#I thought this would end up being significantly shorter then Rook's because ??? has a million times more spoilers but uh no it's still long

[burning-academia-if]

1k Follower Celebration: ???'s short story

Word count: 4k

Summary: Snapshots from the life of a child who was never supposed to survive.

CW: lots of discussion around death, brief mention of animal death, violence, blood

A/N: Once more, sorry this is late! I hope you enjoy the final story!

Once, an infant died. In an old manor, secluded from the rest of the world, a mother couldn’t weep for a child lost. It was a miracle, really, it had lasted through the week. Torn and sickly from birth, the mother cradled its small body. Maybe a hospital might have saved them, had they been allowed such a grace.

            There was nothing in her eyes. She stared, vacant, out towards the window. Her lips mouthed the words of a lullaby and her husband guarded the door. Knuckles white against the frame, he kept his head bowed and did his best not to weep. If he fell apart, then so would she.

            Outside, shadows curled around the windows. It wasn’t like them, to be so curious. The sensation made memories come back in spades, a collection of what they once were. A death of a newborn, unnatural in more ways then they could grasp, attracted them under the moonlight.

            ‘Ask us,’ they sang, ‘And we’ll bring back the child.’

            ‘Save us and we’ll save them.’

            Their voices crept forward, and the woman paused. Her grip tightened around the infant, fingers digging into the cloth. Her husband stepped forward, a warning on his lips. She ignored him and rose, stumbling towards the window. An invitation. They became a swarm.

            “Don’t—!” Her husband’s voice was lost as the darkness in cased her. There were so many, but one took a step forward. A body with a vague human form, hands reaching out. She clutched tighter at the child still.

            ‘Return to us what we desire, and thus we will return back what you desire.’

            “What…what do you want?”

            ‘Our memory. Our humanity. Our souls.’

            It was taboo, for one to return a wraith to their original selves. But truly, playing by the rules had done nothing in their favor. They were both casted out and cursed, and their newborn child had paid the price. Even if the wraiths lied, it did not matter. She couldn’t imagine living, not any longer.

            She held the child out. An offering for the first sin.

            The shadows rushed forward, all at once. The woman cried out, ice running down her spine and spreading through her body. As weak as she was, she sank to her knees, vaguely aware of her husband’s arms wrapping around her. The windows rattled, the darkness became one, and her child cried once again.

//

            They grew fast, both in size and understanding. Their father taught them reading, history, arithmetic. Their mother the sciences and magic theory. Neither her nor their father had magic in their veins, but their mother had said there were other ways to be able to use it.

            It was the wraiths who taught them about life and death.

            Although they were never supposed to go out at night, they snuck out often. They’d go past their parents’ garden and out towards the trees that laid beyond and call for them.

            Every time, the wraiths would chastise them, ‘Never call for wraiths.’

            ‘What if they answer next time?’

            ‘They’ll hurt you, they’ll hurt you.’

            And they would tilt their head and glance between their various forms, “But you’re all wraiths and you’d never hurt me.”

            ‘Not wraiths, ghosts! Ghosts.’

            ‘We are wraiths but we are special.’

            ‘Ghosts!’

            The little ones, as small as them, would argue with the bigger ones. Then they’d grow bored and ask them to play and so they’d run through the woods until they were tired. Arms would wrap around them and when they opened their eyes next, they were in bed and sunlight poured through the window.

            Those were peaceful days. Yes, they were trapped in a world very small, but there was comfort and friends and family. Days the same as a favorite blanket, the only place they would ever want to exist if they could make the choice again.

            Time, however, can only ever press forward.

//

            The first time they found a dead thing, they wept. It was a small bird, likely attacked by another, resting at the edge of the garden and the forest. They sank to their knees, hands shaking as it hovered over its small little body. It was hard to see anything, so blinded by their tears.

            “Oh, little one, what’s wrong?” Their mother wiped her hands on her apron, coated heavily in dirt and grime.

            “I found a bird. A dead bird.”

            Their mother’s arms wrapped around them and they turned and buried themselves against her. She cuddled them close, tucking them under her chin, “It’s alright, dear. All living things will eventually die.”

            “The wraiths say it’s the end for most things. And when it’s not, it’s…it’s…they’re wrong.” They tried to think of what they were told but the words were lost on them and they didn’t want to think, they wanted to cry. They thought they might cry forever, as they hiccupped over their words.

            Their mother stroked her hands through their hair, long and past their shoulders now, “Yes, death is an ending. It does not mean we can’t honor them. Come, let’s bury it and wish it well onto the next life.”

            As their mother gave them gloves and a place to bury the bird, they found themselves asking, “Why do some dead things stay and others vanish forever?”

            “They’re not gone forever.” She placed the body in the ground, hands moving the dirt over to cover it. “They’re merely gone in a place we ourselves can’t reach.”

