In the hearts of dreamers, lament will always linger. Sadness can bloom into the brightest, lambent shades, like the rain giving way to the phantom of a rainbow, like the promise of hope. But sorrow may also wind down a darker, colder path. Our hear...
The night sky was starless, and moonless. Branches of the apple trees in the neighbouring orchard tapped on her window furiously. Let us in, let us in, they seemed to whine, creaking against the gust. The candles at the foot of Kodiak's bed burned low, dripping wax all over the wooden trunk. Sweat glistening on her forehead, tears stinging her vision, she concentrated her mind on the candles, willing them just to glow a little brighter. Failing.
Her magic guttered like a weak flame on a curling, blackening match.
She thirsted suddenly.
Kodiak peeled off her blanket with her foot, stepped as quietly as she could on the ancient floorboards. Reaching the door, she twisted the knob, praying silently, fervently, Mama Annistyn wouldn't wake at its rusty sound. She peered into the corridor, hushed and foreboding and shadow-spilt. Finding no one outside, she stole through the corridor, making for her aunt and uncle's bedroom. She slipped inside, shook her aunt's shoulder softly.
"Auntie Inaya?" she whispered, one eye darting to the cracked door. "Auntie."
Inaya's bronze eyes fluttered open, drowsiness crusting the edges. Her words tumbled out, drawling with sleep. "What's the matter, sweetie?"
Kodiak was guilt-stricken, but the scathing thirst in her throat drove her more desperate than any day. "Auntie, I'm thirsty."
"There's a jug of water on the counter," Inaya reminded her gently. Her eyelids threatened to fall shut; it was obvious Inaya fought to stay awake.
"No, Auntie." Kodiak shook her head, jostled her aunt's shoulder one more time. "I'm thirsty."
The impression on the word jolted Inaya into full consciousness. She knew what Kodiak meant. Casting a brief glance over her husband, assuring herself that he was still deep in slumber, Inaya carefully sat up on the bed and pried open one of the drawers of the nightstand. She lifted layers of folded clothes, produced a sweater of Inaya's favourite. It was lumpy in several places, its knitting already falling apart, but in the thickness of its entirety was caused by the three blood bags stowed in between folds. Cow blood, fresh from the market. The seller had shot Inaya a suspicious look, for not many women of great families purchased beast blood, even for their cooking. It was only the lowliest servants dressed in rags who would be sent to buy it, and usually not seven bags at once.
Inaya pulled out a pin from her black hair, unravelling the messy bun to spill across her shoulders, and punctured a corner of one of the blood bags. Kodiak took it, the thirst now scorching the walls of her throat, placed the cut corner between her lips, and drank. Gulp after gulp.
When the blood bag was finished, Inaya tossed it into her tote bag to be disposed of during tomorrow's trip to the grocery's. If Kodiak, barely eight, already starved for more than the weekly dose of two bags, Inaya worried what would happen as soon as she reached her growth spurt.
Everything didn't seem out of place at this moment: Inaya wiping Kodiak's crimson-stained mouth, then giving her a breath-mint to rid of the blood's scent. Inaya had only discovered Kodiak's secret a week ago, two nights after her cat's demise. So petrified Kodiak had been, shaken to her core when she confessed to her mother-figure that she had been the one who'd killed the kitten. Who'd sunk her teeth into his jugular vein and wrested away his life in the small puncture, just for a drop of blood to relieve her abnormal thirst. "I'm sorry," Kodiak had sobbed into Inaya's shoulder, that night that changed everything. "I'm sorry."
"Auntie Inaya," Kodiak said, bringing Inaya out of her flurry of thoughts. "I'm going to be okay, right?" She asked this, small and scared.
Knife-tips brushed Inaya's eyes, fleeting and hot and stinging. "Yes." Her voice cracked with tears. She pulled Kodiak into her chest, their arms weaved tight round each other. She closed her eyes, swallowing the salt in her eyes. You are going to be strong, and brave, and beautiful. "Yes, you are."
☾
Sorry for not updating for the last few days! The schedule has been pretty hectic, with lots of surprises around the corner. Fun, sometimes, but often leaves a tired crease on my forehead. On one of the brighter sides, I've finished reading Katherine Arden's debut novel! Have you read 'The Bear and the Nightingale' yet? You certainly must! It's beautiful.
Well, anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading my stories so far! More updates for both 'Moonlight Orange' and 'Snow Bees' will come forth this week.
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