Bless the Beasts and Children

It was called the Great Turning.

History would refer to it as such, at least. Breakthroughs in demon history and physiology, solved in but one, for all intents and purposes, remarkably small-scale event.

Demonkin blood had been indeed inherited from the Dark, the creatures responsible for the Bi-Millenial Invasion.

And little Highcliff was at the precipice of it all.

The humans of Highcliff weren’t merely average. They were conduits against the Dark.

\\

The clean-up was grim. It was a nation-wide catastrophe—felt in every region—that had been inflicted from within.

And yet, life went on. It had to.

People grieved. Quietly, publicly. Some lit candles. Others lit effigies. 

After a week of mourning—instated by the Count and Lady themselves—the gears of the nation began to turn again.

It sparked debates and conversations about how things ended up this way. The Tide went too far, but not without reason. Soon enough, the demonkin conceded that their inhabitance was too much, too soon. 

Work resumed. Markets reopened. The hush of conspiracy lifted, scrubbed clean by official statements and heavily circulated decrees.

In the weeks that followed, most people returned to something resembling normalcy.

In the months that followed, long-delayed infrastructure projects were completed.

The great bridge spanning the Basin finally opened. No more treks down jagged hillsides or waiting for ferries.

The new elevators were a marvel—smooth, quiet, adorned with carvings of birds and stars.

Much could be said about the decision to relax borders with Concordant lands while tightening them against the demon territories. There was talk of fairness. Talk of trade. Talk of security.

But no one really cared—so long as the markets stayed full, and the roads stayed open.

The economy ticked on. That was what mattered.

Eventually, the national mood settled into a lull—uneasy, but tolerable. After something this traumatic, no one wanted to pick another fight. And besides, so much of Highcliff had been involved in the rebellion, in one way or another.

It became harder to tell who was Tide and who wasn’t. Harder still to know how you should feel about them—if they once handed you bread, or if they once burned down your granary.

That’s what made it all so difficult.

Forgiveness was easy—until you had to look someone in the eye. Harder still, perhaps, when that someone was yourself.

Especially for those who've found some newfound… conditions.

\\

“Elisa,” Cynthia said patiently. “For the last time—you have to drink my blood.”

“And for the last time, I use my free will to not do anything of the sort!”

“I’m afraid that’s not up for discussion, mistress. You so easily forget you'd die otherwise.”

“Ughhh…”

From down the bathroom, a very animated voice shouted. “Honey! I need help with, uhh—plumming my feathers?”

What would he ever do without— “Coming!” Elisa snapped, already halfway toward the door.

Cynthia blocked her path. “I insist.”

“Elisa!” Kael shouted again. “The Lycans are ready for the brooch ceremony!”

“I know, love, I know,” Elisa called back. “Narla still owes me for giving them such a handy deal!”

“It will pay back dividends, eventually.”

“I know—MMPH!!”

Cynthia had grabbed Elisa by the shoulders and tilted her neck toward her, forcing contact. Instinct took over. Elisa latched on, drinking—too fast, too hard.

“Mmppphhh—” She forced herself off with a gasp, blood staining the corners of her mouth.

“You could’ve died!” Elisa exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Cynthia, now very pink in the cheeks, smiled sweetly.

Elisa groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh. So you’re one of those, are you?”

Kael, feather half-fluffed, peeked around the doorway. “…Should I come back later?”

\\

It was surreal how life seemed to trudge along, to be perfectly honest.

But that didn’t mean all old scars healed.

\\

Ma Gogilka.

She was standing once again at the place where this whole mess began.

Summer blanketed the hill. The sun pressed down—warm, not cruel. The breeze carried the scent of dry grass and river dust.

Kael had insisted on coming to pay his respects. The sheer number of kisses he peppered across her cheek until she said yes was persuasion enough.

He laid a flower by her mother’s stone. For her father, a pint of beer—still capped, cold from the pack.

Kael stared at the offering, then at the old iron weapon mounted beside the grave.
His brow furrowed.

“Your father tried to kill you. The weapon he used to strike your mom is right there. Why honor him at all?”

Elisa crouched down, brushing dust from the stone. “He doesn’t deserve me. Or her. Not in brass tacks, anyway.”

A beat.

“He did the right thing, in the end. But this—” she gestured to the stone, the offering, the wind— “this isn’t for him. It’s for me.”

Kael didn’t speak. He just took her hand.

Elisa glanced at him. “Kael... why did you stay? Even after everything?”

He sighed. “I thought we’d talked about this already. Twice.”

“Neither of those times were exactly lust-free,” she said, tone dry. “It’s good to reexamine things when we’re not busy exploring the contours of each other’s skin.”

That made him laugh—softly, briefly.

Then quiet settled again.

“You said you loved me,” she said. “But surely you need something more than that. More than just ‘I see you.’” She looked at him, not accusing, just honest. “What made you say that? Love isn’t like the stories. When everyone around you says it’s a bad idea, you’d be forgiven for agreeing.”

Kael’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

“Your life would’ve been easier. Maybe you would’ve found the Tide years ago, in a raid gone awry. And I... I could’ve been the Count’s wife in all but name. Polished, obedient, invisible. The people would’ve been less receptive, but certainly not your kin.”

A pause. Something softer.

“Yet you didn’t walk away when you really should have.”

She reached for his hand again. He took it while sighing.

“To be honest...? I was already an outcast by the time you came along. And then I saw that you were an outcast. Ergo…”

“You needed someone who shared your struggles.”

“Nothing ever so self-centered, I assure you. There was attraction there, sure. You were beautiful, and you only got more beautiful as you aged.”

Elisa snorted.

Kael didn’t find it terribly funny. Instead, he exhaled, his gaze drifting for a moment.

“But when you break it down... I don’t really have a clean answer. Maybe it was the allure of someone foreign. Maybe it was the thrill of trespassing a boundary—the forbidden fruit, if you like.”

He paused, the edge of a rueful smile ghosting across his lips.

“As for why I stayed… guilt, in some ways. My parents, in others. There’s no single reason, Elisa. No neat throughline.”

“I figured that’s the best answer I’d get.”

Kael turned back to her, voice quieter now.

“You weren’t invisible. You were trying to be. Because you thought that’s how people stay. But I didn’t want the polished version. I wanted you. You who chose the hard road, even when the world told her she didn’t belong on it.”

He reached out, brushing his fingers against hers.

“That’s what you did for me. That’s why I stayed.” His expressed darkened. “But the past Elisa overcorrected. Gave too much of herself to me. And in the end… well. That’s the danger, isn’t it? With any all-consuming love. The abyss that stares back.” Kael straightened. “Well, then. Enough dawdling and reminiscing. I’m simply glad to have known both and come out on top both times.”

Elisa smiled, grinning ear to ear.

“You are one smooth talker, you know that?”