            “But they’re gone forever from us…” Their voice wobbled, seconds away from tears again and their mother reached an arm out. They let themselves collapse into it, eyes squeezing shut as they took comfort in her.

            She carefully took off her gloves, and ran a hand through their hair, “Not forever. Never forever.”

            She let them stay there, in the midst of a garden. A child learning grief, and a mother only ever steeped in it.

//

            The father paced in his room, the never-ending confinement and the stubborn march of time sinking into his arteries. The mother watched, perched on the edge of bed as though ready to flee at a moment’s notice. How long has it been since this place became the only thing they knew?

            “We can’t let them know about the child.” He started, coming to a halt. “We’ll have to hide them.”

            “But…” she hesitated, eyes downcast as she folded her hands in her lap. “This place bears the marks of my actions. Even if we hide the child, we can’t hide what we’ve done or what we’ve become.”

            He turned his eyes towards her, a thickness in his throat, “How do you suppose this will end?”

            “It was never going to end well.” She met his gaze. “It’s why I don’t regret the choice I’ve made.”

            “I don’t either. Watching our child grow is the only thing that’s managed to keep me going. If they lay a on hand on—”

            “I’ll kill them.” The mother raised to her feet. The light of the full moon spilled over her form, casting a glow to her hair. She looked more specter than woman. He knew she was serious, because he’d do the same. It’d been a promise from the beginning. Whatever life they had, had ceased to be theirs. It did not mean their child needed to live out the same fate.

            He took a deep breath, “We have much to do in the coming days. For now, we’ll rest.”

            They guided each other to bed, body folding over body. One racing heart wrapped around the other, easing it into tranquility. Sleep came, and washed away the unease for one more night.

//

            “Wait Mira, where are we going?” It was strange, for any of the wraiths to be out during the day. Mira was the smallest one, something once a child and now forever doomed to be one. They were older than her now, a skip away from their tenth birthday tomorrow.

            They’d been in the garden, though the winter laid many plants to rest. The sight of the wraith crouched by the tree had drawn their attention, and they’d got the feeling she’d wanted them to follow.

            Now, they were farther into the woods then they had ever been. Their eyes skipped over the trees, breath puffing the air. In their ill-fitting clothes, the cold was biting into every part of their skin. The exertion was the only thing keeping it at bay.

            “Mira—” They started again, and felt the whole fabric of the earth shift. A gasp fell through their throat, hand bracing hard against the trunk of a tree. Bark dug into calloused palms, the pain hardly registering. Something was wrong. It made their stomach turn to the point of nearly being sick.

            With all their strength, they shoved themselves back to their feet. They spun, facing back to the place they called home. They needed to get back. Felt the desperation in their bones.

            ‘Sorry.’

            ‘We’re sorry.’

            ‘So so sorry.’

            Wraiths rushed around their feet, emerging from the shadows casted by the branches. They clung to their legs and held onto their arms. Everything felt even colder, the world bleeding color into something gray.

            “What…what are you doing?” Their limbs felt week. They weren’t sure when they came to be on the ground, but they felt the dirt and the twigs and frost press into their clothes, turning it damp.

            A figure came to loom over them. One they’d come to know well, ‘You cannot go, little one.’

            The world was gone, all at once.

//

            When they woke up it was night and there were graves. The moon stared down at them, and shivers clawed into their body. It took all their strength to push themselves up, and when they did all the shadows scattered. Their breathe created a fine mist in the air in front of them, a constant thrum as they struggled to keep their breath even.

            Despite the shakes, they called, “W-why? Why am I here, what did you do…?”

            ‘It was by your parents’ request.’ The largest shadow rose in front of them, and in the full moon light, they could almost see its face. Middle aged, dark eyes, a gaping wound of darkness in their side. The sight stilled even the chatter of their teeth. ‘There are things you don’t know about them, which they will never tell.’

            They wrapped their arms around their body, as though such thins limbs cold protect them against the night’s chill, “Like how they never answer when I ask why we can’t leave the confines of these woods?”

            ‘Yes. It’s for your own protection.’ It motioned towards the place around them. ‘This is outside their confines. When you’re older and steadier, we could finally set you free. For now, this place is the only place you’d survive.’

            “I…I could. Survive out there.” They had never met another living soul besides their parents. Now, their eyes searched past the graves and old wrought iron gates as though they could find a hint of life waiting for them somewhere. It was as dark and empty as ever.

            ‘Child, you weep for all things. There’s only a cruel world waiting beyond this cage. When I return you, you’ll understand everything I’ve told you about violence.’ A chill zipped down their spine, and this time not from the temperature.

            “…What do you mean?”

            ‘You’ll see. Take hold, and I’ll lead you back home.’ And so they let it take their hand and lead them back through the trees.

