough. Raoul assured me to ignore it; death meant freedom after all. I was worried, though, about raising Malus without him, should the need arise, or if the sickness would claim her, one day. He was afraid, too, and that worried me. For all he spoke of freedom from the false-world, I had never seen a man more afraid of death. Why was it so different when it was him? I had accepted what happened to Gertrude; convincing myself of Raoul’s beliefs had also brought me some peace regarding the other deaths I bore witness to as well. But if even he did not believe in this, truly, then all was in jeopardy.

I had to go to Aldra. To prove a point? I wasn't sure. Maybe I’d find Gertrude, and stop feeling so damn guilty. And so I asked him for permission, under the pretense of walking among the laypeople to find more followers, like he had done for me. I wasn’t exactly trying to ‘figure him out’ per se, but it would do wonders for my conscience.

“And I want to take Malus,” I said. “I want to show her the world outside the Antichapel. She hasn't seen it.” It was late winter, and by now she was nearly two, and had gotten used to toddling after me on unsure feet. Old enough, I thought to myself.  I’d keep an eye on her. I was struck by the clarity of a sober thought: I had not left the Antichapel grounds since my arrival here, apart from the search party to find Gertrude. Raoul often traveled outside with allies of his choosing, but never me. I missed terribly my frequent missions I had taken in Ecclesia, and even the hunting trips in the woods I had taken with Eulie.

“Why?” his eyes narrowed. “You don’t think the New Church is going to end with me, do you? I can’t believe it. Already planning the next stop on your pilgrimage. I want you to stay... please. We need you.”

“That’s not what I’m doing at all!” I protested. Since his illness’s progression, little arguments had become more frequent. He was quite paranoid, a feeling I understood all too well. Paranoid that he would die with every loose thread untied, and all alone. “I will stay with you forever! I promise. But our daughter cannot be cooped up here forever. Aldra is not far, and I’ll bring you a gift from the markets. I’ll bring Alister with us, too, to keep us safe.” I was aware I was fawning, appeasing, something I had trained myself well in from childhood, but I didn’t care. If he agreed, it would bring me a peace of mind that had fled me long before.

“I suppose that is fine,” he said, finally. Then he smiled, a cruel thing. “Tell Gertrude I wish her well... if you see her. She is from Aldra, yes?”

“I will, sir,” I nodded, and once more I felt so small. Still, I was excited to make the trip, and as we crossed the woods and followed the path of the river downstream in the church’s single carriage, pulled by a sad old horse, I had never seen my dear Thalia so excited, thrilled by the sight of the Dead River and the marsh-birds and wetlands of Belasco, covered still in blankets of the winter snow, even as spring drew nearer. She had never seen anything but the sparsely-wooded Antichapel grounds, and that made my heart quiver with a tiny sorrow. My missions took me to all sorts of places, and swapping tales with the other disciples was a frequent meal-time pleasure. I did not realize until then how claustrophobic and boxed in I truly felt.

Aldra was a rather sleepy town, but pleasant, and seemed to be filled with beautiful women. As such, Alister was pulled from my side rather quickly; he was as much of a hound as Raoul at times. That did give me more freedom to search for Gertrude; Malus was hungry, though, so I bought her a small pastry, which she carried around in her tiny hands.

“Twenty gold,” said the woman running the stand. “That baby of yours is so well behaved! What is her name?”

“Thank you,” I replied curtly, placing the coins neatly in a row. The woman was dark-skinned and very pretty, and hummed while she worked. No, I thought, Malus was not exactly a name I could tell her. “Her name is Thalia,” I smiled.

“Hi,” Malus waved her pudgy little hand, and I swelled with pride, even as I brushed some crumbs from around her mouth. I almost turned to leave, but then I remembered my goal. “I was actually wondering, have you seen someone named Gertrude here, recently? She said she was going to Aldra.”

The woman drummed her fingers on the top of her food-stand. “Gertrude... I think I knew her. Gertrude Haas? She went missing from Aldra some years ago. There are all kinds of rumors about her, but I don't much like gossip. Why, was she your friend?”

“We went to church together,” I said, evasively.

“My condolences. No one has seen her in a long time. Word on the street was that she joined those New Church weirdos,” she frowned. “You hate to see something like that happen.” I clutched Malus’s hand protectively. “Thank you. We should be going now. There is... much to see, in Aldra,” I faked a smile and left, lingering slightly as she waved goodbye. My breath came heavy on that little cobbled road, reliving that moment I saw those two men smearing the good name of Ecclesia. Malus tugged at my sleeve, noticing my distress but being too young to have a name for it. “She said mean things,” I tried to explain. “Mean things about our church.” She only tilted her head, light blue eyes inquisitive, and took another bite of the little pastry.

I still had rumours to chase. Perhaps she was not in Aldra, but maybe had passed through and had been seen by only few. I continued asking around, but the answers I received were much the same as the one I had gotten from the pastry-woman. Used to live here, hadn't been seen since, cult involvement suspected. I felt foolish, though I couldn't say why. Maybe it would have been better not to beg Raoul for the trip at all. Maybe I shouldn't have wondered. No, everything was alright, and my daughter was happy. I decided I would not focus on the search any-more, as there was no point, and Gertrude was a traitor anyway, from a town of people who just didn't understand the true way of things. A traitor like Albus. Like Shanoa. I was happy, as Malus was happy.

It was easier if I didn't think about it.

I got her a little wooden toy duck, in the nearest toyshop I could find, and watched her wheel it along with her as I walked down the snowdusted street. I explained to her what a duck was, and followed a local’s instruction to a little pond just outside town on the border of the marsh where the little birds were said to frequent, a little loaf of bread in hand. Among the bulrushes and cattails, we sat by the tiny pond, across from the trail from Aldra, and watched a brown-headed mother duck leading her tiny, dandelion hatchlings across the water. It was a miracle it had not froze over, or perhaps the water had melted recently as we approached the new spring. I still hadn't found that promised gift for Raoul, but there was something nice about not thinking about him for a spell.

“You pull off a little bit, like this,” I showed her. “Just a little.”

“Liddle,” Malus repeated, and expressionlessly imitated the action, pulling the soft flesh of the bread from its crust. We tossed our breadcrumbs into the water and watched the mother-duck eat the tiny scraps. “Eat birds.” Her fist tightened around the pull-string of her wooden duck. “Poor birds.”

“Yes. Birds love to eat bread,” I smiled. But her eyes were wide and haunted, and in them I saw the reflections of countless thrashing avians, necks snapped in little hands. The blood is the life. I had wanted this moment to be pure innocence, but she had spent her first years in an altar to death.

But she was special, I reminded myself. Would it not all be worth it? Had I not worshipped, held faith this long for this end? But she seemed happy, after that brief snatch of a moment, and I put it to rest. This was right. She was an avatar of Dracula.

Distantly, I could hear someone coming down the pond-trail, and a mallard that had been nosing around the shallows took off in a panic. I looked up, wondering if it was Alister, come to collect us, or perhaps even Gertrude, or some local, here to enjoy the same secluded, shady solace.

I dropped my bread to the ground with a soft thump.

It was Eulalia.

