ANATOMY OF A GIRL

october 31st, 1808

Location:
Shayera, Obscurai

The newfound power from within their veins gave birth to many names for the family of the dark. Navgatmi. Dyatiem. Eternals.

"Steytela rovi tya zemya ti." The witch's Kryatsyan was harsh, the words rough against her tongue. No louder than a hiss. The night air almost smothered her voice entirely. Nevaeh wished it would.

These words that would give her father all he desires, that would damn the rest of them for eternity.

Bones of the body and blood in veins become gold.

Her father, Halcyon, would say it was all for them – to protect them. He'd say that Caius's recent fight with that boy in the village only proved they needed protection. Caius had nearly died, but Caius had started it. Nevaeh knew that if he truly wanted to protect them, he wouldn't curse them. He would teach Caius that his pride could get him killed, that there were times he should keep his mouth shut and his fists to himself.

Nevaeh knew this wasn't about protecting them. It was simply an opportunity for Halcyon to gain the power he hadn't been born with.

The village lights twinkled behind them. Silver, gold, bright white lights. The same village that her father would say "stifled all they were and all they could be". But it didn't matter anymore. They would be free, as he'd said. From this village, and the blinding lights within it. From the people and their unbearable kindness. Nevaeh didn't find it so unbearable, bur her father cared little for what she had to say on the matter.

"Steytela rovi tya zemya ti."

The particles of light spun around them in a dizzying whirlpool of silver. Halcyon Bane was smiling in the way only he could, in the way that made Nevaeh's head heavy and her stomach curl.

Somewhere around the edge of the light, Nevaeh saw the shifting purple smoke absorb the light and grow darker. Like something terrible, like something she couldn't stop, it happened slowly. So slowly, that they wouldn't feel the shift — the evils that bloomed in their hearts. As light became dark. Nevaeh could feel the darkness gaining strength, unfolding inside her like a plague. She could feel it in the night sky that pressed down on them, the stars that seemed to dim, and the dark cloud that settled over their heads. She could feel it in the forest's trees, fingers that blackened and clawed at the night to pull the heaven's from above.

"Steytela rovi tya zemya ti," the witch yelled, louder yet.

The purple smoke curled around them, any trace of silver forgotten. The smoke rose, faces carved within – screaming, crying, mourning. The smoke became violet mirrors, the faces became their own. The smoky reflection of Nevaeh reached forward, reaching for her throat, and smiling, always smiling. It whispered into her ear. Words of magic, and death; darkness, and destruction. The words she didn't want to hear. They became the incarnation of all those things at once. The magic in the air made Halcyon, what he'd always thought himself to be — everlasting. Everlasting beauty and grace. Everlasting greed and envy.

Halcyon Bane threw his arms outwards, letting the magic close in on him. The magic that filled their veins and tendons and bones. From that moment, they breathed in magic and let out death. Nevaeh did not want it. She did not want the poison.

Nevaeh read her mother's emotions for what must have been the last time, because once the poison had taken over her system, she wouldn't be a half-witch, and she wouldn't have magic. She would be a monster.

Her mother, Verena Bane, was scared. Fear made her stomach tremble and her throat close up. Nevaeh could not know what exactly her mother feared – the loss of their souls or the beginning of a dark era?

Nevaeh wanted to yell for the witch to stop, to rid the air of the violet and expel it from her lungs, but she knew the worst had come. The damage had been done and the violet had bloomed within the walls of her lungs. Her insides slowly liquefied and grew back in gold. Her skin burned as iron-flesh took its place. Strong and beautiful. Strong and beautiful. She wanted the ugly back. She wanted it all back.

She wanted to reach for the weapon she knew was hidden inside Halcyon's pant pocket — she'd seen him grab it as they left their home. The knife – arcane, with a blade of holy silver and a handle of the bones of fallen angels – would not only sell for millions on the black market, but it was also the only thing pure enough to kill a witch and end this. But she'd waited too long, and it was too late. They couldn't be saved.

She'd overheard the witch's whispers before the spell began. Whispering of a balance, and that the knife would keep the balance. Her father seemed unhappy about the witch's talk, but it seemed his desire for immortality overruled every other feeling.

She wanted to reach for the weapon in any case, but not to kill the witch. No, she wanted to drive the blade into her own chest, to remove herself from this dark era altogether. To die with her soul mostly intact. She could only hope the knife would actually kill her.

It seemed her body had other plans for her, as she collapsed to the floor, grasping at her throat. The purple smoke chocked her, pressed into her throat and holding there.

Their bodies became their tombs and their graves. What had her father done? Could immortality be worth the price of their souls?

Her head felt dense and she screamed in an attempt to push the smoke out from within her throat. It wasn't supposed to hurt. Her father told her it would be as easy as breathing. She should've known better. A fool she was to believe the lies her father spun with sugar words. They were too sweet for his lips of bitter greed. Her body continued to fight against the waves of darkness that flooded her lungs.

Verena fell to her knees beside Nevaeh, pulling her onto her lap. She whispered words of strength and a future without fear. Nevaeh wanted to scream, were these lies, too? Her temples burned, her head throbbed and her eyes stung, but the tears didn't fall, as if her body knew she should be stronger. Nevaeh held onto what little magic remained within her. Her mother felt sorrow, perhaps for the daughter she knew wouldn't grow older. For the daughter who would never have an eighteenth birthday.

Nevaeh hadn't been prepared to make that sacrifice, to never age, but she hadn't been given the choice, either.

Nevaeh turned her head to the side, feeling another wave of smoke rush over her.

The twins stood at Halcyon's side, not quite smiling, but not mourning either. Nevaeh could not feel their fear or their sorrow, and she didn't know if it was because they were fine with the darkness, or because she'd run out of magic. Both, it seemed. She'd known they were more like the father than their mother, more darkness than light, but surely, they didn't wish for eternal damnation?

But Nevaeh couldn't deny what she saw. The way the dark seemed to rush towards the twins, Caius and Calantha, toward their rotting souls.

Nevaeh could feel her body gaining strength.

They became the nightmares they couldn't avoid. They became the Eternals.

*

Nevaeh dreamt of darkness. Calling out to her, a voice like a blade. Blood, pooling around crumpled, bent bodies with blackened veins and empty eyes.

The voice of darkness was smooth and heavy and deep, and it came from everywhere. It was in her ears and behind her and beside her. She tried to run, to push through the blackness, but she couldn't run away from it, because it was inside her.