//

            They didn’t want to go through the doors, left open and creaking back and forth in the wind. There were no lights on inside, nor was there a sound. When they peered through the door, the house peered back. Wounded, cracked. The entrance they knew well was contaminated with the markings of intruders.

            It was in the air. They could feel it on their skin, skittering across their veins. It wasn’t the same kind of feeling they felt from the wraiths, it was something different. New. Bitter. The shadow beside them waited, sensing their brief hesitation.

            They took a deep breath and walked through the door. The feeling was stronger inside, choking their lungs. It made it impossible to call out, and so they stumbled forward. As long as they followed the trail, they’d be able to find their parents. Wherever the cursed path led.

            While all the wraiths crowded at the door, the one remained by their side. With it, even with their sudden clumsiness, their movements didn’t make a sound. It felt like years of walking, longer than the trek through the woods, before they came upon the old study. Cracks shot through the wall around the door like lightening. It seeped color, a bright bright red. Bright enough to hurt their eyes.

            Their companion shielded away, ‘This is as far as I can go.’

            Despite their desire to ask, they couldn’t. So they swallowed the sick in their throat and stopped in front of the door. It hung, kept on by a single bolt. Even with the awkward angle they could see inside. The room was a mess, books scattered and torn and pages in various directions. They could just make out their parents’ form. They were covered in red.

            Without a second thought, they ducked through the door, feet almost tripping over themselves as it landed on the pages. The light of the room was still on, flickering in it’s attempt to hold on. The red on their parents was not just blood but whatever the strange essence at the entrance was. It wrapped around them like webs, and they collapsed on their knees.

            ���M…mom? Dad…?” It hurt to talk, their hands hovered the two’s bodies, unsure what to do or where to touch.

            Their mother groaned, her eyes fluttering open, “Oh…you’re not…supposed to be here.”

            “What happened? Why is there…all this?” The word came a second later. Magic. “What can I do?”

            Before they could do anything, their mother jerked away from them. Her hands dug into it and tore it away. It burned bright, searing at her hands as she did so. More blood spilled, running as free as a river as it cascaded from her body.

            Her voice was stern, “Don’t touch me. This will only hurt you.”

            “There must be something I can do—The first aid kit. I’ll bring it to you. I’ll be back, I promise.” They scrambled to their feet, still off kilter and ran out. They heard their mother call their name but it was so far from them. They just needed the first aid kit, they needed to help. They needed to not think about their father not waking up.

            It took too long to get everything and to make it back. When they returned their mother was tearing the magic netting off their father. Tears wet her face, the pain obvious in each of her movements, but it didn’t stop her. Each red thread dissolved to nothing as it was taken off his skin.

            They placed everything on the floor, desperate to help but deterred by the harsh look their mother sent their way, “Thank you, dear. Now there is one more thing I need you to do for me. In our room, tucked away in one of the floorboards, is a box. The wraiths will show you were. Inside there, is your gift.”

            “My gift, but—”

            “It’s after midnight, is it not? This is both for your birthday and your protection. Now go.” Protection from what? They wanted to know what had happened and if it was for the same reason they were trapped here. They wanted to know if their father was still alive. They wanted to know why they could cry whenever they stumbled upon a dead animal, but didn’t feel even moisture in their eyes at the sight of their parents.

            Their eyebrows pinched together and they stared at her, “Mom…”

            “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. For now, will you do this for me?” They nodded, numb, and her lips twitched into a smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry for all of this. I thought we’d have more time.”

            They rose, head still spinning. Worse than before. Every moment that passed made them worse. They were sure their mother, so steeped in it all for so much longer, must be suffering. But if there was nothing they could do, then they could only do what she asked.

            The wraith was waiting for them this time, as though sensing their mother’s words. It pulled them forward, the only thing keeping them upright now. The two ascended the flight of stairs and here they could see endless damage. Doors open, furniture tossed. Whoever had been here had been looking for something. What if they’d found whatever their mother had told them about?

            ‘Focus.’ The wraith instructed and they did. They made their way down the hall and into their parents’ room. It was the worst place of all. The indoor plants, the paintings on the walls, the mattress on the bed. Everything in pieces.

            There were marks here too, although they didn’t glow with red light as the ones from downstairs. They stepped over shattered glass and broken bits, following the wraith as it indicated a spot on the ground.

            ‘Careful.’ It whispered, as they dug their hands between the cracks. Even with all the strength slipping away from them, they used their whole weight to pry it up. It stuck and they pulled, and the wooden splinters bit into their skin. The pain rushed to their brain and cleared the dam.

            Tears fell. It burned out and blurred the world around them. Still, they kept going, until the floorboard finally heaved. Until their raw hands were pulling out a box. It was a deep blue, trimmed with silver. The latch glittered at them in low light, scattered further by how they cried.

