The Stag Hunt

Chapter 1: Midnight Mass (First Draft)

Standing in the middle of the cornfield behind my house, there are two paths. The one on the left, a wave of fog blocks my view, with only those crimson eyes of a wolf staring back at me. To my right, the path is nearly blinded by the light of a strange, bright star hovering in the sky.

Don't look at it! a voice inside my mind warns me. The sun has not risen in over a thousand years in this land and you are not as exposed to it as the Elders proclaim.

Why not? What's so dangerous about a star? I ask as I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, sweat running down my face as I come to realize it's summertime.

Because most of the stars are dead. This star has been here, even before the time of this land, and will remain much longer after we are all gone. It shall, as it is written, be our salvation and the cause of our destruction. The choice is yours.

With her final words, a gray-haired woman revealed her face to my mind's eye. One I've known all too well. Genevieve Marionette Pardonius, Queen of the Syrens and the Southern Isles. And yes, she prefers to either be called by her full name or 'The Syren Queen'.

Before I could make the choice on which path of the cornfield to take, an hour before our annual church service, the bell town square wakes me up from the anomalous dream. I sit up in my four-poster bed, pulling away at the lavender sheets I picked out when I was seven. I take a good glance around my room, knowing if I'm chosen today, there's a high chance I won't see this room again.

Maybe in Heaven, your waiting room for the Apocalypse will look like this. Oh, maybe even wifi, a child-like voice whispers in the back of my mind.

If there are such things of Heaven and Hell, I feel that the Angels would have destroyed this land already. Now, if I win the game, we'll talk.

After my bath, I walk over to the worn-out leather theatre seat in front of my desk; holding various candies and art supplies. My fingers run along the silk of the knee-length white dress my mother spent all of yesterday sewing together by hand. I remember how calm and focused she looked, her age lines pronouncing her many years of wisdom of survival and tiredness of being scared all the time.

We should all be scared. We're at the mercy of these dark creatures, but at least we're not the Northern Mountains where humans are enslaved by vampires. Here in the Southern Isles, the only way in and out of this place is by boat, so really it's just a fishing town. I guess we have it easier than most.

I slip on the white dress and finish putting on the matching flats as soon as my mother walks in. A small smile shows on the crook of her mouth as I stand in front of my floor-length mirror, realizing I still have to do my hair.

"You look great, honey. Now, let's do something about your hair. No makeup today, you know how the Council feels about vanity."

I let out a small laugh as she removes a hairband from her wrist, holding it between her teeth as she braids my hair into a bun.

The Southern Council goes all out for the Hetacomb and has declared death for any maiden to wear any form of beauty on their face at the ceremony.

"I used to have hair like this, dark as night. But I think I'm enjoying this silver more now," she laughs; a rarity.

"You're only forty, mother. You just had a birthday not two weeks ago," I remind her.

"Must be a genetic thing. Don't worry, you won't have har like this until you're fifty."

If I make it to fifty.

"They're having a meal after the Hetacomb, whole roasted suckling pig, as usual. We should go now so we're not late for mass," she slips a golden ring on my thumb that doesn't go well with my fair complexion.