But how could it be? How had she found me? Perhaps she had been chasing me this whole time— to kill me? She had said she hated me. She was dressed in ordinary peasant clothing— but what of the Remains? And yet I could only stare, transfixed like moth to flame. And she stared back, across the pond, like an animal in the woods through a dusty window. Her frightened, wide-eyed wolf-gaze didn't waver, only wandering down to the child sitting beside me and my sheer white dress.

She stared for a long time, and a single tear trailed down her freckled, sweet face and she ran, as quiet as a skittish animal. I hated her; I wanted to reach for her. But she was gone, as if she was another ghost.

Despite myself, I smiled, triumphantly. Perhaps this was a message: I had beaten her.

Malus’s gaze stayed fixed on the break in the trees through which she fled, as though she knew something I did not. “Come on, dear. We still have to get a present for your papa,” I said, a little firmly. I hoped Eulalia cried herself to sleep, knowing I was so happy. That I had a man I loved, and a family, and she had nothing.

I found a little shop, when we returned to the town square, that had various silver trinkets and crystals for sale, which seemed like something Raoul would like. I found a little necklace, a silver chain with a red crystal— attuned to wind-spirits, the shopkeep told me— and determined it suitable, and went to pay at the front of the stand.

“You’re that lady who’s been asking around about Gertrude Haas,” he said. “Why?” I clutched my little pouch of money, suddenly defensive. “And why do you ask? It is not any business of yours.”

“I’m just a wandering man in search of knowledge. I trade in rumors. Are you buying?” he cocked an eyebrow. I placed the pouch of money on his table. “If you know anything that happened after she disappeared from Aldra, then perhaps I shall..” He nodded, slowly.

“Well, I come to Aldra every few months or so, as there’s good business, and pretty girls. I used to try and flirt with Gertrude, a bit, but she wasn’t having it, and I respected that. Anyway, she was sighted on the arm of this guy, and he wasn't a local. And she left for the New Church; we all kind of knew. And it was a weird feeling, knowing she was off worshipping Dracula. Despicable... I couldn’t believe it. But I thought that was the end of it. But...” his voice lowered to a whisper. “A couple years back. I was on my way back to Aldra, and I was crossing the Dead River, on that new bridge they built, and I noticed this... bundle, of white fabric, washed up in the shallows. So I did what any nosy bastard would, and pulled it out of the river. And... it was her. Gertrude! She was dead, and wrapped in this... sheer white silk. I didn’t look too long but I think her legs were broken and her throat was slit. I didn’t report it; I didn’t feel like I was supposed to find it. Like someone was going to come and get me. It was too weird... The silk. It was like it was ceremonial. But I know that she was murdered.”

A chill ran down my spine. She is free, now, I reminded myself. Free, and we shall dance together in heaven. There is no point in lingering in the false-world; Raoul did her a kindness, I told myself, but I only half believed it; I was very aware of the effort I was making to convince myself. I wanted to go home. I thanked the man, and found Alister, and begged him to take us back. It was better not knowing. I wanted my normalcy, my family. My comfort-object.

I was glad to rejoin Raoul in bed that night, but I could not sleep. And so I got up, while he slumbered, the little necklace rising and falling on his chest with his wheezing snores. I didn’t want to look out the window, tonight, at the threatening, encroaching outside, so I lit a candle and settled for the mirror, staring at myself. I looked mellified, pliant, sweet. The perfect mother. If there was distemper within me, it was not apparent on my placid face. But my eyes...

They were dead and hollow, as dead and hollow as Shanoa’s, that corpse I could never forget.

My light had fled me again; I clutched the ritual-dagger close to me. Barlowe had never felt so distant from me; I yearned for his comfort. Did I want this? Did I want my child to grow up like me, in a church like mine, with a Father like mine? Did I want anything at all? Why did I feel so numb? I had everything I used to desire. I was perfect; no longer disposable.

Raoul awoke with another coughing episode, and I rushed to his side, the dagger abandoned. I had grown used to soothing him during these fits, and I left a small kiss on his bloody lips. He looked away, eyes wide.

“I should at least be content in what I have accomplished; the legacy I have left. But I confess to you: I fear death, and I have since my father’s passing. I do not wish to give up my life; I have so much work to do,” he sighed. “So much.”

“But you will be free. You said so yourself,” I said, coldly. “We all die.”

His bloodied fists clenched around the white sheets at his waist. “You think I really believe what my father preached? Even now?”

“What?” I could not believe what he was saying. I had given everything for his beliefs, I had defiled myself, made myself his ritual-bride, carried his child, and allowed him to do what he willed. And if he did not believe what he told me, why should I? And that was a sour taste, as sour as flies; I shuddered. “What about Gertrude? I know what happened to her. Would you really do such a thing if you did not believe it would allow her ascendancy?” I protested.

He looked back to me, eyes gleaming bright yellow. “Go back to bed, Lucila. This doesn’t concern a member of your status. I would appreciate it if you did not question me like this when I am so on edge.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and I did not like the way it curled on my tongue.

I was the seventh. How superficial.

That next day, I briefly considered leaving our little disintegrating portrait. I had been willing to be a true believer and he just wanted precious things, a distraction from his great futility; I understood that now. However, I had become content in being his own comfort-object. His chalice... I did not want this to change I wanted to stay, to cling until it was dead and useless to me.

No, I could not leave, even as I realized what a dreadful position I had found myself in. Even if I found another place, another church, another sect, what would that get us? Would I really want to see my little Thalia grow up in a place like that? Somehow, the thought was nightmarish to me! But why? It was much the same upbringing as my own, and I had a good upbringing indeed. Why, now, did I feel so cursed, so haunted, so futile? I had been chasing the wind, trying to feel the same comfort I felt in Barlowe’s arms. But it was nowhere, nowhere to be found, perhaps not even with him. I knew now that the prophecy was true.

No, I could not leave. I had a young child; I could not deprive her of her father, and this was the closest I had felt to happiness in many, many years. I hated the outside world; the New Church was safe, and familiar. Would I not be betraying my faith? I just had to convince myself again, to prostrate myself.

I did not feel the sun in my chest any-more.

There was bad news that next day, as the snowstorms returned for a last encore before early spring. I was praying in the Antichapel, with Malus beside me. The sermon had since ended, and the church was warm; Raoul was talking with his inner circle about something, and as I was still ever the Eye, the Witness, I listened.

“I’m not sure it is that concerning, Valentin,” Abernathy said, in a hush, his eyes glancing to the pews to ensure no one was listening. I was good at pretending I wasn’t, and my good hearing was far-reaching; I shushed Malus carefully. “What do you mean, not concerning? If we have been reported to a vampire hunter, then all is in jeopardy. They’re going to shut us down, when they find us, and humanity will be doomed to the false-world. We could lose everything before the Advent of the life-eater comes to pass,” Raoul hissed back. Alister nodded, solemnly. “Then what are we to do?” Hugo whispered. All eyes of the inner circle turned to Raoul.

“We shall reconvene at the dark altar in an hour and I shall outline our preparations for the Last Supper. Premature, certainly, but I do not want this hunter to find any of us when he breaches the Antichapel. You understand,” the priest— my lover— said, quietly, drawing out each word, terrified eyes as wide as rabbits’. “That this was always to happen. We cannot be captured, or made to recant our beliefs.”

“Amen,”  repeated the shrouded men.