            It took a moment to fumble at the latch to get it open. When they did, it was a sudden light. So bright it hurt their eyes. Despite its blinding radiance, the wraith did not shield away. It stayed by them as it poured out. Burrowed into their skin and wrapped around their heart.

            It stopped. All of it stopped.

//

            Their father had always called them a bleeding heart. They weren’t sure if it was true. Sometimes, they were drowning in emotions, unable to claw their way out. Other times, they felt like it all burned away.

            In every memory they held, was warmth. But the older they got, the more the questions spilled forth. They asked about everything, and when their parents refused to answer they went to the wraiths. Sometimes even they held their tongue. It made the reflection warp. What had they missed, in the cage of their childhood? And would knowing have changed anything at all?

            The years after the attack shifted everything. The wraiths vanished without a trace. Their mother had dropped all kindness.

            “You need to survive.” She’d said. “Even if it’s without us.”

            Once, they’d snuck out on a summer night. There was only one thing they wanted, and it was to find the graveyard the wraiths had taken them to the night everything changed. Despite their best efforts, they never found it. All they succeeded in was knowing the woods better than even the animals.

            The bigger they got, the smaller the world felt. In instances they’d usually accept their mother’s answers, they’d push back. They needed to know everything in the world. If they did, then maybe they could find a way to free all of them.

            “Why can’t you leave?” They asked once, letting their mother braid their long hair. It was one of the few displays of love left in her.

            Her fingers carefully threaded the braid together, “It’s because of the same magic that nearly killed us. It binds us here, and they hoped it would cause us to die. From starvation or dehydration or illness.”

            “It doesn’t bind me though, does it?” Their eyes traced the scars on the walls. The damage from the house could never fully be repaired. “I could leave, and find a way to free you both—”

            They felt her tension, the involuntary clenching of her hands. It did not hurt but it made them flinch, “They would kill you. When you finally leave, you are never to come back.”

            It was an impossible idea. To let their parents go. They were the start and ending of their world. A fear wormed its way into their brain and made residence there. They would lay awake in bed, listening for anything wrong, wondering if tonight was the night the intruders would come back and finish the job.

            If they did, they would have to be ready.

            But there was no magic in them, they were just a child. They’d take a spare knife and practice throwing. Once, when their aim was nonexistent, it caught the wing of a stray bird. It squawked and fell and they rushed forward as a ringing echoed in their ear.

            They collapsed over it, cradling it in their hands, forgetting their mother’s warning of disease.

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they sobbed, cradling it to their chest. When they saw blood, they saw their parents. When they thought of violence, it made them sick. How would they ever protect anything, when all it did was make them ill?

            Their mother had found them, later. The bird was content in their hands, despite its own blood marring them. She brushed a hand through their hair, and they stirred from an endless half sleep.

            “You are too kind for such violence.” She whispered, and it was the first time they had ever seen her close to tears.

            As they shifted, the bird hopped away and they looked at their hands, stained with its blood. They thought they might be sick. They thought they’d cry again.

            Instead, they swallowed it all back, “This violence is born from my kindness.”

            Their mother threw her hands around them, and squeezed them in a tight hug. For a moment, they were suspended. She did not cry, and neither did they. Instead, they sat there in the fading light. A mother forced to be cursed with her doom, and a child whose path only led to such an ending.

//

            It was always going to be a futile fight. Even still, they fought it. Even as their parents’ bodies hit the ground. Even as hands grabbed them, hard enough to bruise. They fought and screamed, and the wraiths answered.

            The intruders yelled, and they wrenched themselves away. They weren’t sure where they were going as they ran. Into the woods, as they always did. To a place where they would never be found. Their feet hit the ground hard, lungs burning, and an endless panic coursing through them.

            If they finally made it past the woods then—

            A pain chocked them. They felt themselves collapse, staring down at their body. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. Red—

            “Got ‘em.” A voice called.

            “Jesus, did you really have to do that to a kid?”

            “It’s fine. It’s not like anyone knew the bastards had a kid anyway, right? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

            The intruders’ footsteps crunched in the snow. They'd been left to die. As their eyes squeezed shut, trying to drown out the pain, they wondered. Would they become a wraith? Would their parents? Or would they simply move on to whatever was waiting for them in the unknown? Their thoughts echoed.

            The snow wasn’t cold. Their body wasn’t warm. It hung, suspended, outside of time itself. Their mind was a blur of white and shadows. A voice sung a lullaby somewhere, far away from their reach. They were alone. Suddenly and violently alone. A fragment of a forgotten memory now, instead of a real person. Arms sank under their body and lifted them up.

            “It’s time to rest, now.”

            They felt their consciousness slip away to nothing.