The Dark in the light

It was simple for Father to bring a knife into the cell. . .

A chill ran through the stone walls, each droplet popping on the ground as it landed. Each vertebrate of the girl’s spin shivered, but she knew she had to keep moving forward. The shadows of claws and wings lay before the moonlit hallway, and each one was just a figment of her imagination.

Every step seemed to echo through the hall like a cat’s talons on wooden floorboards and she could feel the breath of the night’s wind along the nape of her neck along with the bustle of snow swirling into her robes.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed to the far ends of the hall, bouncing off of each nook and cranny. As if in reply, the whooshing of gusts began to push her forward, and the clatter of chains reached her ears. Despite the sounds, she stood her ground.

“It’s me, Celeste.” The girl’s voice wavered as she waited, or perhaps hoped, for anything. As she stood there, seconds passed by. Then a low growl broke the silence. More clatters and clanks could be heard, and she held up a small ball of yellow-white light in her palm.

“I’m here.” Once again the winds rushed, this time a few fallen leaves were swept onto her path. The low growl became more like a cough, and the signs of motion in the dark began to appear.

“Please, don’t look at me...” A weak and wavering voice of a boy emitted from the shadows.

“Why?” Her brow pressed with worry. “What’s different this time?” The shackles clanged again.

“N-nothing!” His voice scratched as it belted. With persistence and curiosity, Celeste strode forward with the ball of light revealing a chained ankle.

“Go away!”

“But, Michael-”

“I said, go away! You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

Without a word, she shot the light into the air, the brightness lighting part of the room, and revealing the grotesque dungeon cavern. Michael turned to her, his jet black hair brushing out of his face to reveal two eyes. One black, and the other a pale green, but bloodshot, revealing a demonic-like quality to the human features. Similar colourations were in streaks across his body, leading to his feet, and leaving rusted burgundy puddles.

“What happened?” She lurched towards him, nearly collapsing on the ground.

“What do you think? You know better than anyone that they think I’m demonic. I can see the darkness.” He put a tanned, yet pale, hand over his bloodshot eye, and a few tears poured from his gaze. She knelt by him, with her blonde locks and blue-belle eyes visible in the light.

The boy’s sickly sight might have seemed grotesque to others, but Celeste didn’t seem to care. She knew he couldn’t be a beast.

Casting light on all of his wounds, she had glared at each one with intensity, making sure they were not infected.

“There is nothing wrong with you. It doesn’t matter to me if your right eye sees only black.” She tried to hug him, but his fragile arms pushed her back.

“You mustn’t be seen with me. You are the beacon of hope this church needs. You have to leave.” His whole body seemed frail, and his mind caged.

“I won’t let you stay here.”

His eyes widen with surprise. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m going to break you out of here.” Her gaze pierced him with the spark of determination hidden behind them.

Fiddling with the chains for a few moments she tried to find a broken link, rust, or maybe soot, anything that showed previous damage. But there was nothing, not even a scratch.

“Stop.” Michael glared at her with his one good eye. “You mustn’t do this.”

She ignored him and with a wave of her hand she bent a stream of light across the chains, breaking them. A clean-cut along the darkened steel. Had she been paying more attention she would have sensed the breaths of another at the foot of the stairs. The footsteps drew closer and a flame echoed out from the palm of the person's hand. “What are you doing here, Celeste?” The voice was stern and raspy, a sound she knew all too well.

“Father!” She turned around, glaring at the man in white silken robes, a large rosary down his chest. Her heart had stopped, her chest tightened, and her breathing ceased. Quickly, she got off of Michael, using her shins to block the broken chain from Father’s sight.

“I was just teaching him a lesson, Father.” She stood like a soldier, perfectly uniform, not moving a muscle.

“Ah.” Father took a few steps closer, reaching an uncomfortable closeness to Celeste.

“Then why are his chains broken?” She kept a straight face, not even blinking.

“I found them that way... he must have cut them somehow.” Michael stayed glued to the ground, not even flinching, but keeping a pitiful pose non-the-less.

“Is that right?” Celeste nodded, holding back her breath as much as she could.

“Well then, I guess I should punish him.” With a devilish smirk, Father began to grasp Michael in his fists, pulling each limb till it bruised, and he just took it. He was used to it. Celeste couldn't put up much of a fight without getting caught, so she did nothing.

Father took the broken chains into his hands, dragging the boy’s legs by extension, and shook them about as he shouted,

“How does someone without magic break chains? Hmm?” Micheal said nothing. He didn’t even dare to attempt looking at Father.

“Perhaps he’s stronger than we thought.” Father glared at her, his elderly eyes like an owl spotting its prey.

“Perhaps. . .--” His voice lingered as he dropped the chains, letting Micheal’s heels fall to the floor. “--. . . Or, someone aided him.” He turned to Celeste, putting a heavy hand onto her shoulder. Leaning close he whispered in her ear, “Tell me, was it you?” with a hiss. Her eyes grew larger, but they shrank as Father’s face turned back to hers. She had to keep her wits about her, otherwise, they would both have been punished.

She didn’t say a word as Father backed away. Slowly, he began to reach for Micheal, taking his fragile arm in his grasp.

“Did she help you?” His glare was more devilish than Micheals, but Celeste didn’t dare to say it.

“No, she didn’t. I did it on my own.”

Taking in a deep breath, Father belted, “Liar!” as he tossed Michael aside, slamming him against the stone wall with a clatter. A small blade of flames came from his palm near Michael's face as it singed the brim of his bangs. Celeste still stayed silent. The sounds of shackles clashed loud enough to send another chill down everyone’s spines, even Father. As he went to torcher the poor boy again, Celeste crushed her silence and took a step forward, blocking Father’s fist.

“No!”

As she stepped in his way, a sharp pain unlike any other penetrated her skin. Glancing down, she firmly placed a hand on the pain. She felt a warm, moist, and thick feeling. Blood. She had been so concerned with Michael that she hadn’t even noticed the real, copper dagger in Father’s sleeve.

“Celeste!”

She dropped to the floor heaving and clutching her wound right next to Michael and his shackles. “Celeste! Celeste!” He tried to get her to look at him, to say something, anything. But as the rust of dried wounds were replaced by a crimson flood, he knew she was gone. This time, he dared to glare Father in the eye.

“Why did you kill her?!” A smirk came to his face.

“My boy,” he took a daunting kneel towards him, cupping his chin between dry fingertips.

“- she loved you. And you of all people should know how strong her influence is... was” He chuckled, fiddling with her blood on his fingers. “I’ve wanted her gone for a long time now, after all, she was the face of this church. . . Instead of me.” his grin twisted, making him appear even crueler than before. “Besides, this way, I can make sure you take the blame.” he adds.

Michael stared at him. “You will surely be hanged, or even better. Stoned!--” The boy stared at the floor. "--You could have just killed me!” Father gave another chuckle, holding the blade to the boy’s chin and lifting it to eye level.

“Ah, but what’s the fun in that?” He swished the blade, nicking Michael’s chin, forcing him to let out a shriveled grunt. He dug the tip of his blade into scabbed wounds, licking the dribbles of red off the shining steal each time. Having claimed his prize, Father dumped the dagger on Michael’s lap and began to stride away.

“You’re the real demon! How could you do this. . . to your own son?” His black bangs swayed as she shouted. Father paused for a moment, clutching his fist as he glanced over his shoulder.

“The only demon here is chained, and he is no son of mine.” With those last words, he clicked his heels down the stone tiles and made his way back to the sanctuary, where he lay in wait. Father had become, the dark within the light.