Chapter 16:

Story - II

Another Twisted Normality

I fell down the stairs for the first time when I was eleven years old. A loud thud made its way throughout the dwelling, and I could hear quick footsteps only a few seconds after.

I was smart enough to know how to break my fall, so I wasn’t really hurt. Be that as it may, I knew the adults would still treat it as if I lost a limb or something.

“Child! What happened?!” one of them shouted as they rushed over.

“I’m okay, I just fell.”

“You have to be careful! If you get hurt, you could jeopardize the entire ritual.”

He gently took my arm.

“We’ll have to get you examined. Purification is soon, too.”

I went along with him as he unlatched the heavy door, guiding me out with a hand that was eerily calm.

There was an old church where I was “purified” every day. A bit ironic, isn’t it? Purifying the Devil’s vessel in a church of all places. It wasn’t in great condition—none of the buildings here were. Most were on the verge of falling apart, moss creeping up their walls like rot.

The village as a whole had been forgotten and softened by time. Cracked stone paths and damp, overgrown grass polished by rain were what you’d see throughout it. But in a way, it felt like it had finally been allowed to breathe with the absence of people. That was what allowed for this quiet beauty.

In the church, my garments were removed and my body was examined. An adult would take oil laced with wet ash and smear it across my forehead, chest, and spine, muttering cold prayers under his breath. At the end, a bucket of water was poured over me, my body sharply jolting from its chill. The oil never really washed away, but that was the point—it kept me pure.

And as this was done to me every single day, I realized how quickly the final ritual was coming.

It was soon. Too soon.

When I left the church and was out of that adult’s care for the day, I heard a faint little whisper coming from my side. I looked over to see Romka hiding behind one of the dwellings, gesturing for me to come over.

I went with a bit of hesitation, making sure that nobody saw me or her. She brought me to the dilapidated backyard of the dwelling, and then sat me down on the wooden, weather-worn porch.

There was a certain blue tint in the air. It seemed that clouds were blocking the sun’s rays from reaching us.

“Romka,” I said, “why do you always want to talk with me?”

She looked a little saddened for a moment, and then smiled.

“I just find it fun. Everyone else here is a little boring, don’t you think?”

I tilted my head. “Talking to me is…fun?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.”

I looked out across the village, thinking.

“My preceptor says fun is a lie. She says it only leads people astray, and that’s why everyone outside of the village is so impure.”

Romka didn’t answer right away. She let out a soft laugh.

“I hope that doesn’t mean I’m impure.”

“...You came from outside,” I uttered, glancing at her. “Was it fun?”

She frowned. “You’re really curious all of a sudden. Are you nervous about the ritual?”

I didn’t respond, and instead kept my gaze on her. I just wanted an answer.

Reluctantly, she spoke.

“It was…different. Nothing like life here. I don’t think you should worry about it, though.”

“There are lots of people and buildings…” I said. “And technology way more advanced than anything in this village.”

She looked surprised.

“I didn’t know you learned about it already.”

We both looked out into the distance, and although the sight should’ve been calming, there was a feeling building up in my stomach. It wouldn't let me rest easy. And it didn’t feel right to tell anyone about it, either.

But in her presence…words simply felt possible.

I looked her way.

“I didn’t care—I didn’t care about all of that stuff before. But now I feel so anxious. Like if I don’t go and see the outside world, I’ll miss something…something important.”

Romka was quiet. Then, with an unexpected gentleness, she smiled and reached out her hand.

She placed it on my head.

It wasn’t forceful. It was barely even a touch.

Just a gentle pat. Then one more.

“It’s normal to feel that way,” she said. “But you’ll be okay. I promise.”

I didn’t know how to respond. There was a sense of warmth within me, unfamiliar yet soothing. It was the first time I’d ever felt something like it.

I wouldn’t have minded if she kept her hand there. I wanted her to. But after a few seconds, she withdrew it and left me with nothing but her smile.

What a strange woman. She had a soft voice, and always smelled of something herbal—like dried lavender or sage. I could never forget her.

She’d given me the last smile I’d see before the ritual. And the ritual would come sooner than expected.

Was I looking forward to it?

…I didn’t know.

***

The smell of incense clouded the air. Candles flickered across the room, casting shadows that would have swallowed everything in pitch darkness without their light.

Today, my soul was to be released, making room for the Devil’s.

The believers, draped in all-black robes, circled around. Their hands were joined in quiet prayer, chanting in rhythmic voices.

And in the center of it all, on the cold stone altar, I lay.

The incantation grew louder, then softer, then louder again. I found myself struggling to breathe, trying to draw in as much oxygen as I could.

I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to move, but I didn’t try anyway.

This was the end of my life. Once I was immolated here, it’d all be over.

A figure stepped forward, and I recognized that face immediately. The so-called prophet who’d started it all. He had a bowl of something in his hands, and dipped his fingers into it. He then brought them to my body and began to weave them across, drawing sigils on my stomach and chest. The chanting began to grow even louder, and I felt my heartbeat rise as well.

Our eyes locked a couple times, but he said nothing, only muttering the incantation like everyone else.

I see. No goodbyes. No shows of appreciation. No tears.

It didn’t matter, did it? This was my salvation. I would be the first.

The so-called prophet dipped his fingers into the bowl again and then slid them across my skin, moving onto my arms. Next was my face. The cold feeling was sharper than I'd realized.

It subsided soon enough. I looked over.

He stepped back and took hold of something—a dagger. He then anointed it with oil and a fine black powder.

I could only think of what I didn’t do. I hadn’t realized how young I was. Romka said it was normal to feel this way, but…that didn’t make it any less painful.

The dagger was suddenly pressed against my throat, and I felt it even harder to breathe.

Slowly, he pressed with more force. Until blood began to leak out.

All of a sudden, I jolted. My entire body was trembling. It was happening.

I couldn’t hear the chants anymore. Had they stopped? Or had I gone deaf?

More and more blood leaked out. There was no pain, no feeling. The only sensation was from my beating heart.

But then it stopped. My heart had stopped.

This is what it meant to be a vessel.

My eyes slowly drew to a close. There was a pitch-black salvation waiting for me on the other side, I was sure.

I saw a spark.

It was too late to wonder what it was. I had already reached the end, and now I would rest.

Even so…

I really just…wanted to see.