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1640
The village nestled on the outskirts of the city, overlooking the expansive sea. An endless expanse of blue stretched towards the horizon, where the sky seamlessly merged with the earth. On certain days, distinguishing where the sea concluded and the sky commenced proved challenging. The sea acted like a mirror, reflecting the celestial canvas above — an artistry of the heavens painted by the hands of angels. The wind, a maestro in this symphony, directed the waves into a soothing crescendo, each crash against the shore forming a lullaby that often lulled her into a peaceful slumber.
Behind her house rested a world of brown and green. Where a wave of pine stretched tall to the sky, and its arms reached far and wide. There was always a thick carpet of grass resting beneath her soles. Tangled bushes reached for her with their thin fingers, twist and turning, gnarling. But there was beauty in even that — there was beauty in everything.
'I will be fine, grandmother.'
Her voice was sweet as honey, rolling off her tongue with elegance. A sweet girl she was — at least that was what her grandmother had said. Praise would ripple from her grandmother's lips. Complementing every aspect of her. Her beauty, her kindness, her soul.
Wrinkly hands held onto her own. 'You must promise me that when he finds you, you pray for Astralis.'
Smiling, she placed her hand on her grandmother's cheek. 'I will honour Harrow's chase, grandmother. That is the way of our people.'
'Our people—' her grandmother began. 'Do not sacrifice people for slaughter like sheep—'
Her smile widened.
Oh, how her grandmother worried about her.
In truth, she was nervous too, anxious even.
But what was there to do?
Fate had chosen and pointed their finger at her.
'We do what we have to, to survive,' she whispered, and let go of her grandmother.
Taking a step back, she took one last look at her before turning around, beginning her trip into the dense foliage. In her hands was a basket — handwoven by her grandmother. Bread, fruits and a pouch of water. Useless really, she would probably die once the sun set. But for now, she could enjoy the scenery.
In reality, she should have felt a sense of gratitude that it was her chosen instead of Little Sarah. The young girl was frail, undoubtedly too sick to endure the harsh winter ahead. Despite the odds, her parents tirelessly endeavoured to aid her, striving to mend her fragile health. Little Sarah, being too young to comprehend why she was different, why she couldn't engage with other children or partake in the village's evening activities, remained blissfully unaware of her condition.
The details of Sarah's ailment remained shrouded in secrecy, known only to her parents. Alternatively, one might view it as a potential blessing if Little Sarah were selected. She was destined for a short life, and perhaps, the vampire had no appetite for feeding on an ailing child. That could be the silver lining in this ominous situation, a small glimmer of hope in the face of an unsettling reality.
When tidings arrived, proclaiming her as the chosen one — Sunny, by the endearment of her grandmother — a torrent of tears flowed ceaselessly.
A monthly ritual unfolded, selecting a sacrificial lamb to satiate the vampiric scourge that haunted neighbouring hamlets.
By offering the creature its prey, the village sought reprieve from its bloodthirsty rampages.
Thus, with a heavy heart, they adhered to the unsettling tradition, designating her as the fateful choice for the current lunar cycle.
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