I was afraid. He never told me of the Last Supper, but I was so afraid. Somehow, I feared that the Malus would be involved, and I was fierce and paranoid with that little terror. I had to know; I always had to know. I never learned my lesson. I put Malus to bed early and went to go listen at the basement-hatch. I had to know. I had to know what he was so afraid of.

“The Last Supper will convene upon the full moon, as is customary among the dark faith,” Raoul said, after they had all gathered and partaken in wine. “The life-eater will come, and all will offer themselves to Him in the body of the mortal Malus-child.”

“You don't expect her to kill us herself like those little finches you feed to her,” Hugo wheezed, and Alister and Abernathy nodded.

“I suppose a slit throat is the easiest way, then.” He sounded as scared as I was, but still he was giving such dreadful commands! “I will conduct the ceremony, and I will be the final sacrifice, a poisonous feast to allow Him to return to the mortal corpse,” Raoul spoke firmly, still all harelike and jumpy. “We must have our bearer! We must!”

He sounded so much like my Master, then, and I ached.

I was so stupid. My heart bled, as I imagined my baby, alone in a room full of corpses, left alone to die, to invoke the God she was never meant to be, for an ideal her father only half-believed in. My Thalia. My little muse. Killed like Shanoa was to be.

He was going to lead all of us to slaughter, and only I could stop him.

And I could just barely see through the crack in the hatch-door: he turned his head, slowly, eyes seeming to glint in the darkness. Did he see me? Somehow I had a feeling he always knew I was there. I was always watching. He had loved me, taken me. He knew that by now.

If he saw me, though, he didn't have the chance to react, as he was wracked by another erratic, choking fit, as though possessed, blood pouring from his mouth. Abernathy rushed to his side to hold him up as his legs shook; I wondered if Death was taking him now, but he still drew breath, and the episode subsided.

“Our end-times draw near: this curse, and the interloper. I will have my bearer, my child, my Last Supper, my precious things. I will live to see its end,” he snarled. “It's all I have left.”

Here was a man, so afraid of death that he wanted to drag everyone with him into hell rather than go peacefully. Was this why he said that nonsense to me, about Dracula being fully mortal? Could he not conceive of loving a God who had what he did not? He was more foolish than I thought. He was going to kill me, me and my child, selfishly, fearfully.

My last defense, my shaking artifice of ignorance, quietly died, like a flickering, weak flame. The snow howled outside, ready to claim its prey.

I would leave that night, when all of the commune had fallen fast asleep. I knew they would kill me when they found me. I knew I was cursed, but perhaps I could leave Thalia to a kinder fate.

Forgotten conversation echoed in my mind:

“Don't you love him?”

“What? Of course I do. But sometimes it's better to sacrifice...”

I understood, now, why Gertrude left Martin behind. Why Eulalia proclaimed her hatred of me to ensure I did not linger. Why Albus betrayed what was right out of selfish love. Thalia was not their chosen one; she did not deserve to be fed only blood and wickedness and her father's poison. This could not continue.

I felt so tiny, stripped to nothing, in that cold encroaching night. I was sure only of these things:

My name was Lucila Fortner.

Nothing remained of my Order, my Body, or my Church.

I was betrayed by all I had loved, and I betrayed them in turn. I had nothing. Nothing. Not even faith.

Not even light.

All I had left to do was make this most painful of sacrifices. We slept together like nothing was wrong, but I did not rest; at midnight I rose from my bed under the waxing moon, and left a kiss upon Raoul’s cheek, careful not to wake him; I still loved him fawningly as much as I wished he was dead.

I left silently, and disappeared into the snow, never to see him again, my heart broken.

“However many years anyone may live, let them enjoy them all. But let them remember the days of darkness, for there will be many. Everything to come is meaningless.”

I had never felt so cold.

The light robes of the New Church were ill-equipped for the winter weather, and even as I had Thalia bundled in as many blankets as I could manage, her lips looked quivery and blue. I was sure I looked worse. I moved through the woods quickly and deliriously. We could make it to Jova in only a few hours, but would we be safe there? No, the New Church would find us too easily. We could only stop for the night, or long enough to warm up. I didn't know where I was going. Far away, I supposed.

We arrived in Jova at dawn, and I ducked into the church, desperate to keep Thalia out of the cold. It was warm, and safe in there, and empty in the white sunrise; I ached with exhaustion, and sat there for a long time with my fog-breath and frigid shivers.

“Hiiii,” Thalia said, looking behind me. I turned my head, and recognized the father of the church I used to frequent. “Mary... It's been too long, I scarcely recognized you. And you have a baby? Congratulations,” he smiled.

“I just need to get warm before we keep going. Don't let anyone come looking for us,” I said, a little firmly.

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he relented, “Stay as long as you need. May the Lord bless you, Mary.” He brought me some bread and butter which I shared with my daughter for a meagre breakfast. And I just sat there, exhausted. I knew I had to leave, but my limbs felt like lead, immovable.

The sign of the cross was a solemn comfort, and I noticed Thalia had fallen asleep in my arms again. I panicked briefly that she was dead, terrified by her motionlessness, but her breaths came easy. Maybe I could sleep only a moment, I thought. I soon followed her into a dream I do not remember.

When I awoke, night had fallen again, and the Father was nowhere to be found. I cursed myself for wasting so much time, for sleeping through the whole day; the New Church would undoubtedly be on our tails, and the night was far crueler to travelers. But there was no time to dwell on this. We had to leave. I said no goodbyes.

The snowstorm was more violent, angry, now. No, Jova was too obvious. I decided that I’d cut back across to Fetra, farther down from the Dead River and far away from the commune. And from there, I had no idea. I took the bridge back across, and lost myself again in the snow-covered forests, my prison of white.

It took all night to cross the woods, snow so thick it nearly choked the life from me (and obscured the path completely) and trees so ensnaring I couldn't see the moon. I could feel Thalia shuddering in my arms, coughing out clouds of mist, and I cried, the warm tears my only comfort. I should have asked that old priest for warmer clothing. I didn't think. I never think. I was so stupid. We were going to die out there. I tried to cast Ignis, but my light was already gone, after all. I was ordinary. Nothing. I had lost my purpose. I had broken my vows for nothing. Even Barlowe would not wish my return, now, and that hurt me like a knife in my gut.

But there are reveries and delusion in these woods, the woods that monsters trod, and as I stumbled through the trees and my vision went hazy, I saw it through the trees: a great white wolf, with eyes so bright, mingling pale yellow and blue like sunlit ice, breath warm and musky. It stared at me across the snowy clearing for a moment, and I stared back, captivated by its beauty. Somehow, this was a comforting presence, and my mouth tasted bittersweet.

And then it fled, loping into the obscuring shadows between two large trees.

I feel like a madwoman saying that I hoped, wished, knew it was the Dark Lord. Did not legends say that He took the form of a wolf? Did He not guide me before? I felt a familiar presence, then, but I cannot say it was His. I don't know what it was, but it was warm and sorrowful. But that gaze of recognition haunted me, and I recalled the dream I had of Dracula in the snow.

“This blood is not for her... You have bled for me, girl. You bleed for me alone.”

In this feral, protective haze, had I not become a mother-wolf in my own right?

And so, I followed the beast’s path, and Fetra was there, nestled in the crack of dawn, as though waiting for us. Thalia clutched at my sleeve, as if she somehow knew the grim task ahead. Somewhere, I knew, someone would be willing. And my child...

