“For as long as we can remember, there have been monsters,” Reia said with a stern, yet dull voice. Lifting her arms, she allowed the Priestess dressing her to deftly clad her in a white dress. “Why do they believe I am the reason for them now?”
The dress slipping over her body was simple enough.
It hugged her curves around her torso before it hung loosely around her hips and legs. Lace cuffs were frilly as they draped long and wide around her wrists, swaying each time she moved her hands. Although her hands stopped at her mid-thighs, the frilly sleeves draped down to just below her knees.
Other than the long sleeves having lace, the only other place there was lace was around her waist that then trailed down in front of her, reaching a V down to her knees.
It appeared to be terribly made, but it was remarkably soft, like a cotton cloud, against her sensitive skin.
“You know why,” the Priestess answered with a curt tone. “They have told us you are a harbinger of bad omens.”
The Priestess – since that was all Reia could call her by as they didn’t share their names – was dressed in a white cloak that had large purple runic symbols painted into the seams of the cloak. Every seam around the hood, the sleeves, the opening down the centre, and even the hem that danced just above the ground were covered in purple runes.
They all wore white clay masks with accents of gold decorating each one. The woman dressing her had decided to paint a cat-eye design around the mask’s white mesh covered eyes, while the lips, that bore only the slightest opening so she could be heard, were painted golden like lipstick.
The Priestess sounded much older than Reia’s twenty-six years of age, but instead of the kindness that she’d spoken with in her aged voice to the rest of the village, she spoke coarsely to Reia.
She was forced to watch herself being dressed in the oval-shaped mirror of this small room that was her entire house. The Priestess’ gown disturbed all the hidden dust Reia hadn’t managed to find and clean away. The dust glittered in the morning sunshine that washed into the timber floored room, not giving any indication of how grisly the day was to truly be for her.
Instead, it looked beautiful, peaceful, warm – despite it being so early spring that not a single flower could blossom under the remaining snow.
In front of her was her body length mirror, while next to it was her single wooden-carved bed that held the most uncomfortable mattress known in creation. It should have been made of fluff, fur, and wool; instead, it was made of straw and hay.
On the other side of the room was a small stone kitchen hearth she had to light with a match to cook. The dining table and singular chair – since she never had visitors – was right next to the hearth in this cluttered home.
The last piece of furniture she owned was a wardrobe holding the clothes she’d made by hand herself – the village people feared touching the clothing she’d wear – with rolls of ugly fabric tilted against it.
She didn’t own anything else.
No jewellery, no housing decorations, no pretty paintings. Reia owned nothing but this tiny home that had been built for her just on the outskirts of the town between it and the walls of wooden spikes that surrounded it for safety.
I’m sure once I’m gone, they’ll burn this house down.
It was cold since it was crudely made. Over the years, she’d worked into stuffing holes she found in the round timber slats with the leftover material of her clothing creations in order to keep the wind out.
“It’s not my fault I’m the only one that survived,” Reia grumbled to herself quietly as she was forced to place her dainty feet into a pair of white slippers.
She had not made this outfit.
It had been brought by the Priests and Priestesses who arrived earlier in the month. They came knowing the Duskwalker would eventually be approaching one of the three villages it visited once every decade. The dress had been cleansed, just as Reia had been when she’d been wiped down in some perfumed liquid that smelled heavily of herbs and oils. She’d hated every moment of the Priestess washing her body for her, but the Priestess claimed the spell she was using required her administrating it herself.
“That may be true,” the Priestess said as she shoved a leafy, white, floral crown around her head. Reia’s straight, blonde hair had been yanked of all its knots and looked shiny beneath the crown, a touch of green peeking out from the stems and leaves they’d used to weave it together. “But you are still the only one that did. You should have perished with the rest of your cursed family.”
Reia gritted her teeth as her hands clenched into such tight fists that the back of her knuckles, which had been pink from the cold, turned white and pale like the rest of her skin.
“I don’t know why the Demons didn’t eat me like the rest of my family. Just because I survived, does not mean that I am cursed or a bad omen.”
I don’t want to do this! Her life had been dictated to her by this village, every waking moment of it out of her control, simply because her family had died. Then she had been blamed for it! Blamed for something that had been going on for centuries. And now, she was being forced to sacrifice herself, wear this stupid little dress, because they were making Reia do it or she face the consequences. It’s not fucking fair!
Reia had only been seven when it happened.
She remembered very little about the night that two strong Demons, massive and large in her memories, had managed to break through the protective wards in place around her home, destroying everyone inside it.
Her mother, her father, her baby brother... even their dog, which hadn’t stopped barking, had eventually been eaten.
She knew she hadn’t screamed, hadn’t tried to run, hadn’t done anything but wait as her family was eaten. It had been dark which made it hard to see. The only thing she could truly remember were the sounds of crunching bones, tearing skin, the slurping of mouths, and her family’s dying screams.
She’d covered her ears to hide from the disturbing noises and sat in the corner of the living room, occasionally feeling splashed with a spray of blood. That was only the beginning of the massacre she would find in the morning when the sun finally illuminated the inside of the house.
She only remembered feeling sadness and loss, knowing her family was gone. She’d walked from her home as she cried, making her way to the village to tell them what had happened.
A group of three men had taken her back to her home and told her to explain what had happened. Really, they were trying to figure out how she was still alive.