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Prelude
Midnights Rituals and Summoning Demons
Up until the age of eight, Veloce had a habit of sneaking into rooms during the dead of night.
It wasn’t really much of a triumph. While the floorboards were as old as the blood spilt from a revived nation, they were surprisingly sturdy enough to mask her mischief. She was a master in her own element, to say the least.
Many years were spent plotting and succeeding silent revenge for the wasted hours sitting through uncomfortable dress fittings; confiscated animals she brought in for pets; and the ungodly amount of vegetables she was forced to eat, which was most likely a passive-aggressive upshot for the ‘Great Mudslide through the Kitchen’ catastrophe—also affectionately dubbed The Second Catharsis. (An event which everyone was barred to speak of yet would always be fresh in minds for many years to come).
She maneuvered the hallways as if it was her own battlefield, and she bowed down to the wrath of no one.
Auresque did however instill her with manners: always knock and patiently wait to be escorted inside when it came to the master bedroom—everything else was fair game for lock picking. If the staff woke up to the sight of marker moustaches and graffiti on their face, frogs or snakes in their bed, or their hand in warm water—it was their fault.
Her mother rarely punished her for these late-night excursions. Stealth was a skill that had to be acquired, she would respond with a final tone before the topic would be officially dropped (her cousin Vocruen, on the other hand, dealt out chastisement and disciple with the frequency of refugee resettlement camps spilling across the borders). And unless Veloce was trying to form a coup d’état in the backyard, she rarely gave her the time of day. That fact wasn’t going to change when the sun went down, or during the nights when the devils finally came out.
For the most part Auresque gave no qualms or Inquisition whenever Veloce stood vigil outside her room cloaked in blankets; only a harsh begrudged look as she would narrowly swing the door ajar. Slipping in underneath her mother’s arm and heavy gaze, Veloce always found herself scrambling a beeline over onto the king-sized bed, jumping in fast enough before there could be a sudden change of heart.
After all, Veloce wore her shame as a badge of honor and sometimes there was more to worry about than just shadows lurking along walls.
Though, more often than not, her mother always made her opinion known no matter who or where she spoke; a fact that many either admired or abhorred. Many times would she either make a great show of stomping over to her desk to complete the interrupted night’s works, or indulged her with outright dismal as she fell right back asleep. Other visits had her graced with the view of glaring daggers and an avalanche of comforters flung over her before an obscure briefing call— always from a person with no concept of sleep—would recommence.
On special occasions, which always seemed to occur during muggy summer power outages, would she find herself laying awake in the dark right next to her mother, who spent a considerable amount of time and energy devoted towards ruffling and flipping the pages of a television guide in an obnoxiously loud manner –which honestly never made any sense—
The only thing her mother would put on, and religiously watched, was the weather channel–
It was a ritual which occurred more often than either would care to admit, but of course neither ever said anything. Her mother never had to. It was clear she didn’t want her there—to what extent; she always questioned.
Auresque’s tolerance for weakness was as extensive as her empathy. Even more so when it came to flesh and blood—where the qualifications for failing expectations was as fragile as their relationship.
Yet, in spite of that, her mother always had let her in—
Always had her room opened just a tad enough so Veloce could peek inside.
Then again, Veloce was never truly afraid of the dark in the first place—she couldn’t afford to be. It was made clear the moment of her birth. ‘Unsettled’, would’ve been the best term.
The darkness seemed to love her (it never stopped) more so than she wished; a vast abyss where the corners of her room regarded her with open arms and a devilish smile. Welcoming, taunting, and always reaching out all around. One could only spend so much time in isolation before the sounds of crickets and owls began to sound like laughter, before the outlines of trees turned into snarling faces rising from the pits of hell—
The constant feeling of eyes boring into her, watching her from somewhere and everywhere; scattered amongst the stars, clouds, and along the ceilings and floors.
The shadows wouldn’t let her sleep—she would say to her cousin, whenever the stars aligned in a way that allowed him to stay home in the country for a while longer. That she needed someone more intimidating to help her quiet them down – she claimed to her mother’s judgmental stare. After all, she was so small, and the world was so large. And being so tiny and alone in such an empty universe was unnerving for anyone, to say the least.
Up to the age of eight, Veloce had a habit of sneaking into occupied rooms during the night—until her cousin, fresh back from an overseas sojourn and worn beyond comprehension, told her a secret.
“Never fear the dark, Veloce.” He said to her late one night, barely listening to her rebuttals as he sluggishly leads her back to her room, before pointing outside. “We’re always surrounded by them. “
Them
Her mother called them demons. Vocruen called them protectors.
Figures that would lurk about as lost spirits—shadows with broad shoulders wandering to and fro, always staying beyond the reaches of the courtyard. Guardians bound from the time when tales still talked of morals, sorcery, fantastical creatures, and journeys into lands ruled by immortals.
Darkness is safe, they told her. Grow up, they meant to say.
From then on they kept their doors locked. She never dared to knock or attempt to strengthen her locksport; because there were just some things never meant for her to touch, to be messed with.
Though, there were times she doubted anyone was behind those doors in the first place.
One day her mother would be there, spending the whole afternoon in the courtyard or actually bid her off to sleep, the next she was half-way across the world. Sometimes Auresque would bring her along, many times she would be left in Vocruen’s care until, he too, would vanish in the morning—in one of those many planes sailing across the sky. A sight greeting her in the window the moment she woke.
She needed to grow up—she had no choice—or they would leave her behind.
It was a reality almost as unforgiving as the weight the Visrin name held: a task she was sculpted to support as the pillars to a house, an enigma, much larger and powerful than she could ever be.
Visrins were supposed to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, not hide underneath comforters.
Veloce was eight years old when she realized no one would ever check to see if there were monsters anymore—or to reassure her that everything she saw once the sun set was all a trick of the eye. Because back then she had to realize the world was even more unkind and ruthless than her mind sitting alone at night.
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–
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It would take her years to realize that those shadowed figures always roaming about outside weren’t truly protectors, nor could they be seen as demons—
They were something in between.
Something human.