It was just another day, or perhaps that's what I was determined to tell myself. The rest of the world likely saw it as nothing more than a crisp, snowing winter afternoon.
The air was a cool, sharp dagger against my skin, and maybe I felt it more acutely because I wore nothing meant for the cold. My meager leather pouches—mere scraps—were the only barrier between my bare, freezing feet and the heavy, snow-filled ground. They were little comfort, but they were all I had.
It had been more than two weeks, or maybe just shy of it. I don't remember properly anymore; the days bleed into one another. The memory of the last normal evening always comes first: entering the living room of our family mansion.
It was a cold night then, too, but the thick stone and brick walls held the heat perfectly. Our butler opened the heavy door for me. I walked in and saw my father, settled on the deep sofa near the fireplace, engrossed in a book.
My mother and my little sister were seated on the thick, comfortable carpet, basking in the glow of the flames.
All those memories, all that warmth, and all the wounds they left are still fresh. Every time I close my eyes, the time I spent with them flows down like a torrent of water.
But right after, the scene of their deaths—that horrific, unimaginable moment—stabs me. It is a poisonous spear of ice, plunged into my gut. I can't sleep.
The only option is to wait days for my physical body to collapse from sheer exhaustion and fall into temporary oblivion.
I looked up and saw a coffee shop. Who wouldn't crave a hot cup of coffee or chocolate while it's snowing?
It wasn't that I lacked money; I had enough to buy this entire frozen town. Speaking of the town, I didn't even know where I was. I'd been walking aimlessly for weeks now... Aimlessly?
No. I suppose I did have an aim, and that aim was to finally die. I wanted someone, anyone, to kill me. I walked through the deep forests without a guard or a horse, desperately hoping to encounter bandits who would fulfill my wish. None came across my path.
When I was losing hope, I encountered two wolves. I saw the starvation in their eyes; their sharp teeth would have torn my flesh apart, or they would have if two hunters with crossbows hadn't shown up and killed them, proudly claiming to have "saved" me.
A broken, hysterical laugh burst from me. I didn't even want to laugh; I thought I was going truly insane.
As pathetic as it sounds, I couldn't find the courage to kill myself. I tried to drown myself in an icy stream. I tried jumping off a cliff.
Every attempt failed. Was it because I didn't want to die?
No, that can't be it.
My mind was so confused, so clouded, it was just a dull ache of despair.
I spun around and started running, without direction or reason. I ran and ran until my feet, numb and heavy, finally got stuck in the drifts and I fell, collapsing into the snow.
A shiver of deep cold ran across my entire body, yet I didn't move.
I was too tired to even twitch a finger.
I tilted my head to the side and saw the massive trees, their branches weighted down with white.
I had run back into the forest. A faint, macabre smile touched my lips as I realized survival was impossible on this isolated hill in this weather.
I looked in front of me and saw a rock—a dark, jagged piece of granite only inches from where my head rested. If I had fallen just one step later, my forehead would have hit that rock at a speed great enough to cause severe bleeding.
A slow, excruciatingly painful death. I chuckled weakly, the sound swallowed by the wind. This goddamn universe was doing everything in its power to make me stumble and stay alive.
I clenched my jaw, and hot tears streamed down my blood-caked cheeks. I grabbed the rock with both hands and started slamming my head into it, the dull, wet thudding sound muffled by the snow.
"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST KILL ME! WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME TO KEEP LIVING?"
Blood instantly began to slip from my face, warm against the ice. The pain was immense, but still, it wasn't enough to kill me.
The part of the rock I was hitting was now slick and dark red. My head, my forehead, my entire body crumbled beneath the relentless agony. I loosened my grip on the rock and lay there, half-dead, but still breathing.
I gathered the last vestiges of my strength, preparing to grab the rock one last time, when a distant, high-pitched scream sliced through the freezing air.
My eyes widened with a sudden, impossible jolt of hope.
Bandits!
I quickly forgot the throbbing pain in my skull. But then, I caught the scent that traveled with the scream—a coppery smell. It hit my face, and my stomach churned, confusingly.
The smell grew stronger, and the moment I dragged my body over the crest of the hill, my eyes widened in shock and sheer, horrifying wonder.
It was no mere killing.
Half-cut bodies were spread across the area. Intestines torn, limbs severed, eyes gouged out.
The entire clearing was a glistening pool of blood and gore. It was nothing but flesh, bone, limbs, and organs—a gruesome, impossible canvas of death. My whole body began to tremble, yet I couldn't be afraid. I could only stare, numbly.
