The waning dusk hung over the village. Joyful countenances flowed in song and dance in a longhouse atop the hill, with cottages stacked below it. In that village, in one such cottage that tiptoed along the edge of the village, slouched a girl—with the mundanity of the evening weighing on her face.
Her moment of contemplation was broken with a hand on her shoulder.
"Camila," her mother asked, "would you like to join us for supper?"
"You… know how I feel about that," she whimpered.
"Everyone… loves you, Camila."
"The way they look at me…" she muttered, a tear rolling down her cheek.
Her mother cradled her in the yoke of her arms.
"Don't… cry—I…" she stammered, "shouldn't have asked."
Her auburn hair melted against the light of the fireplace.
Its embers danced towards heaven, yet remained caged by their brief lifespans.
Her mother left her dinner on the table.
There she sat in solitude, each bite of her meal reverberating throughout, reminding her of what she was not…
monster, the walls echoed back.
The moonlight contrasted against her ivory skin as veins stretched across her body like a nebula,
and her eyes reflected the image of the cosmos…
Later that evening, Camila found herself a comfortable spot in the cottage and began drawing a picture—a vision that had been bouncing around in her mind.
Her mad frenzy was interrupted by her brother.
"Camila, what are you drawing?"
"I don't know. I want to say it's a chamber-loaded rifle," she pondered.
Eugendes looked perplexed at the mention of rifle.
"It's like a musket, but it has these grooves inside the barrel. Oh, and you can load it faster."
"Where do you get all these ideas from?"
"My head... my head told me to tell you that it can fire ten times as much as a regular musket, orders of magnitude further and more accurately."
"With this, we will finally stand a chance against the brigands and roadmen."
"Get some sleep," Eugendes told her before entering his room.
Camila left the cottage on her way to the Melancottes' house to get some bread.
As she walked there, she was greeted with all kinds of looks—some people smiled and waved, some scoffed, some were scared.
And on that walk, she had a realization:
"How could she say that everyone hated her?
To do so would be an insult to human character and the nuances of it."
The bell to the Melancottes' shop rang as she opened the door.
"Hello," said their younger son Kai—whom Camila was enamored by.
She loved seeing his face, but it hurt her to know that his heart was elsewhere… or was it?
"Hello, Kai," she said, surprised to find him hugging her and wrapping a necklace around her neck.
Mrs. Melancotty chimed in, "Unless you plan to wed her, Kai, I would refrain from such grandiose displays."
"I do, Mother. I do."
Camila was left speechless.
"Kai, I love you, but you must know that I am not human," she said softly.
"And that carries with it a weight—one that will be attached to you and your descendants."
"Our descendants," Kai corrected.
Mrs. Melancotty began hitting Kai on the back of the head.
"Yes, Ma, I know, I know! I have to ask her father. I was planning on doing it this morning, but she came in…"
"Well then, get to it! Chop chop!"
"Yes, ma'am," Kai said as he bolted out the door toward the Oridian residence.
Camila let out a soft giggle at Kai, who was outside running so fast he seemed to be stumbling.
Seven minutes later, Kai burst back through the door.
"Well? What did he say?" Mrs. Melancotty asked.
Unable to contain his glee, Kai replied, "Mr. Oridian said to just treat her properly—and handed me this ring!"
Later that night, atop the hill upon which the village houses were stacked, sat a longhouse. The otherwise bleak sky loomed over them, illuminated by the emanations of joy from within.
Music played, men bantered, the women gossiped, and the children danced. The village elder, who went by the title Judge, stood up.
"Men, women, children of this humble village," he announced, "it is with the greatest pleasure that I announce a new addition to this community. Camila, Kai—step forward. She has won his heart, and he has won the respect of her father. As is our custom, we will be helping them build their house when the next season comes around!"
Everyone burst into cheers and began clapping.
"That girl is a monster!"
Several figures emerged through the longhouse doors.
Camila turned her head in shame.
"State your name. What brings you to this village?" the Judge demanded.
"The name's Charles Daxton, and these are my acquaintances. We're bounty hunters, tasked with hunting down a very dangerous man—a man by the name of Edward Winhurst."
He paused, a cruel smile forming. "But I was surprised to find the old test subject living it up… even getting married. If you knew what she was, boy, you wouldn't be putting your tongue anywhere near that… thing."
Several of the men, including Kai, began clenching their jaws and fists. One of them was about to swing, but the Judge raised his hand.
"No."
"How can we help you?" the Judge asked carefully.
"Well, I want to ask the girl's parents where they found her. We're going to kill them, of course," Daxton said casually. "This could be considered a conspiracy, and all experimentation—I dare say—conducted without the Church's consent is a crime punishable by death."
He turned his cold gaze to Camila. "Girl, take us to your house so we can be done with this."
"Seize her."
"Oridian girl," he repeated, "take us to your house so that we can be done with this."
Camila didn't respond.
"You know what's even better? Someone with less resolve…" Charles scanned the room.
"Only as strong as your weakest link," he muttered to himself.
"But I think I'd be doing the young cub a disservice if I didn't show her what she is. Kill them all—except for her."
The men trapped the people in the longhouse and dragged Camila out.
"What are you doing?" she cried.
One of the men struck a match.
"No!"
The man threw the match against the longhouse. The winter air had long dried it out, and it erupted in flames.
She began sobbing profusely.
"Well, don't just sob—do something about it," Daxton sighed.
Her screams were only interrupted by the shrieks of women, men, and children trapped in the longhouse.
Villagers who weren't at the social gathering came running with blunderbusses and muskets. They shot one of the men, who staggered—but didn't fall.
The man took off his hood to reveal a face like hers—skin as pale as the tundra, eyes as pitch black as the cosmos, veins stretched across his skin like a nebula, and fangs… oh, the fangs.
As Camila wailed and cried, the cosmos began to respond to her pain and suffering. A claw began to pull at the veil that separated the physical and spiritual planes.
It burst open, and unspeakable terrors in the form of wraiths came pouring out—merging with the people, turning them all into grotesque monsters.
When it was all said and done, the world she had known was torn asunder. The figures—and the man who had started it all—remained unscathed.
"This is what you are," he said coldly. "Never forget this. This is what your people are.
And because we have this power, humans cannot love us.
Because to humans, there is only God above them—there is no room in their hearts for anything in between."
"Why?" she whimpered.
"Better here than a city," he muttered.