as your love starts to surround you
all of their words are trying to drown you
The room was glowing, but she did not notice it. Not at first. It began gentle, the light strobing, and then expanding—more and more persistent with each passing moment. Her sobs broke, and her bloodied hands fell to her side, exhaustion beginning to crawl through her. She lifted her tear-stained face, hair matted and framing the delicate bones, and stared at what used to be the chalice—but was now gone. Almost in a trance, she stood and took one step forward. The light was no longer gentle. It was harsh, blinding, constant in its strength. She raised one hand to shield her eyes as it became even more intense.
And then it swallowed her.
***
When she was spit out, the light was gone. Instead, Pyxis was greeted by pure darkness—but that wasn’t the worst part. The smell was. Damp, rotting, decaying…something. It was so overpowering that Pyxis immediately gagged, her hand clenching and her teeth digging into her fist to stop herself from emptying her stomach yet again. Closing her eyes, she forced three, steadying breaths, hoping that with time she would become acquainted enough with the stench to endure it. By the second breath, she was spinning to the wall and vomiting, blood and water spewing out onto the walls. The sight was horrifying.
Shaking, Pyxis stood up and wiped her mouth.
She would not miss this part of being a human.
Thankfully, the passing minutes had allowed Pyxis’ weak eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and she saw that what had once been perceived as pure darkness was not quite accurate. The room was dark, to be sure, but there was a thin, watery light filtering beneath a door on the opposite side. She was able to make out water-stained wallpaper, the edges peeling as if to escape, and velvet-covered furniture, although she was sure that it had seen better days. It was rubbed thin in places and the wood was faded.
She navigated slowly through the room, keeping her hands carefully in her pockets, and reached the door. The handle was cold, but she grabbed it steadily. She could do this. She had survived shape-shifting monsters and she had killed and she could do this. She could continue to survive. If not for her, then for her family. For wild-hearted Malis and soft-dreamer Ilka who had to still be alive and out there.
She had to be, and Pyxis had to survive this for her. It was her responsibility.
Fortified by this reminder, Pyxis grabbed the handle with more force and wrenched it open. She stepped into a hallway that was empty—covered in dust and cobwebs and time. It was a false relief. It was only when she was walking through it that she even noticed that walls were…moving. Although that wasn’t quite accurate. They were shifting, twitching, such a small motion that it wasn’t barely perceivable. It was like they were breathing. She stopped, eyes widening as she watched the room expand and contract.
Her hand went to her chest, and she winced. With each breath, of both hers and the rooms, she felt it constricting painfully. More than that, she felt things pulling to the surface—things she’d rather not think about. Things that she had carefully buried a long time ago. Her thoughts ran wild. She saw her mother’s face (shattered, empty, and then blank). She saw her father running away through the jungle. She saw Malis standing alone in the meadow, lost in her sorrow. She saw Ilka surrounded by it all, drowning in it.
She saw her family before her: cursed.
Groaning, she continued to stagger forward, hand pressing against her chest as if she could stop the pain, the room continuing to sigh steadily, the sounds of its breath becoming more pronounced, the steady beat of some distant heart beginning to thump. She was halfway down the hall when one of the doors opened, and Ilka staggered out, throat torn, stomach spilling out of her ragged, white shirt. Her pale hand was crusted with her own blood and was clenching her neck. She ran to Pyxis and then fell at her feet.
“You killed me,” she said, although the words were hoarse. Blood bubbled at her lips as Ilka clawed at Pyxis’ simple clothing. “No, I didn’t,” Pyxis whimpered, falling down to her sister, hands desperately trying to staunch the bleeding. “You did. I saw it,” Ilka’s golden eyes were accusatory, and she coughed, gore splattering on Pyxis’ hoodie. “This is your fault. It is always your fault. You killed me and liked it.”
Pyxis felt the denial tripping on her tongue, but she couldn’t deny that. She had killed, and she had liked it. The thrill of the hunt echoed in her head; she shivered with suppressed delight and then started. “No!” she cried, but it was weak, and she knew it. She had killed—it just hadn’t been Ilka. But the truth was that she was no better than her father and all those who came before her. Murdering was her family legacy. “Yes,” she admitted, her features washed with the shame. “I did. But not you. Never you.”
Ilka just smiled, teeth crimson. “It was me. I’ll never forgive you.”
And then she disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but blood on Pyxis’ hands.
