asceticium

[asceticium]

𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧 • 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Backstory: 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟

“A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest is her.”

The desire for vengeance, fueled by animosity and resentment, is to exact punishment or retribution for an injustice. However, vengeance had its pros and cons. Its acquisition necessitated the creation of two graves: one for the seeker and one for their enemy. Both would eventually end up sleeping under a starry sky. This reality was clear to Amelia Hamid. She was divided into two halves: one prepared to die, and the other clung tenaciously to life. There was a split in her. However, she had changed from her previous self. Amelia had been naive at one point. She was energized, optimistic, and wished to make a difference in the world. She had faith in humanity's inherent goodness and the eventual victory of kindness over cruelty. Maybe she was innocent, yet dreaming came naturally to her. In her ideal world, women would be free to do as they pleased and not be constrained by societal norms. Still, her loved ones paid little attention to her aspirations. The Eclipse Order is one of the most powerful covens in the world, and Amelia was born into that power. In the witchcraft community, the mere mention of the Hamid name was enough to inspire dread and respect. However, in contrast to her sisters, Amelia never showed any interest in magic. Why some had power when others, maybe more worthy, had none was something she couldn't fathom. Even though she had it, she was uninterested in using it. That everything would change when Amelia would awaken to the shadows that had always lurked, waiting—the day her family was massacred and she lost everything. There would be no going back once she did it.

•••

“Will it be too much to ask you to give this a go, Melia? We all know you're not keen on it.” Once Amelia heard her younger sister say those words, she shook her head slightly and rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms and whispered, "I'd rather be reading. I will do what I can and return to my book because you two won't let me be alone. Is that understood?" Her sister's black eyes drew her moss-green stare, which she then shifted to the majestic tree in front of them. As she took a long breath in, her right arm languidly extended, its nimble fingers quivering. “Phasmatos Incendia.” The incantation was so easy to utter that it slipped from her lips. The tree's bark was devoured by the flames in a matter of seconds, and the leaves curled up in the burning heat. Flashing her lips into a grin, Amelia looked to Isabella, her satisfaction plainly visible. "That’s how it’s done." With each stride, she shook her head and let out a gentle, delighted laugh. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "See you both at dinner. Don’t burn the house down.”

The sound of Amelia's boots pounding on the ground shivered through her. The cabin was surrounded by an unusually quiet atmosphere. They were a noisy, chaotic family who never knew how to be quiet. Ryen was always pouting because Francis didn't pay attention to her while her mother spent her days concocting potions, and her father entertained the Order leaders for political debates that never ended. Isabella was always bragging about her powers. However, currently… there is no evidence. There was a problem.

The dense, metallic, stifling aroma overwhelmed her long before she ever approached the wooden door. Death. In her effort to go inside, her breath caught. While her stomach contorted wildly, her moss-green eyes scanned the blood-stained space. There was now nothing but sorrow in the room where joy and warmth had previously resided. Her heart clenched as her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the floor. “Amelia…” She could tell whose delicate voice it belonged to despite its weakness. She crept up to it, whispering, "Mom…" as her eyes widened with grief. "Sorry I couldn't be here." The only words that Amelia could manage were those. Her racemed eyes darted frantically around the bloodstained cabin as a crushing wave of guilt washed over her. Deep down, she understood; there was no need to look for signs of life because deep in her core, she already knew. They were gone.

Unable to control her shaking legs, she struggled to her feet, her breath caught in her throat. Standing at the restroom door, she nervously held the knob in her palm, her fingers shivering as they delicately wrapped around the icy metal. She paused, holding her deepest fears for what lay ahead. The door leaned open with a sluggish turn. She found her mother slouched by the tub, her delicate frame marked by deep, gaping bite wounds. The wounds gushed red ribbons that soaked her once-warm skin, enveloping her in the embrace of death. Dark and glassy, her half-lidded eyes were starting to lose their radiance. “What happened? Please, talk to me!” Amelia’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. The weight of her sorrow rendered her helpless as her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the floor. With a feeble gesture, her mother's quivering fingers signaled for her to come closer. Crawling toward her mother's side, Amelia swallowed her sobbing and felt the warmth of fresh blood pour into her skin. “Amelia…” Her ears were scarcely perceptible to the trembling, dwindling whisper. The sound was so close to Amelia's own shattered sobbing that she barely recognized it. Her mother struggled weakly to move, her body shaky and fragile. A glimmer of optimism that time would pass clung to Amelia. As her mother rasped out, "You… you have to go," her coughing becoming more labored with each word. She felt a new droplet of blood on her lips. In a feeble but defiant gesture, Amelia shook her head to express her disapproval. "Don't argue," her mother sputtered. "You should look for…” There was a sudden exhalation, followed by another painful cough. “The vampire who did this. They call him Stefan Salvatore, The Ripper. F-Find him.” Just as her mother's lifeless body went slack, her waning eyes met Amelia's imploring, desperate ones. Then the light went out altogether. The room fell into a hushed stillness as Amelia felt her breath catch in her throat; her mother was gone.

The suffocating stink of death permeated the air as Amelia sat in the restroom, dried blood plastered against the floor. The shivering night air dripping through the shattered window sent shivers down her spine as she gingerly stood up. Moving forward in quiet motion, her darkened locks fluttered in the breeze as her bare feet touched the ground in silence.

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞.