Shapeshifter

Prologue

With stealthy steps, a young woman, half wrapped in darkness, half illuminated by the crimson light of the bonfire, approached. She had gathered a group of children, who sat on the ground, watching her with wide, expectant eyes.

She stopped to point with her finger.

"It could be him, or you, or even me," the young woman said while pointing at each of the children one by one.

As she came closer to the fire, a lock of hair slipped from her black hood, revealing its blonde color. The girl smiled widely, which looked very sinister when illuminated by the bonfire, her eyes were fixed on a little girl who couldn't stand it and looked away.

"Shapechangers!" she declared with a commanding voice. With a quick movement of her hand, she made her cloak billow dramatically. She circled the children, and they couldn't look away. "Beings that wander the world, unknown to all, hunters of children—misbehaved children, evil children! If a child causes pain, they are taken, replaced... and they are never the same again."

Silence hung thick in the air as the girl smiled, satisfied by the fear and surprise etched into the children's eyes. They stared at her, frozen in place, their expressions tight with dread. Suddenly, she raised her right hand, and the children flinched as one.

"If they take and replace the evil children, evil people... Who is the real evil in this tale?"

Silence again.

The children glanced at one another, eyes wide, while the girl's soft, dismal smile glowed in the firelight. Her steps became calm as she circled the children. She paced slowly for a minute before stopping behind a fat boy. Without warning, she bent down and gripped him by the shoulders.

The boy froze, then let out a sharp, piercing scream. As his scream died in his throat, he struggled to escape, using all his strength, but the hooded girl held him with an unyielding grip. Then, without a word, she let him go. He fell to the ground, his face hitting the dirt. Desperately, he tried to stand, only to stumble and fall again. Gasping, he looked up at the girl, whose eyes gleamed like rubies in the firelight.

"Problem children who fight with their friends," she whispered, closing the distance with slow, stealthy steps. The boy froze once more. "Evil children, children who steal food from those smaller than them."

The young woman stopped in front of the boy, locking her gaze on him. Slowly, she placed her right hand behind her back. The fat boy began to cry—a strong, pitiful wail—but she kept only a soft smile on her face. The children around them remained silent, frozen in place.

"She gave it to me, she gave me the apple!" the fat boy shouted, scrambling to back away as he glanced frantically at a little girl with wavy brown hair. She met his terrified look with the same fear in her eyes. "You have to say it, Emy, tell her!"

But the little girl said nothing and looked away.

"The judgment has fallen upon you!" Miusela declared, her eyes cold and merciless as she looked down at the boy.

Then, a hollow sound echoed through the air.

"Enough, Miusela," a man said, holding a wooden spoon just above her head.
Miusela's face twisted into a frown, and she sighed, closing her eyes in exasperation. After a few seconds of silence, she raised her hands dramatically and gave a big round of applause.

"That's enough for tonight, my dear children," she said with a warm smile, bowing deeply. "Thank you all for being part of the Miusela Vantari show."

She waited in silence beside the man who had interrupted her. Her eyes remained fixed on the fading glow of the bonfire, but she said nothing, not even when the last of the children had left for their parents' camp. Only then did she let out a quiet sigh, folding her arms across her chest.

"We talked about that, Patrick. I don't like interruptions... your interruptions," Miusela said with an angry expression.

"The poor brats can't sleep; you scared him," Patrick scolded. "I didn't know; the old Roger was telling you stupid tales about fairies and dragons."

"Shapechangers, Patrick. You see, these tales are indeed so stupid, but Roger didn't tell them to me," she said with another sigh as she walked to the tree, and she give it a gentle kick. "Stupid tales, yes, they do. But only fools and children can believe them; these tales only scare brats."

Patrick sighed, and Miusela frowned, her expression full of disapproval as she looked at him. He was her guard. At first, she thought it was a good idea: he was a friend of her father's, and on paper, it seemed like an excellent plan—someone trustworthy. She never imagined this person would end up treating her with such familiarity.

"They're just children, Miusela. I think this brat likes the girl—he only wants her attention."

Miusela snorted.

"That's ridiculous," she replied, crossing her arms. "Why does he do this? Is he an idiot?" Miusela said.

"Aren't you the great actress who can be anyone? I'm surprised, I thought you'd understand his reasons."

Miusela let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

"It's obvious, Patrick, I get that. What I don't understand is the reason it has to be this way. To me, it's simple—this pathetic show is pointless. If he likes her, he should be nice and attentive, not a fucking cretin. If someone appreciates you, that should be enough."

Miusela smiled mischievously at Patrick.

"People put on weird shows," she said, her arms behind her back. "It's funny—shows like that are stupid and pointless. And yet, I live off them."

"What is this about? Is this how you plan to get away with it? Let me remind you, these children ARE from the caravan. There are a lot of people, and you've scared their kids. I know I promised your father I'd protect you, but I can't defend you from them. They're civilians—angry civilians, and you're the one who caused it."

Miusela let out a chuckle, her eyes drifting up to the bright stars scattered across the sky.

"Nobody could possibly hate someone as wonderful as me," she said, smiling broadly and placing the fingers of her right hand on her chest. "Besides, you're so ungrateful. You talk as if traveling with me were a punishment. Do you know how many others would kill for your place? I even pay you."

Patrick sighed.

"You pay me to guard your back, not to flatter you."

"For that very reason, you should be standing guard," Miusela said with obviously feigned disdain. "Go, my guard, my brute, my rude brute."

Patrick looked up at the sky, sighed, shrugged, and left Miusela alone. She remained watching the stars for several minutes, even after he was gone.