She was not sure how long she would have sat there, how long she would have stared at the stains, had she not heard the scream. Down the hall, impossibly far, a young woman was running. She was thin with impossibly red hair and bright green eyes, her dress sheer and white and torn. Behind her, a door crashed open and a man ran out. He was tall, rugged, scarred: his hair a mess of black, his eyes almost as dark.
Mom. Dad.
The knowledge of it struck her in the heart, and like a child, Pyxis ran to them. But they didn’t notice her. Oksana was running, yelling, and Makai was chasing her, the knife in his hand glinting. “NO!” The sound ripped from Pyxis’ throat, and she ran even faster, sneakers pounding—but the faster she ran, the slower she went, and the longer the hallway became. Like always, she was powerless to save anyone.
It happened in slow motion. Oksana stopped running, falling against the wall with her breast heaving. “I love you, Makai,” was all she said as he came upon her. “I know,” was all he replied. Then he was using the knife to carve into her chest, and he was sobbing uncontrollably. Oksana slid down the wall, leaving behind a giant smeared stain. Makai stood there, shaking, holding her once beating heart in his hand. Pyxis reached him in time for him to touch her cheek. “You’re just like me.” And then they were gone.
This time, there was no reprieve. The door to the left opened slowly and Daemron stepped out. Unlike Ilka, he was unaffected. His silver eyes were bright and his clothes were whole. He walked up to Pyxis and grabbed her as if she hadn’t killed him, as if she wasn’t covered in gore. His hands were on the small of her back and then running through her tangled hair. His mouth fell on hers, and she moaned against him, too weak to fight back, too weak to deny herself. The kiss was urgent, and she felt her pulse racing.
It was everything she wanted. Everything she couldn’t have.
She felt something slip from his tongue to hers, and she stiffened, but he didn’t break the kiss. Poison, she thought dimly, but she found that she couldn't push against him. Locked in the embrace, she felt it rushing through her veins, her cells recoiling, the poison turning her blood into sludge. Daemron pulled back from the kiss just slightly, still holding her tight, and she looked into his eyes, felt her resolve weaken.
With the last vestige of strength, she tilted her head back to reveal the ivory column of her throat. “Do it,” she croaked, chapped lips parting on a shuddering breath. For a second, there was hesitation on his part, and he just leaned down to kiss the hollow at the base of her neck. When he lifted his head, she saw his lips pull back and fangs extending. “I think I love you,” she confessed, and he just nodded before sinking his teeth into her throat. “I love you, Daemron,” she sobbed against him, and he ignored her completely.
An eye for an eye.
He lowered her to the floor and stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know you do,” he said, silver eyes soft with regret, “but your love kills.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, the cold metal gleaming in the dim light. Pyxis felt terror wash through her. “So I have to kill you first.” There was a loud click. “You understand, right?” And she did. How could she not?
Daemron pulled the trigger twice, but he only needed to once. The first bullet found its way to her heart, and she reared up before slumping back to the ground. Life began to pool out of her, and he kneeled down to the ground, kissing her on the forehead. “It’s time for you to die, Pyxis.” So she did.
***
She wasn’t sure how long she was dead, but when she woke up, he was gone. Her hands went to her chest and felt the holes in her clothes. Underneath, her flesh was scarred but whole. Her head fell back down to the ground and she stared at the ceiling, unsure of what was real and what was not. Finally, she pushed herself to sit and then stand, the ground covered in what she had to assume was her own blood.
In a strange way, Pyxis was glad for the emptiness, the numbness.
What else could this house possibly do to her?
To her right, she saw stairs descending into darkness. Like the obedient girl she now was, she followed. She was not surprised to find the basement. In the corner, there was one bright spot. She moved toward (had almost reached it) when she heard another scream. Ilka was running down the stairs, this time whole, and Pyxis saw the wolves chasing her. Daemron’s wolves. Perhaps there was more still to fear.
“Ilka!” Pyxis grabbed her sister’s wrist and half-dragged her to the window, the duo limping toward the escape as fast as they could. Letting go for a second, Pyxis began to pry open the window. “Pyxis!” her sister screamed, but when she looked back, the wolves were already on her. “Go! You can make it.” Tears fell down Pyxis’ cheeks as she reached for her sister, but before she knew it, the world was tipping and she was falling through the window back into a room of pure light. The last thing she saw was her sister falling beneath the pack. The last thing she saw was Daemron’s wolf Red staring at her before feasting.
and you break, it's too late for you to fall apart
and the blame that you claim is all your own fault
