ZERO

Salem, 1646

The only sounds that entered her ears were the wind howling a frantic tune as she ran, the natural noises of the crickets within the canopy of trees that hugged the earth, and the ragged breathing in harmony with her rushing footsteps. Each breath was ripped out of her throat, escaping as the pain in her chest deepened. Her arms cradled the woman, her ash-brown hair hanging loosely like vines, almost kissing the ground.

What did she feel? Was it fear? Sadness?

Was it betrayal, sharp as the arrows piercing her back, as those she once trusted set fire to the world behind her?

They'd taken her.

Her lover. Her light. Her one soft, sacred secret.

All because of her.

Was it the nausea that overcame her? The migraines from the panic as those defaming, cruel, cold voices reached her ears as she ran looking forward at the trees that closed in, trapping her within this maze— leaving her with no escape, suffocating her and leaving her with those who pursued them and the orange-red sky that stared back at her crimson eyes almost sardonically. She could practically hear what it wanted to imply, the winds whispering things she didn't want to hear.

You should've known but to indulge in bliss.

But she had no choice. Even as the weight in her arms grew heavier. Even as pain bloomed through her shoulder.

She had to keep going.

She had to get her out.

She had to—

Her knees buckled. Her legs crumpled.

She hit the earth hard, but her arms didn't release their burden.

She crawled. Gasping. Bloody. Desperate.

Her fingertips brushed dirt.

Another arrow. Straight through her hand.

She screamed—loud enough to startle the trees, to make the birds take flight. The pain was nothing. The pain was welcome.

It meant she was still alive.

She had to be. Because Seraphina was still alive—wasn't she?

...But the body in her arms was still. Too still.

"No..."

She turned her. Gently. With trembling fingers.

Seraphina's eyes didn't open. Her lips no longer whispered gentle nothings. Her chest did not rise.

She stared.

Then let out a breath that sounded like the end of the world.

She knew deep down it was no use, that the one in her arms had gone limp ages ago, that there was no point in clinging to false hope. So she could only let her figure drop, willing the earth to swallow him, praying that, unlike her, she should go into a safe haven. The mark of that promise didn't fade from her body as the earth took it. Her slender, yet pale figure was strikingly beautiful even in death. For a mortal, she was extremely beautiful to the point where the one struck with grief couldn't help but hold her breath, realising the weight of that situation and letting a few ice-cold tears fall, the moonlight which escaped the sky—now black— reflecting off of it.

The men came closer. Torches raised. Bows drawn. Faces twisted by fear.

Her crimson eyes narrowed, staring daggers at the armed men who stood there, bows aimed.

She stood.

"Showing your true colours now, are we, monster?" a man said. His hands were shaking, his knees buckled, but she had no room for kindness. Not anymore. She only stayed silent. They were right, though; she was a monster, a freak of nature, an anomaly. But that didn't matter. She could only move forward, for her sake. She didn't look at them.

She looked only at her lover.

At the mortal woman who had dared to love her kind.

So she moved.

Her eyes reflected on those men she didn't dare give another glance. Looking at them reminded her of the one who was no more. After all, she was their kind.

To think someone so beautiful could be born to such an ugly race, where all they know is persecution.

They don't deserve her. They don't deserve beauty. They don't deserve peace.

They persecuted what they couldn't understand. Killed what didn't bow. Called love unnatural, then lit torches to erase it.

They didn't deserve her.

Not her voice. Not her hands. Not her kindness.

For the sake of the one that passed, the ill-fated one that loved a monster.

The monster had to press on.

Her crimson eyes bled light. Her expression was blank. Her voice was like glass.

"You killed the one thing that ever made me think I could be something else."

She took a step forward. "So yes. Let me show you what I really am."

The ground shuddered. The wind fell silent.

For the mortal who once kissed a demon's hands and called her worthy—

She would walk forward. Not for vengeance. Not even for justice.

Just memory.

Because that was what the mortal would have told her to do.

And that was what the mortal would do in her stead.

So a path of blood she shall create.

Because that was what they deserved.

Because love should never have ended in fire.