Path of the Sinned [FANTASMICAL 2023]

Blindsided (Magic)

February 28th, 1835

I couldn't get it off my mind, that strange symbol scrawled on the margins of Lilith's tome. An 'S' with a stake through the upper curve. I read that the Sinned wore it on their skin. I couldn't find a reference to branding. Inked, perhaps? 

Went to Auguste this afternoon. The one who tattoos the inmates. Showed him the symbol. He'd never seen it before. I mentioned my theory. He agreed. Joked halfway through if I wanted it inked on me.

I changed the subject. Of course I couldn't say yes.

April 2, 1835

I finally worked up the nerve to do it. Auguste was quicker than I thought he'd be. Like he knew I might change my mind. He kept warning me it would hurt. That the knee is extremely sensitive, but it felt...exhilarating? Like Lilith was watching?

He inked it just above the knee, on the inner side. Uncle wouldn't see it there.

I didn't watch. Not squeamish. Couldn't risk backing out. "Self-desecration," et al.

Auguste sent me out the moment he finished. Didn't want to get caught. Coward. He's not the one living with a black stain.

Streets were fuller on the walk back. Handsome fellow bumped into me. Look bewildered at my "audacity," I'm sure. I apologized profusely, but he wouldn't stop staring. Perhaps it's the ink, but I swear I saw something like horns poking from beneath his derby.

April 5, 1835 

Glory be, I'm not this clumsy! I jostled eight people and nearly knocked a dozen more. They all have the same wild look. Like they've been awake since God formed Heaven. That'll be me in a fortnight.

April 7, 1835

Saw the horn-hat fellow again. He watched me now, the prick. I made a wide berth, but knocked down a pig-nosed dolt with that wild look, too. Wrankled, I gave Pignose a firm piece of my mind. 

I suppose, in that sense, I merited what came next.

Hatty came up behind me. Pulled me off into an alley. I thought he wanted to exchange blows. In my mood, I prepared to oblige him. I'm not a priest yet, Hatty. I can take a blow without your soul being damned.

He threw me to the ground and stood over me, menacing something about how I 'shouldn't be able to see them,' and I 'know too much.' Glory be, think of something original, Hatty.

I've never met a man who could sound so plastered while being dead sober. While he ranted, I got to my feet and shoved him hard enough to set him back a few paces. His wild stare didn't waver. Truth be told, it shook me. Felt like I wasn't looking into eyes, but two dried wells that burrowed into a gnarly plot of worms. And the worms were hungry. 

Having spent my rage, I tried to leave. But when I turned to, a bright, uncanny circle of light shone in the alleyway a hundred yards from me. 

I shouldn't have gawked at it, whatever it was. But in that short moment, Hatty had regained his ground and Pignose had decided to avenge his ego. 

I was grabbed and dragged into a broken-down, deserted shop. I was too angry at the bastards to understand what was happening. By the time I did, Hatty had stuffed my mouth with several foul kerchiefs and Pignose had pinned me against his burly body. His arms laced around mine, holding me.

I bucked hard but had no leverage. Hatty knelt down. I tried to kick him and he grabbed my leg. His arm locked under my knee, immobilizing the limb. 

Then I felt a cold blade against my skin, just below my tattoo. 

I stood still instantly, reflexively. I remember Hatty's hungry look. He yanked my legs while Pignose let go. I tumbled. Then Pignose pulled me against a pillar and tied my wrists behind it. 

When they had me secure, Hatty drew my cassock above my knees. I thrashed my legs, but Pignose pinned down my ankles. A ball of ice fell in the pit of my stomach when I saw the glint of Hatty's knife. He outlined the fresh tattoo with the sharp point.   

The knife only skimmed the flesh, but my skin was still sore. Every scrape of the blade, I felt acutely. It wasn't til Hatty was halfway through, that I noticed they had both fallen silent. But they weren't watching his work, like I had been. 

They were looking at me.

Both of them.

Their eyes had been soulless enough in the broad daylight. But in the dim light of the musty shop, they seemed like animated corpses, toying with me.

When Hatty finished outlining the tattooed symbol, he signed the Cross over it with his thumb. A tingling spread across my tattoo. I didn't know what it meant, but I could sense a change coming over me. Hatty patted my knee, like a master settling his dog.

"People who see us--they shouldn't be allowed to. Ever again, I mean," I'll never forget what he said next, "But she wants you alive."

He leaned over my knees and Pignose bent closer to him. I wanted to pull away, but the rope didn't allow me. Their vile grins will haunt me forever. Just as I was sure they would murder me, their faces turned ashen.

A gray color spread over their skin, growing darker by the moment. The pair sagged, bending over each other in my lap. As I gurgled screams into the kerchiefs, the two bodies melted into deep swirls of black smoke, which pooled over me and disappeared.

The sheer force of terror within me must have manifested in arm strength. I managed to cut the rope on the corner of the pillar and fled the shop.

April 8, 1835,

My tattoo has been fading more and more each day. Auguste says I should count my blessings. I haven't seen any more wild-eyed pedestrians. In truth, the streets seem half-empty now.

Good Riddance. It was a laughable hat anyway. And nose, too.