A Sin So Cruel and Empty

A SIN SO CRUEL AND EMPTY- PROLOGUE

For him, love was unrequited. The essence of his sin was one thousand times more hostile than he was, an essence whose dark and consuming nature embodied those who dared worship it.

His intentions were ill-advised, and as his blade scraped across the crevice of his arm, immortal, ravenous wants pierced their way through his fantasies.

The young man had yet to feel alone- completely alone- until the engraving of sin plagued his skin. Heat had buried itself within his body, the golden touch of greed only fueling the fire.

Greed. Greed. Greed.

It was who he had become.

- Writings from the Sibylline Greed Codex

Meika felt the sewing needle prick her finger before she realized what she was doing. Inside, the small tailor shop bubbled with warmth. A small pot lay on the stove, heating up the previous night’s supper, and the fireplace against the wall made more cinder for Meika to sweep with every flickering pop.

Beyond her window, Meika could see multiple families crowding underneath the marketplace awning. Their hands were buried beneath their coats as the cold wind brushed against their covered cheeks, and it seemed as if the wind itself was hiding from the bite of Marzabeth’s winter. The seasons had shown the village a cruel time, and their only response was to pray and worship the spirits who gave them a run for their sanity.

Meika’s sanity grew thinner with each whispered word, and sometimes worried if her ignorance would ever cost her, ever stab her in the heart with her own needle. She wouldn’t put it past karma to hit her where it hurt.

Still, Meika hated it- the long hours in a household where fear plagued everyone’s mind, the not knowing. The unknown.

She’d had her fair share of ‘the unknown’ within the bustling streets circling her aunts’ shop- the man who performed card tricks with the slightest of hand, the female dashing enough powder on her face to make everything she’s worth invisible, and, luckily for Meika, the baker who’s delicacies make believing in the impossible seem easy. And while she wasn’t one to believe in the ghost stories her family told, that never stopped her from being bashed for it.

She wasn’t interested in the gemstones Mr. Flaglier sold on the corner of Brookem street, and if her tailor brothers and sisters ever brought one home, she would do well to refuse participation in their spiritual activities- a lecture she knew all too well.

“A purple gem, for the rewards we shall receive in exchange for the kindness given to our spirits.” Marytra had said one day, looking over at Meika in a way that reminded her of her beliefs- or lack thereof. But Meika would meet her sister's gaze and say, “A purple gem, to understand yourself and the things that may or may not be real around you.”

She had practiced her sewing that night, a bottle of voca next to her nightstand in case Marytra happened to come in again.

The storm beyond her window continued to pass, and a drop of blood trickled between Meika’s fingers from her earlier mistake. She swiped her hand across her tunic, sewing the remaining stitch on the flimsy scarf she was working on. The door swung open as she finished, and her aunt fell in with a shout towards the cold.

“Sins, the winds have not been kind to us today.”

Meika rolled her head back just enough to get a glimpse at her caretaker. “At least sales are up to date, Tati,” she offered. “Winter means we sell more winter clothing.”

Tati shrugged uninterestedly, placing the pile of gloves in her arms on the counter in front of Meika. “Fix these few up. I offered a bit of compensation for the Dokl’re winter. A gift from me to the village.”

Meika grabbed a pair from the top, looking up at her aunt. “I wouldn’t waste valuable coins on beliefs,” she muttered, then added, “These are impossible to fix.” Meika held the torn and stained fabric up to her face.

Tati swatted Meika’s hand out of the way, grabbing the scrap of leather for herself. “You’re as ignorant as you are impractical. Fine, I’ll fix these up with your brothers,” She shuffled around the room. “ Mind getting more firewood instead?”

A hit towards her ignorance, Meika thought. A needle in the heart had never sounded more appealing.

Annoyed, Meika hummed obediently and grabbed her coat, double checking the keys to the shop in her front pockets before heading out. She made sure to snatch a piece of sweet bread from the counter too, stuffing a piece in her mouth quickly before Tati noticed.

A gust of wind hit her as she opened the door, and her hand struck out to grip the side of a building. She could almost hear her aunt’s taunting laugh over the whistling of the breeze. Perhaps if you believed, they wouldn’t be so harsh, she imagined. The Dokl’re winter treats those who see their creators kindly.

Meika shuddered, wrapping her coat tightly as she pushed herself off the storefront.

The village called these creators Ni’Daemokium, or snow devils, because they were harsh in the delivery of Dokl’re winters. Some claimed they’ve seen small shadows within the moldy cracks and alleys of Marzabeth, slithering amongst those who have fought well for themselves.

Even so, Meika couldn’t figure out whether the people really believed the Ni’Daemokium were shadows, spirits, or the occasional rabbit that stole from the farmers market.

The corner of her lip twitched. She was there that day when a barrel of maize had been covered with a blanket of snow, courtesy of the strong wind. When her neighbors cleared everything up, a majority of them were gone, and even Meika herself was slightly puzzled until she saw a family of rabbits munching away. It seemed that she was the only one who noticed because everyone still claimed the Ni’Daemokium took some grain for their enchantments.

She kept walking, hands clutched in one another until she looked up from the ground, resting her gaze on the only lumber shop in town. Closed.

She squinted rather pathetically, the cold branding her eyelids open as she looked around for an alternative. Her feet carried her to the outskirts of Marzabeth, hoping to find some leftover wood. Tati would have her throat if she returned empty handed.

A few moments passed before a pile caught her eye. Meika paused before dragging herself towards the stack, swiveling her head occasionally. She bent down to grab a few pieces, hauling them over her shoulder until a red splotch on the snow a few meters away caught her eye, and her head turned as she picked up a shout from the distance.

Meika’s brows furrowed, and while she knew she should have gone back to the tailor shop in time for her aunt to not realize that she had been gone too long, should have let the supposed hunter finish their catch, Meika felt herself following the trail of red deeper into the woods.

Nobody should be hunting in this weather, she thought, looking around for perhaps a small boy who'd lost his way, and possibly cut himself on a few branches. Her detour felt like hours, and Meika pondered if the cold was rotting her brain already when she saw a glint coming from beyond the trees.

Meika sighed, repositioning the wood on her shoulders as she broke through the pine, her eyes glazing over as they adjusted to the view beyond the clearing.

A man stood in the middle, his back facing her as he muttered something to himself. One of his arms lay upwards, sleeves rolled up, and it took a second before Meika registered the crimson dripping from his flesh. A dagger lay in his other hand, the point covered in red as well.

Meika rushed to drop the wood on the snow, holding her skirt up as she began making her way across the clearing. She wasn’t going to ask any questions. A neighboring asylum was not too far from here, and Meika thought it best to bite her tongue for the time being.

Her thoughts were broken as the man started whispering profusely, dragging the tip of the dagger across his arm once again. Meika’s feet carried her a few more meters before a sudden burst of light shot from his arm, rippling the trees around them and knocking Meika to her bottom. Her eyes widened as the man fell to his knees, and very slightly was she able to see the cut from his arm gone, replaced by a scar of thorns, the top adjourned with a crown.

Wind picked up around him, and to Meika it seemed like shards of shadows were embedding themselves into his skin. The man let out a hoarse cry, clutching his body before turning towards her as if he knew she was there the whole time. Meika’s coat fell from her shoulders as she scrambled away, ignoring the pile of wood at her feet as she ran towards the trees.

Her breath came out short and her eyes widened, a look passing across her face when she looked back at the clearing. Tati would have recognized that look. It was the look of disbelief, the look she held herself when townsfolk repeated their cursed encounters over and over. She knew the feeling of vulnerability, nothing but the wits of her opinions to protect her against the darkness of an unknown world.