In the center of this carnage sat a girl.
I remember every single detail, painted clearly against the backdrop of red and white. Her skin was as white as fresh milk, her hair a striking hue of light pink and black.
She sat with her back to me, making it easy to see the four massive wings that emerged from her body. Two grew from her upper back, and the other pair from her mid-back; each was about the size of my leg.
I looked closer and noticed a second, smaller set of wings—no bigger than my hand—fluttering gently at the back of her head, right where her hair met her neck. Her wings were completely relaxed, swaying with a gentle, hypnotic rhythm in the wind.
She stopped eating and slowly tilted her head, looking right at me. I felt my gut wrenching at the realization that she had done this.
Her fingers were long and slender, but instead of nails, they ended in huge, black claws.
This creature, I knew, was an Inazonia.
The name itself was a warning: Ina meant angel, and zon meant haunting or terrifying—she was an extremely beautifully haunting being.
But the moment I looked at her face, I was completely lost. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Ethereal, impossible, and yet she was the centerpiece of this bloody theater. She had sharp, delicate teeth, and her mouth was smeared dark with blood.
She was holding a severed human arm, chewing on it with a placid, almost sweet smile.
Her movements weren't wild or animalistic, but strangely mannered, like someone politely enjoying a steak at a family dinner. All of this should have been repulsive, but it didn't touch her sheer, blinding, hypnotic beauty.
She gently opened her eyes, and her smile widened, somehow still serene, not creepy or scary, even with the blood covering her face.
She took another bite of the human flesh.
All of this wasn't what truly fixed me to the spot.
My mind had likely gone vacant after witnessing the slaughter, but my soul only saw one thing:
Death.
I could feel it, possessive and absolute. This creature was just like the one that had slaughtered my family—a mythical force.
I remembered the lore: Inazonia can fly, run at blurring speeds, rip trees from the ground, and their sharp teeth and claws can cut through metal and stone. Their healing abilities are rumored to make them nearly immortal.
They are breathtakingly beautiful and look human, hiding their wings, claws, and teeth to live among people. They lure their targets to dark, private places to devour them.
But there was one, singular thing they could not do: they couldn't speak. That was their greatest, most critical giveaway. They lived in remote places, massacring anyone who stumbled upon their truth.
The Inazonia wiped her mouth delicately with a tattered cloth and, in an impossible blur, flew right at me. Her claws stopped inches from my face. I felt an overwhelming wave of relief, a final surge of happiness.
'Finally'.
But her claws didn't pierce me. She stopped, hovering an inch away, and looked at me like a curious child staring at a puzzling toy.
She slightly poked my forehead—right on the gash I'd made—with the tip of one claw, then instantly pulled it away.
I fell to my knees, all hope draining out of my body. The snow began to fall faster, swirling around her.
She looked at me with confusion, then began to run a melodic, circular path around me, like a curious, floating phantom.
I was tormented.
I wanted death now.
I wanted her to end the suffering and tear my body into pieces, granting me the release I'd waited for, the release I couldn't grant myself.
But the Inazonia wasn't killing me.
She crouched down next to me. I lifted my neck slightly, watching her. She placed her hand on my forehead.
As I watched, her deadly claws instantly retracted, her hand transforming into a beautiful, slender, human-like hand. Suddenly, I stopped feeling the pain from the self-inflicted wound.
When she removed her hand, I raised my fingers to my forehead—the deep gash was gone. Healed. Only the drying blood remained on my face.
I looked at the Inazonia, stunned. I wanted to ask her why she had healed me, but the only word that came out was a choking whisper: "You..." I tried again, but that was all I could manage.
The Inazonia tilted her head, her expression eerie and uncertain. Then, in a soft, warm, utterly melodic voice, she repeated, "Y.o.u... You."
I felt a profound, destabilizing shock. The few who had survived contact with her kind had passed on the sacred knowledge: Inazonia cannot speak. Yet, here she was. "You can speak?" I asked, a fresh wave of confusion overriding the despair.
She tilted her head again, slightly. "Why did... You healed me?" I stammered, pointing at my now-smooth forehead.
The Inazonia smiled, a breathtaking sight even with the dark stains on her teeth, and repeated in that same strange, beautiful voice: "You." She rose, circling me once more, moving her arms up and down as she constantly spoke the single word: "You, You, You." She then walked back to the horror show, pulled the severed human arm closer, and took another placid bite, her eyes never leaving mine.
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