I stopped in a tiny tavern, the first public house I could find, asked for something hot, and sat down, feeling numb. The people of Fetra kept to themselves; no one had spoken to me, and they exchanged suspicious glances; I must have looked like a ghost, pale, half-dead and blue. All the world was my enemy, I realized. This was what the prophecy meant; I belonged nowhere but in death.

I wrote up a letter, there, as I ate, a final message for my sleeping daughter. I felt just awful leaving her as my parents had left me. They had left nothing to me, but I had only the gift of my words. One day, they would comfort her, like the dagger and my scars did for me. A final gift for my unfortunate child, from a girl who was never meant to be a mother.

So I wrote:

“Dear Thalia,

It brings me no joy to seperate myself from you; indeed my hand was forced, the hardest decision I have ever made. What I wanted was to protect you, and to do so I had to make sure you could not be tracked or found. Unlike me. I am the thrashing bait, the diversion, so you may sleep soundly. The truth is that your father intended to kill you. I did what I had to, and I know he will kill me when he finds me. So I must hide you away, so that this never comes to pass.

I have spent all my life devoted to my Lord, Count Dracula, who has guided my hand in all things and protected my soul even as I have lost everything I love. I hope He will protect you as fervently; I do not ask you to worship, as I leave that choice to you, but I ask Him to keep you safe in my stead.

I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, my precious, sweet daughter. I have done what I can to raise you well, but sometimes I wonder if it would have been kinder were you not borne to me at all. But I do not regret. I hope a happier life waits for you, wherever you go, and perhaps we will meet again one day, my little muse.

With light,

Lucila Fortner”

I tucked it away in an envelope I requested from the innkeep, a gruff older man, and sealed it carefully. Thalia was asleep, peaceful and warm, leaned against me, and my heart swelled with love. Once she was my superficial bargaining-piece, something to keep Raoul’s attention on me, my special-ness. But now I knew, and I knew too well, what it was to truly love. To sacrifice.

Like Albus loved Shanoa? Once more, that haunting, aching question gripped my heart.

Finally, I breached the unavoidable topic. “Are there any places I could take her?” My plate was clean of all but scraps, now. “The baby?” The innkeep raised an eyebrow. “You're not giving her away, are ye?”

“I have to,” I said solemnly. “I can't say why.” He gave me another studying stare, searching for hidden intent. “Saint Philomina’s, then. It's an orphanage on the outskirts of town,” he shrugged. “Thank you,” I bowed my head, paid for my meal, and left in haste.

It was a sad, grey old building. I could see children at breakfast through the windows and I ached to know if they were happy. My stomach clenched; I was certain she would end up growing up in the same misery that drew me to my honeytongued Master, and somehow the idea of her own angel struck an unknown terror into me.

No, she had my letter. She would know that she was loved.

“Big church...?” Thalia enunciated uncertainly, shaking me out of my internal soliloquy as I stood at the doorway.

“No, it is not a church, my love. Think of it like a house, with a new family. They will be nice to you, and take care of you,” I promised her halfheartedly. “I’m not going to see you for a long while. But I will always love you.” I squeezed her tiny hand with protective sorrow.  “Why?” Thalia’s fingers clenched. “So you will be safe, and happy,” I said, my voice cracking, choked with emotion.

I tentatively knocked on the door. A stern-looking woman opened the door, and she went very pale, backing away. I realized how disheveled, how cold and dead I looked now, skeletal and withering. “Please,” I wheezed, ragged. “You must take my child. I cannot care for her.”

“What is your name?” The bespectacled woman said, beckoning me inside as she shuffled through some paperwork.

“I cannot say, but my daughter’s name is Thalia. There are no records of her birth,” I explained, and I felt the creeping frost of fear inside me. “We are on the run from very evil people, wicked, wicked people... She will be hidden, here.”

“Very well,” the woman said. “I will register her. Is there anything else you wish for me to know?”

“She’s nearly two years old. She was born on Easter. She likes ducks,” I said, and I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled the brief happy years we had shared despite it all. “And little fruit-pastries, and being read storybooks. And I wrote this letter, for her. Please don’t read it. It is for her eyes only.” With shaking hands, I held up the little envelope. “When she’s old enough...” Her cold, indifferent gaze became something softer, and she nodded with understanding. “I’ll file it away for you. And we will care for her as best we can.”

“I believe we’re finished here?” I asked. The woman nodded, and I continued: “Then I must leave. Give her all my love, and make sure she remembers that she was always precious to me.” I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes. “Bye-bye, Thalia.”

“Bye-bye,” she squeaked, in a tiny voice.

And then I was gone.

I had never felt so alone, crossing the North Bridge, surrounded by white and mist and howling wind. As the day had progressed, the storm had only gotten worse, rather than subsiding, but all I could think to do was keep walking, in that delirious state that had become all too familiar to me, like a snarling coil. Always the love, then the betrayal, then the delirium. I truly, truly was cursed, and I had nowhere to go but away. And so I wandered through the thick, marshy Dora Woods, a seemingly endless expanse of trees and wetland, as cloud-covered pale afternoon sun gave way to the embrace of night.

Yes, there were ghosts in these woods.

All I had wanted was something eternal; something comforting I could cling to forever without it growing bored of me and wrestling from my grasp. But I could not have even that; I had nothing. I wandered, on the verge between wakefulness and dreamy death, and I would let the cold claim me if it wanted to.

At some point, I tripped waist-deep into half-frozen marshy water, and I stifled a broken scream at the shock of the icy cold. I had been walking for hours, and my bones all ached, but I had to keep going. I looked up as I hoisted myself out of the shattered icy surface, and all I saw was white.

And a man.

A comfortingly, horrifyingly familiar silhouette, just close enough to see, grey in the vast pale night, robes flowing in the wind. Just standing there. Watching, something between ghost and delusion. Yes, even without the howl of the werewolf or the squeal of the harpy, there were monsters in these woods all the more threatening.

“My God,” I croaked. “Master. You’ve come for me.” I knew that he was dead but that felt so distant now, all I wanted for was comfort, and I pulled myself with aching arms from the mud, and ran stumbling forwards through the snowy field, my muscles screaming with sheer exhaustion. He never got any closer.

“Master! Master Barlowe! I have continued the work, all in your name, and I have lost everything. I have failed. Please, please forgive me,” I called, tears coming hot against my frigid skin as I chased and chased. “Please. I’m right here. Your little storyteller. Everything’s gone wrong. It was all for nothing. Only you can make right of this.” My words sounded so desperate, so wrong,  as they spilled from my mouth, and I realized in that moment how all my misery could be traced back to that moment, when my angel came down. He had dangled something gilded and pretty, a meal for the starving, to keep me placid and compliant; he punished me when I did not chase my dangling thing.

And it had felt like heaven.

And so I kept chasing.

And for what? For me to die in the snow, now, always trying to catch up and grab it?

My mind had never lied to me, when I saw him in that vision, the core, the core of this hurt. But to question this was to question the shaky foundation of my very heart and mind, and it would destroy the very ground I stood on. I was going to fall. I was going to die, if I denied him.

So I howled in anguish, childishly. “Come back! It was for you! It was always for you!” Perhaps if I could melt into his arms, I could delude myself again in death. But it was all pure and white and clarity. “I became this freakish zealot— all for you!”

And still he stood there, my ghost, my devil. My angel.

