First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

17. Urielle's Tale

        A ZOMBIFIED, VACANT GLARE reflected in a fogged bathroom mirror through the blurred haze of steamed glass, then wiped with wet fingers to look for but a moment, but her eyes would not linger—must not linger. A moment was all she could take, hating the very sight. The broken woman who stared back was a shell of her former self.

'What have I done?' Within the sea-hued iris that once contained a pure and untainted soul now dwelleth the harshest of realities, memories that had plagued her since she was a little girl, the day her innocence was stolen by unspeakable evil. Hers was a named vengeance that fueled every hateful thought, lingering behind every quiet moment, when the clutter of daily life settled. These horrible images were carved into the back of her eyelids like battle scars, wounds once scabbed but never quite healed, now beyond mere irritation but violently ripped open that very night. The details of the massacre were difficult enough to speak aloud as it was, but to relive them—to put herself back in the thick of the madness, tore to shred what remained of her clarity or any progress she had made over the years in means of healing.

These dark thoughts she had kept quiet from even her closest of confidants. That evening, as she stood in that very attic, memories she had suppressed naturally, and those Samael had gone to great lengths to subdue all came screaming back to her at once. It was like the Demon Lord, himself had murdered them all over again, and stopped to piss on their corpses this time around. There were no words to describe her hated, the fierce and unquenchable loathing she held for this beast. She had envisioned time and again the countless sadistic ways she would torture him if ever given the chance, the creative and ironic punishment due for what he had done to her family. She would take her time, savouring every subtle whimper—every scream or tearing of flesh and tendon easing her grief.

'Soon.' She let the bitterness consume her for a while. Though her wet, naked body dripped onto the shower mat, fresh from a much needed shower, Urielle did not feel clean. The more she let the thoughts of that horrible night linger the dirtier she felt—a grit that would not wash off with any known chemical. This was a stain on her very soul, one which would only cake and grow while the Demon Lord drew breath, she was convinced.

The visions were fresh and clear, as though it had only happened the previous day, never quite coming to grips with the loss of her family or the means in which they had met their dreadful fate.

She was well aware of why she had fled to her childhood home that night, a decision she would now come to regret beyond measure. The last time she was there, Urielle had lost her mother, her brother, and her father was nowhere to be found, his fate an uncertainty to this day. Tragically, her return that night had taken yet another parent—the only father figure that remained, now taken like the rest of them—another father snatched from her grip by that monster. The mere thought of his abduction boiled her belly and rotted her from the inside out, the "What if" scenarios like a downward spiral pulling her in deeper. There were so many decisions and alternative paths that could have changed the outcome of events that night, but only one was factual and based in reality, the loss of Samael, and quite possibly the only family she had.

It was happening all over again, this time by her hand. A dark and grim reality awaited downstairs, one of loneliness and despair, where yet another family would be taken away, lost to her forever.

A moment of hesitation was all it took, a desperate yearning for an old connection, something—anything to comfort in her hour of need. There was a part of her that simply wanted to see her old house again—to look upon its century form and remember the last time she felt whole, an inner child left in shambles. Urielle arrived in Saratoga Springs that night expecting to see the same neighbourly bliss and suburban harmony she remembered from her childhood, a new family in a renovated version of the old McKinnon home the worst case scenario.