I stared into the eyes of my captor.
They were reflective and tainted green, like mirrors. Through them I could see my horrified expression and the darkness and ripped through me like fire. I screamed. It was the sound of a soul being shredded from a body, a life approaching the darkness of death.
“Oh, perfect little Maura. What an angel….of darkness.”
Her words hung in the air like smoke, poisoning me. Sickly sweet dark chocolate destruction. This was how I was going to die.
“What will they think of you? When they see who you really are?”
“Stop it,” I pleaded, my eyes stinging with tears. “I don’t want dark magic. I don’t want to be evil.”
“Oh, darling, you always were evil inside. I’m just brining it out, for the world to see.”
The way she said “darling,” in the high pitched, innocent, yet shaky voice—it sounded like murder sprinkled with sugar. It made me want to die.
“I don’t want the world to see who I really am.”
She gasped, as if that was not the answer she had anticipated. “Oh, but darling, of course you do. Don’t worry, you will learn. Being a Nocturnal is a gift. Embrace it, darling. Don’t fight who you are.”
Then I could feel the flames, reaching for me. Dark flames. Dark magic. They consumed me, burning through my soul. The flames engulfed me. I screamed, but it seemed that nobody could hear me over her loud, insane laughter.
Only one thought appeared in my mind: I am going to die in my dreams.
I woke up, my face streaked with tears. “That dream…it felt so….real.” I whispered. I could still feel the flames coursing through me, burning me from the inside out. I glanced at my alarm clock. It was only one in the morning. I tried to catch my breath and drift back to sleep. At 3, I finally managed to.
“Why did you leave? I’m not finished with you yet,” she said, smiling all too innocently. “Once your transformation is complete, you will realize that being a Nocturnal is a true gift, and you’ve been blessed.”
“I don’t want to be transformed,” I said quietly, staring at the moon above my head. Gnarled tree branches hung in the air, created eerie silhouettes against the moon, a filigree of broken pieces.
I could suddenly feel the fire burning me again. I looked down at myself to see I was glowing a faint violet.
“I can already see you’re beginning to transform,” she commented casually, as if we were good friends. Truth was, she was only a vision from past dreams to me, and I didn’t know who she was. I could only see her eyes—a crystalline, watered down emerald—and a curtain of black hair.
“I don’t want to transform,” I whispered, but my pleas became quieter and quieter until I couldn’t verbalize them, and they were just thoughts.
“Darling, don’t worry about it. The night will come upon you when you come to the realization that being a Nocturnal is a gift, a power.”
Her words slowly faded away.
When I woke up, her words were echoing in my head. A Nocturnal is a gift, a power. Embrace it, darling. I can already see you’re beginning to transform.”
I stood up, and slowly made my way to the mirror.
I can already see you’re beginning to transform.
My skin was so pale. If this was an ordinary day, I would’ve blamed it on fatigue—but I realized this was somehow connected to my dreams. I traced my spidery veins with my fingertip. I could see them through my skin.
And my eyes—they looked washed out, bleached. Like they had been painted with watercolors. They were like her eyes, crystalline, watered-down emerald. Only my eyes were violet.
So you’ve noticed.
It was a whisper, and I could feel the steamy breathe against my neck. It made me prickle. This wasn’t a dream memory.