I grabbed at the ceremonial dagger, still always at my side, weeping, furious. “I kept it! You said you would protect me forever! God damn you!” And so I rushed at him, unsure what I even wished to accomplish. I would never find him, never have his love back. I would never kill him; he was already dead. I would never have his love again.

I never did have it, did I?

Still he watched, far away, the clearing impossible to cross.

My chest heaved wretchedly, snarling, sobbing. “Get away from me... Get away from me, lift this curse from me, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care. I have lost everything, for the values you instilled in me. But I’m done now. I don’t want it anymore.” I hated the dagger, hated the reminders on my hands, hated this ghost, hated Barlowe... “I don't want anything. Just leave me be.”

Still he stood there, mocking me.

It had all been for nothing. What did being a disciple of Ecclesia get me, but despair? What great glory would have even awaited me? To end up like Shanoa? What had Albus died for, but the greater, nobler purpose after all? I was so, so stupid. I was digging my own grave, smiling pliantly as the Master buried me. The Tenth Coming had been meaningless.

“Leave me be.”

My fist clenched in disgust. I threw the dagger, the disgusting object, the symbol of my great sorrow, and it landed somewhere in the snow. I didn’t care to look. It didn’t mean anything, but the meaning I had given it, and the blood it had drawn; Eulalia’s, Shanoa’s, and mine. And now it was gone.

And then he was gone, too, and the world went pure black as I collapsed on the ground, the last trickle of resolve bled from me. I waited for death, and dreamed of nothing, for it was all I had.

Yes, I waited for death...

...And I woke to fire and candlelight, and warmth, and everything was blurry. I wondered briefly if I was in heaven; it was rather an old wooden house, with a crackling stone fireplace. I had been propped up and covered with a small quilt on a little chair. A decrepit old woman was tending to the logs with a fire-poker, muttering something to herself, and woozily, I muttered, “Where am I?”

“Good, you’re awake,”she said, not exactly warmly. “You’ll catch your death of cold, you know. You were half dead already when I saw you on my walk. The frost bites, girl.”

“Was there a man?”  I moved a little closer to the fire on shaking limbs to warm my frozen, bony fingers. “What? No. No one for miles,” she shook her head. “You’re in Ghulash. People don’t exactly come here often. Were you looking for someone?”

“Not anymore,” I looked away. The curtains on the windows were drawn shut, and it was dark inside; I got up and snatched a peek out the glass. It was day now, and the storm had subsided to a clear grey sky, and no more snow fluttered down. It was all very still. “Don’t open those curtains,” the old woman snapped. I nodded, and slinked back by the fire. “Like I said, people don’t really come here often. What brought you all the way into the Dora Woods?” I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I was running away. I couldn’t let them find my daughter. I needed to go very, very far away. That’s all.”

“Poor girl,” she patted my shoulder. “Poor, poor girl.”

“Why does no one come here, anyway? I’ve never heard of Ghulash,” I frowned. “It’s cursed,” the woman smiled, teeth glinting unnaturally in the dim light. “Or so they say. It is one of the first towns destroyed by Dracula’s forces during the time of Trevor C. Belmont. Not a life was spared save for one, a woman He turned into a night-beast. And then Ghulash was empty, only visited by those who were led here by fate.”

I jumped, suddenly, noticing her fangs. “You are... a vampire?”

“Something like that. I abstain from blood, so I don’t get the advantage of youth,” she chuckled. “Yes, I wasn’t very impressed with Him. He wanted a bride and I would have none of that. He killed everyone I loved, after all.”

I ignored her blasphemies in my wonderment. “Then you are a higher being, an immortal being,” my eyes widened, ecstatic. Nothing sounded better than the clean catharsis of all the blood draining from my neck, now. “You must be here to bring me death. That must be the destiny that has—”

“Hush, child. You’re speaking nonsense. I’m just an old woman. Nothing more. And I saved your life, so don’t throw it away,” she huffed. “That wouldn’t be very neighborly of you. We are going to live here together, aren’t we?”

“I guess so,” I said. “At least for now. You don’t mind if I live in one of the other houses? I mean, if your old fellow townsfolk used to live there...” She laughed, long and loud. “No, those wounds are long healed. I haven’t had neighbors in a long time, girl. I must say, you did find the perfect place to hide. No one is going to find you, because no one likes going near the castle ruins. They’ve been there for centuries. Not even the cultists. Something... scares them off. Like the reality of what they have worshipped is too potent.”

“Good,” I said, coldly. “Thank you for saving me, old woman. I will stay as long as I need.” Something about her unsettled me, so I was glad of the excuse to leave her house. I felt at my neck. No bite marks; she had at least been honest. I crept into one of the empty buildings, made myself a little bed, and went back to sleep until the next morning, glad of the rest. When I woke I looked in the wardrobe, and was surprised to find a wealth of old clothing that just about nearly fit me right, though it was slightly too big (including a dark teal dress, my favorite color); and there was a breakfast, too: sometime in the night the old woman had left a warm bowl of soup on my windowsill, still unnaturally hot,  and I enjoyed it. Over the next few days I spent locked away in self-isolation, she delivered small meals every night, somehow always still fresh and warm when I  awoke. Slowly, I regained my strength, and I was glad that the old woman did not seem to force herself into talking to me. No, I wanted to hide away from everything. Maybe I would write again. Maybe.

Spring came, slow and warm but over quickly, and I said several prayers for Easter, for Thalia. Eventually, in the early summer morning sun, I decided to finally emerge from that dusty little house to get some fresh air, and walk along the edges of the Dora Woods. This turned into a little habit, counting the wildflowers, and trying not to think about death and churches and poison and snakes and shattered glass and dead rabbits. Laying in the grass and leaning against the trees soothed me somewhat, even as I had to try very hard not to be reminded of the cathedral grounds of Ecclesia.

I could be content with my little solitude, I thought. Me and my paranoia. They would never find me.

It was one of those midsummer days. I had some paper on me, another gift from the ghostly old crone, and I was trying to get myself to bleed some ink, to write again. A poem or a psalm, or something, but it all ran over my scarred hands, and so I gave up again, stained in black. There was something tiny and wriggling and painful in my chest, but I could not extract it, bring it into the light again. It was going to live in the dark, secluded forever.

I would wash my hands in the stream, I decided, and so I walked along the overgrown path, and let the cool water soothe me. I stood by the babbling brook for a long while after that, just listening to the trickling sound, empty, empty—

I shrieked and startled as, suddenly, someone attacked me, and I whirled around in a panic, my heart beating out of my chest. But what I had mistaken for a tackle was instead a kind embrace, from a face I had not seen in years. My blood went cold as I caught my breath. It couldn’t be...

Were it any other moment, I would have yearned to kill her.

“Could it be...? Lucila? I never thought our paths would cross again,” it was Shanoa, her stern, solemn face softening into a warm smile. She was still strong and muscular, but fatter now, softer and fuller-bodied in comparison to my spiderly, malnourished frame. I wanted to allow myself this comfort, this friendly embrace, but I swallowed, and pushed her away in disgust. “How could you say that... after you took him from me?!” I said, my voice shuddering as my eyes narrowed with fury. “How could you? I have nothing. I could have at least lived in delusion a little longer!”

