Romka

I was always one to be skeptical. Sometimes, I would become so skeptical that I would doubt goodness, and evil would end up seeming more good than goodness itself.

This was what caused the mindset that ruined my life.

There was one day where I stumbled across a club filled with cultists and Devil-worshippers, and that was the perfect niche for someone like me, who thrived in evil and wickedness.

I had gotten sucked in.

Before I knew it, I was a devoted member of a cult led by this man who claimed to be a prophet. He urged us to step away from society and focus on our own values and practices elsewhere. I followed his lead, leaving behind my normal life and dedicating myself to none other than the Devil.

I was one of the most loyal followers, and was willing to do anything in order to raise my status within the cult. That was how I thought I could find meaning. In a life so devoid of it, searching for it in your own twisted way was all you really could do. That’s what I believed.

Our cult’s main goal was to conjure the Devil, and in order to do this, that man who called himself a prophet said we were in need of a vessel. By a vessel, he meant a pure human worthy of housing the soul of the Devil, only to have their own expelled.

It had to be a child, free from the tainted values and energy of the outside world. In other words, he wanted one of the cult’s women to bear a child that would later become the vessel.

And being as devoted as I was, I was the one who offered to do it.

***

I saw my child’s face for the first time. I had also given him a name.

Midas.

It was a lovely name, wasn’t it?

As I handed him over to the cult, I felt a small ache within my heart. I wasn’t sure why.

From a young age, he was carefully crafted to be the perfect vessel. I watched him a lot, so I knew. The little boy who could barely take a few steps was going to be the one who would carry out all of our dreams.

Years passed, and I continued to watch him grow. I would even have conversations with him every now and then. He knew me as just another cult member, but I didn’t mind so much. As long as I got to talk with him…that was enough.

But it just felt like my belief in the cult and in the Devil would weaken after every one of those talks.

I felt a strange sense of clarity growing within me, as if the decisions I had made and were making would have a terrible effect on what I truly cared about.

What was it that I truly cared about?

I always asked myself that. And as more years passed, it only felt like the answer got clearer and clearer.

Midas once asked me a question.

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

I couldn’t even give him a direct answer. I couldn’t tell him that I was his mother or that I just really wanted to get to know my own son. All I could do was pitifully respond with “I just find it fun,” playing it off like I had no relation to him whatsoever.

He didn’t know the truth. All I was to him was another adult. I didn’t think I’d care about that, but my heart ached every time I was reminded of the fact.

And it ached even more when I realized that the final ritual was soon. He was to die and leave his body for the Devil.

…Would he really die?

My own child?

Once the final ritual had come, I felt a terrible uneasiness. As I saw Midas walk into the sanctum with his head held low, it only made it worse. My hands trembled as I heard the loud chants of the other members.

And once I saw the prophet raise his dagger, I couldn’t bear it anymore.

I…I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let that happen!

I felt such a large responsibility. I was the one who had brought him into the world. And now…he would be murdered, all for a ritual that probably wasn’t even real.

Without even thinking, I burned everything down. I took candles and threw them all around the sanctum, setting the entire place on fire. And amid the confusion, I went over to Midas.

He lay on the altar, unconscious with blood oozing out of his neck and sigils drawn on his body. I only hoped that it wasn’t too late. I carried him on my back and dragged him through the night, into the woods and away from the village.

Once I tended to his wounds and he woke up, I felt an immense guilt.

“I’m sorry…” was all I could say.

And then, for the first time, I embraced my child.

I didn’t regret running away with him. I knew they’d be coming after us, but I just wanted to spend as many close moments as I could with my son. Was that too much to ask for?

For once, I just wanted to be his mother.

But our fantasy didn’t last for long at all. I tightly clenched his hand as we ran through the woods, trying to escape from the cultists chasing after us.

They were getting closer and closer, and my heart was racing. I didn’t know what to do, until…a thought came to me. Something that I never would have considered before having a child in the first place.

I was willing to sacrifice myself for him.

I suddenly stopped in place and urged Midas to leave. I had already made up my mind, and took out a knife I’d been carrying from before.

Midas looked worried.

“Romka, what—”

I patted him on the head. I wished I could’ve done more to ease his troubles, but that was it.

“You have to go by yourself,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t come with you.”

“No! We have to run! We can make it!”

I looked into his eyes. I wanted to tell him something I’d been holding back for so long.

“I…”

I stopped myself. I couldn’t do it. A mother like me didn’t deserve to say such words.

All I said to him was thank you, and then I urged him to leave while I rushed in and bought him time.

I wasn’t able to do much. There were so many cultists after us, and they took control of me far too quickly. I resisted as much as I could, but I knew I’d be dying there either way.

But I didn’t mind.

As I lived out my final moments, I could only wonder if Midas had made it out safely. My body had started to go cold, and I felt it becoming harder to draw breath.

I should’ve been satisfied with myself, but I wasn’t.

I just…

I still had regrets.

I wanted to tell him so, so badly.

I love you, Midas.

I truly do.

I love you so much.

I wish I could’ve said it to your face.

I wish I could’ve lived on with you.

I love you!

I love you, my child!

Midas, my dear boy!

I truly love you!

I kept repeating it, but it still wasn’t enough. I knew it wasn’t. I needed more for him. Something that would ensure his safety and well-being. Something that would help him live.

So for the first time, I, a woman who served the Devil, made a prayer to God.

Please…give my child a means of moving past his suffering and sorrow. Help him grow up well and live a normal life. Grant him the strength to heal. Help him find happiness. Allow him to be loved.

Please…take care of him.

Please. I beg of you, God.