I wanted her to be angry with me. But she only said, “I am sorry,” in a way I couldn’t quite parse the intent behind. “But Barlowe was evil. He wanted to offer us, the disciples, up as sacrifices, to resurrect Count Dracula. I could not allow that to come to pass.”

“I know all that!” I spat. “I just... I just didn’t want it to be so difficult... I am lost in the world, without the Order. I have given up everything, I have been driven from every home I have ever had, and now you’re here to drive me from Ghulash, because I am evil. Oh, I always knew. I knew he was going to kill you, sister. How does that make you feel? That he trusted me with knowing, and I did nothing. Am I not despicable? I deserve to die.” I hissed. I didn’t want more reminders; I wanted her gone, and quickly too. “I preached His word for years and years, because I too worship the Dark Lord!”

“He made monsters of us all. I am evil, too,” she said, softly, looking down at her hands, and then shivered, kneeling by the water and washing them off, as though compulsively. Was she imagining Albus’s blood, still staining them irrevocably? She rose from the brook to take my hand, an attempt at comfort, and I slapped it away. I was sobbing now, the bottled storm of emotion finally cracking free. “Why?! Why does it have to be so hard? I was cursed, and betrayed by everyone. I know how this ends. Get away from me.”

She complied, and stepped backwards. “I will give you space, if that’s what you want, and I shall not return after my business with you is finished. But I have the sense that you have a story to tell. Perhaps it would help you to tell it; there is catharsis in shared pain. Because whatever you have gone through, I understand. Barlowe hurt me, just as he hurt you. He was my Father, my Master. You are perhaps the only one in the world who understands to what extent. Lucila...”

In the distant trees, I could see the silhouette of that white wolf, always watching. He had not steered me wrong before, and I took this as a sign.

“Come with me, then, and I will tell you everything,” I said, and turned back towards Ghulash. Inside the little house, I became so aware of how dusty everything was, a thin grey snow on every surface.

 We sat down in the old cushioned chairs by the abandoned fireplace, Shanoa crossing her legs and leaning over in a very strange way. She had always had strange posture that the elders tried their best to correct, but she seemed so much freer now.

She smiled at me encouragingly. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”

“I don’t know where to start,” I said, swallowing.

“Where we left off. When we parted, sister.”

 So I began the story:

“After Barlowe’s death and your escape, Ecclesia disbanded, as we had no purpose without him, and the elders instructed us to wander the world and spread our teachings in Dracula’s new world. As I’m sure you know, that did not last long. He was defeated. Killed.”

“By me,” Shanoa sighed, a solemn sound. “And I have paid the ultimate cost. Dominus...” My eyes widened. “You survived? But how?”

“By miracle, yes,” she looked down at the floor, her eyes hidden by her shaggy bangs. Her hair looked like she cut it herself, now, and I noted, curiously, that her modest dress covered the scars on her back and shoulders. Barlowe would have never allowed that. She was so different, now, free of his grasp. Happier...

“How?” I asked.

“It needed to take but one soul. Albus, always one step ahead, bound his soul to the glyph. And so I sort of killed him twice, in that moment. But I had to, to kill Dracula; it was what he had planned. And he gave me everything else that I had lost. My happiness and my freedom... It is an odd feeling. I wish it could have been me, instead, sometimes. That ‘what happens next’ is the hardest question I’ve had to answer. It would have been easier for the story to end in glory, to be a martyr. But it always goes on, doesn't it? I could not waste his last gift to me.” There was a flicker of passion and sorrow in her lively eyes; her emotions had truly returned to her.

“I didn't understand why he would give away his place in Ecclesia until I had to make a similar sacrifice. I would have given my life, too,” I sighed. “But that is later.  After the Dark Lord was banished once more, I wandered the woods, and ended up in Veros... It did not last long; I was rather publically thrown out of the town. I had tried to write a secret memoire of my time in Ecclesia, and it was comforting to write, but it had been found by the innkeeper who provided me with my lodgings. But in the woods I was found by a church called the Remains, who claimed they could heal my soul. And I thought I was happy there, but... The Heart’s attempts to draw my wound to the surface had only made me bury it deeper. I could not accept what had truly made me this way. Not that they would have liked the truth, either, of course.”

I did not mention Eulalia by name. It was still a stinging memory.

“In the Remains’ ‘healing’ only drove me further into my own delusions. And I was betrayed by a fellow member I had befriended, reporting my discontent to the authorities. They kept me in their death-house for days, and she meant to kill me, with poison. But this vision I had, during the ritual, that Barlowe was the source of my great wound... I just could not accept it, or the Remains.” Shanoa’s eyes narrowed as though with recognition, but she said nothing, quiet and listening.

“And I left. And so I went to Jova next, and it was a quaint, pleasant little place. I resolved to spend my days in solitude, but... I met a man, and he... captured me, in a sense. I was deep in infatuation with him, and quickly discovered that he was of a sect called the New Church, and his talk of love and acceptance of death and birth was quite fascinating to me. So I joined with him, and he took my... I mean, I broke my vows. And we had a child. I was one of many mothers he had made, but I thought I was special to him. But...” I sniffled, the memory still too raw.

“You gave up your child,” Shanoa said, quietly.

“I had to. He was feeding her insects and live birds and things, trying to give her a taste for blood, for life. And when he heard there was a vampire killer coming to investigate the church, he intended to kill all of us in the ‘Last Supper’. I had seen him kill before. Me and her... My poor Thalia. I think he was frightened, because he was soon for death. He was sick. That was last winter,” I finished. “I had to do it.”

“May I comfort you?” she asked, plainly, and I nodded. She embraced me, quietly, and I wept into her arms for a few breathless moments. Was this what I had wanted this whole time? Comfort? I had seen her as a monster, a wicked heretic for so long, but she was so warm and kind to me in that little moment, and that softness lingered and melted on my skin as we parted.

I continued: “So I made a great journey, during a snowstorm. And I saw such strange things in the woods...” I paced around the room as I recounted my tale.

“Oh?” Shanoa tilted her head.

“On my way to Fetra, I saw a wolf, who led me there. A great white wolf, with blue eyes. I was certain it was Dracula. He guided me, when I thought I was lost forever. He showed me the path. And I know it is real because I dreamed about it, long long before this happened. A dream where I was lost in the snow with Thalia, and Dracula appeared to guide me.” I could see Shanoa tense.

Her eyes widened with fury, jumping to her feet. “Still you pledge your faith?! You must know He was not kind to me, when we met. He wanted to make me His bride! He took everything from us!” her voice shook with hurt. “And that wolf... I have seen it. It follows me, sometimes; it led me to this hidden, lost village, and I found you. Perhaps it is a spirit. But it is not Dracula.”

“But the dream! It was a warning, a guidance. My faith in Him is all I have. Do not take even this from me. Don’t you believe in God?” I pleaded. “No. I do not believe in God, Lucila, or at least I do not swear loyalty to Him. Higher powers, certainly, the source of magic, but not a man or deity. What I believe in is the good on earth. That is what is most important to me,” she replied, a little firmly, sitting back down, avoiding meeting my gaze. “I suppose you can believe what you want. But if He is a deity, he is a cruel one.”

I felt a little wounded. “I suppose we cannot agree on everything. But Barlowe... I think I understand, now. He was the other ghost. After I lost everything else, I went to the woods to die. And I saw him, always out of reach no matter how I ran, and I realized how much he had hurt me. And you. And... all of us. It took me that long to realize, even as the evidence had stained my palms from the beginning.” My hands clenched. “He gave me these scars, Shanoa. As holy marks of loyalty. I thought it was incredible, and important. But he was just hurting us.”

“Indeed,” Shanoa looked away again, gaze swimming with hurt and sorrow. “It has taken me years to surmount the breadth of it, the wounded animal he made me into. And it is worse knowing that there are more who suffer as I have. That is why I sometimes chase after cults, I suppose. You could call it my ‘side job’.” Bitterly, I said, “I wish you could have shut down the New Church. Raoul and his pack of serpents.”

“I did. I wasn’t sure how to tell you. But I did,” she said. “Last winter. It would have been around the time you left.”

“Oh,” I said, and then I realized. “You must have been the vampire hunter that Raoul was so terrified of.” She nodded. “So I sort of saved you in the end after all. Perhaps now you can reunite with your daughter.”

“...I cannot,” I said, and the gravity of that admission brought me to tears once more. “I would be a terrible mother. I am too hurt, and the idea of somehow bringing her into the mess I’ve made is too painful. Even if the New Church is gone... I fear the possibility too much. I cannot let her be attached to me. There is a poison inside me and I cannot allow her to drink of it.”

“I understand,” she said, sympathetically. “As for the New Church... I am curious about one thing. I only knew about their operations because of who brought their activity to my attention. It was the same woman who reported the Remains to me, which just so happened to be around when you would have left. I wonder if perhaps you knew her, or if this is mere coincidence. Does the name Eulalia sound familiar to you?”

“Oh my God.” It all made sense. The moment she had seen me in Aldra had preceded the news of the investigation by mere days. And she had gotten the Remains shut down because of me. She must have sought out Shanoa based on the information I had shared with her, and reported the New Church shortly after our haunting encounter in Aldra, so horrified by what Raoul had made of me. Everything was all finally coming together.

She had saved my life.

I wept. The Tongue had finally spoken; her little prophecy had come true. She had loved me after all. She saved me.

“Did she speak of me?” I demanded. “No. I had no idea of your involvement until now. And I lost contact with her shortly after she sent the letter about the New Church; I never knew much about her beyond her first name. Did you know her?” Shanoa asked.

“I loved her,” I said, and it felt so relieving to admit it. “I thought she hated me. She... She tried to poison me. Why would she do that?”

“Why did I kill Albus? The same reason, I suppose,” Shanoa sighed. “Loyalty to a cause can make us do awful things... When I appeared, the leader of the Remains gave the order for them to disband peacefully, but I am not sure if I should share what happened to the New Church. You said you loved Raoul...? It may be unpleasant to hear.”

I looked away.  “Give me the truth. That’s all I want, now.”

“When I arrived, he had already killed himself. The rest of them went quietly.” I swallowed. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. He was evil. I shouldn’t mourn him. I sobbed in spite of the logic in me. “He must have done it because I left. Oh, God... What have I done?”

“It’s not your fault,” Shanoa stroked my hair, softly. “You mustn’t blame yourself. Would you have rather been trapped there, waiting for his ‘Last Supper’? I suppose he did it because he was terrified to see his little world dismantled. He feared that more than death in the end.”

“I suppose not. And I suppose I have no reason to hide, now that the New Church is no more,” I acquiesced.

“So now the world is yours. You are free,” she congratulated me with a warm smile. “Where will you go?”

“But the world is cruel. I have been rejected from it again and again; I have seen what happens. There is nothing for me under the sun; thusly, I shun her light,” I turned away, fear gripping at my heart again. “Barlowe was right about at least that. The outside world will hate me.”

Shanoa spoke slowly, deliberately. “There is good in the world; I have seen it. It is easy to be afraid, when you are looking through a misshapen lens. But now you can see for yourself; witness with your own eyes. If you want, Wygol is always—”

“No.” I shook my head. “I can’t. I don’t deserve...”

“Lucila. I was just as complacent as you. I killed my own brother. If you do not deserve love, and to see the world as it is, then neither do I,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I still think I don’t.”

“Then I will go,” I said with resolve. “I want to travel the world. I’ve spent so long hiding underground. But I want to see everything.” And maybe, someday... I will find Eulalia. I will find my self, too.

“You said you found comfort in writing. Perhaps you could write this story, too,” Shanoa said, quietly. “You’re right,” I shuddered with resolve. This was indeed a story worth telling, worth remembering, and that was the moment that this volume of my story was conceived.

We talked a little longer, Shanoa sharing news of the little mundane joys of her life in Wygol; she coaxed me to talk about the happier things I had experienced, and I realized then that there was more than I realized. My time in Jova, the little trip to Aldra and the ducks  (at least before I discovered what had happened to Gertrude), the love I shared with Eulalia.. Despite myself, I was smiling.

Was it really so terrible? Was I really so cursed? There had been good things in the world I had rejected, burying myself deeper into darkness. But the sun was so bright, now, and I was tired of looking at only shadows. I wanted the light, the true light. I knew where my journey would begin; I parted with Shanoa as friends, that evening, and watched her go, the white wolf waiting for her in the woods and walking close beside her, like a littermate, and in its eyes I saw a soft, quiet forgiveness.

I was smiling, and so was she.

“So your purpose here is over,” the voice of the old woman startled me. “As it was written.”

“You scared me!” I complained. “Where have you been, anyway? I haven’t seen heads nor tails of you since you rescued me.” She shrugged. “I’m always here. But I supposed I should give you my farewells in person.”

“I thank you for everything,” I bowed my head. “It was you, right? The food, and the clothes, and the other gifts.” She laughed. “I try to be neighborly,” she said, evasively. “But your time in Ghulash is over, is it not? I had a feeling,” she pursed her thin bloodless lips. “Yes. I leave tomorrow,” I said, decidedly. “Then I wish you well,” said the old vampire.

I left with the dawn, following the sun to my old home. It was a journey that took several days, but I was a more well-equipped traveler now. It was summer, and I had food and clothing and supplies. I cut across the woods and did not stop in Fetra, as seeing Thalia would be too painful, and I knew she was in better hands. Instead, I stopped by Aldra, hoping I would see Eulalia, searching her out in every crowd. I did not, but the town was as pleasant as ever. I visited Jova, too, across the river, and told my acquaintances of my plans to travel wherever the road would take me. I even felt bold enough to tread into Veros. No one recognized me in the years that had passed since my exile, but I was glad of it. I did not stay long. I had purpose in my backwards journey across the Tymeo range.

And then, across the sea of trees, I saw it. The crumbling ruins of my home, my church, the destination I had sought, reduced to a scorched, burnt wreckage, like a ship aground, crooked, shattered foundations jutting from the ground, like a black scar on the earth. Left so long, it was being slowly overtaken by vines, a chapel of reclaimed green for only forest-creatures to find sanctity in, now. Perhaps that was the first time it had ever been holy.

I knew I had to return, this night. Only then would I have true closure; only then could I sever him from me.

I wandered through the burnt ruins, eyes flickering over every room I recognized, reduced to ash and nothingness. I swallowed, discomforted by the idea that it was all gone. All the beloved books I read with my friends as a child, the table I always favored in the meal-hall, my sleeping quarters... All of them were gone. The sturdy walls were destroyed, and the sky bled in, fresh and clear.

The community garden was overgrown, choked out with weeds that found fertile ground, there. Nostalgia choked me, the lump in my throat. But how could it all be gone?

Still another part of myself hated that I felt this kind of sorrow at all. My paradise, my childhood, my Eden, and I could never see the objects of my memory again. I had always been this way, yearning for the dagger sunk deep in my skin.

And the Forbidden Room... I shuddered as I ascended the little rickety remains of the staircase, visions recalled to my mind. Barlowe impaled, gasping for bloody breath; Shanoa beaten within an inch of her life. And there still stood the shattered Seal. The empty tomb, and bereft of the elevating dark power that had throbbed inside of it, that had spoken to me so long ago. Had not this old cathedral been cleansed, in a sense, by the Tenth Coming?

It was all empty. And I knelt there, at the cracked monument, without even tears, searching myself for closure in the sorrow of the night.

I knew now why it hurt so much.

But what now? I wanted to travel, but where? I was wrecked to my foundations; even my belief, my memory was shaken. I was a blank slate, and the prospect of creating a new me, a new Lucila, was frightening in a new and unknown way. What if I did it wrong again?

Then where would I be?

I had rejected Barlowe, admitted what he had done to me, this indoctrination, making himself the god of my world for all he preached of Dracula. But that had stolen my light away, his gift, and I had very little idea of what I was without that context.

I didn't want to pray anymore, fawning before some higher power just to feel something. I just wanted to think. I would worship Count Dracula forever, I knew, but in a different way. Through introspection, loyal to no one. A prayer to no one. Just me, and Dracula’s protection.

I was my own, now. I didn't need to keep running from the truth. I could breathe.

I could breathe...

As I prayed silently I began to feel so light and warm, the familiar glow. Not burning me from the inside, but a softness, a tenderness that belonged only to me. I felt like I was flying, and everything was bright and crisp and clear.

I slowly opened my eyes, raising my head from where it was knelt, and looked up to the velvet sky. The air was filled with little stars, soft globes of gold like fireflies rising into the night. I was so soft with this gold, emanating from within me, rising higher, higher. No fire, claiming me, but only this glow inside me, flickering off my skin. It was my light, my light, painting the sky, no glyph I recognized but perhaps something deeper, beyond his invented language, a power His and mine. My light!

And this light was never his. It was my own.

I wept, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly clean. The sun peeked out over the dark horizon as if to join these little blessed stars, and the sky welcomed me in soft pink and purple and orange, the color of pale roses glittering with dew. I drew in a breath, and the world exhaled with me. I had spent so long transfixed by shadow, I had no idea the sun could be so beautiful.

And the world was wide, and it was mine.

I had so much to see.

Thus concludes the second volume of this story, the story of how I destroyed myself; the story of how I freed myself. It is a good ending, I think, even if I have a thousand more tales inside of me. It feels cruel to call this an end at all; there is no ending; the narrative of a life is not a tidy structured thing.

I doubt anyone will read this; I will share it with no one. But within this volume is a reminder, a comfort to myself, knowing what complete reinvention I have experienced. I have traveled far, and I have learned so much. I have been blessed, by God and the Dark Lord, and if these pages communicate even the tiniest bit of my joy, then I have succeeded. Unlike the lost first volume of Futility, I have succeeded in making my story. In remembrance.

I am my Master’s eye no longer. I do not mourn for him.

I am Lucila, I am light, and I am alive.

And so it is with light that I leave you again, old friend. Perhaps I’ll write again someday.

— Lucila Fortner —

“I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun, because I must leave them to the one who comes after me. And who knows whether that person will be wise or foolish?”

A stormy moon rises on the horizon, and lightning lattices the sky like a spider’s web.

You tread uneasily on the cobbled streets of Veros, shrouded in black. You are here with but one purpose: you have heard rumors concerning the book. You knock on the old wooden door tentatively, like every move betrays who you are, darkness evident in even your breath. But the door swings open, and you are hurriedly welcomed inside by a dark-haired girl. You smile to yourself, quietly. The night is young.

“Is this Old Peter’s Inn?” you ask. The girl replies, “Yes, though grandfather died a few years back. Do you want a room?”

“I’m here concerning the book. The letter you sent me... You know something, don’t you? About my mother?” you reply, unable to hide your anxious shiver. “Ah. You must be Thalia, then.” The other woman hushes you and leads you into the back, where no prying ears would listen. Now it is just you two.

“Excellent. You arrived just as I wished. Yes, grandfather kept her manuscript. Hoping she’d come back, after she got kicked out of town. Old bleeding heart...  He didn’t realize I would find it,” the woman, Cristina, smiles. “That is how I found my faith. Despite his best efforts... The darkness has a way of creeping into outcasts like us. I always was a problem child. Heh.”

“She left a letter for me, when she gave me up at that orphanage. I barely remember her, but her words were so kind. I am... surprised she has any written record at all. The matrons told me she didn’t even tell them her name before she left. That she didn’t want to be found. But it was because of her prayers that Dracula would protect me that I am alive now, I’m certain of it,” You muse. “I became one of the devout, as you are.” You had crawled out of hell just for Him. And for her. You had always known, intuitively, that she had given up more than just her child. You feel your heart shudder with affection for the enigmatic woman who had saved you from your father... Wherever she may be, now.

“Then perhaps it is Him, who has conspired to bring us together,” Cristina says with fervor, handing you the dusty volume, hand-bound in dark brown leather and with pages that had begun to yellow. You run your hands over the title, hand scrawled onto the first page, as if it will somehow transfer your mother’s absent touch unto you, and you close your eyes. Futility.

"My name is Lucila Fortner.

Nothing remains of my Order.

And so, I write, adrift in the solace of quills and ink. I was a scribe of Ecclesia, and I found my higher calling in my utmost faith. I have lost everything but my purpose remains. I write..."

You clutch it close to you, as if it will wriggle free of your grasp, and you feel a dark, fervent, shuddering sensation threatening to burst from your chest. Oh, my poor mother... I have found this shard of you at last.

“We’re so fortunate the book even exists at all, Cristina. My mother... I don’t know what happened to her, or why she had to leave me, but... I want to carry on her work. It is... a paying of a debt. A matter of family honor. I have to do this. For her.”

“I understand,” she said. “I am glad that I could deliver the book to you. It has... everything. Her whole life, up until the Tenth Coming. I’m sure it is a great comfort, even if it is small.” You bow your head, grateful. “I am indebted to you, my Cristina.”

“Well. If that’s all settled,” She clears her throat, and with a flourish, pulls  a dusty, embroidered carpet from the floor and tosses it aside with disdain, revealing a hidden sigil scrawled on the ground. It could perhaps be called a magical seal, with careful straight lines drawn between six circular points. “I’ve been hypothesizing. Based on the magical systems your mother described. I knew I had to find you, Fortner. And I want you to help me. ”

“I will,” you vow. “It is the only way I can make things right. I’ve researched the Tenth Coming, its premature end. I have to make it right. We have to correct the Eternal Cycle. This must be what I was borne for.”

Cristina crouches down and runs her fingers over the streaks of white chalk on the wooden floors. “Shall we continue the work, then?”

You grin, perhaps wickedly. “With light, we shall.”

Somewhere, far away, without knowing why, a mother aches.

All was futile.