Melaynia dipped her quill into the navy ink, then scratched it against the paper.
"I'm going to die. Chosen to die for a cause. For our planet. To save Cerule from a deadly fate. Chosen among others like me, and... eaten by our founders, leaders, protectors. To restore their energy so they may keep the rest of the population alive. It'll be an honor to my family; but to me, it'll be a punishment."
She set down her writing utensil. Her room felt brighter than usual, and its large window covered by a cloth curtain didn't shield her as well as she hoped. A gentle breeze came through, soothing her from the heat; like a temporary relief before her official death announcement.
She groaned. No, the weather had no clue what would happen. But fate? Fate knew. And maybe the gust of wind was Fate's way of comforting her in her last moments, her last days of breathing.
"I should have known," she said to herself, shivering as the wind rippled up her bare arms. "Trespassing... spying... touching things that didn't belong to me. But... do I deserve to die for it?"
It shouldn't have surprised her, with her luck.
The sacrifice ritual took place every year. One eighteen-year-old male or female was supposedly selected at random and fed to the creators of Cerule—the Eldian Monsters—to give them the strength needed to keep the world thriving. To ensure healthy soil for crops—soil that the Eldians controlled and fed on, having been born in it, and bound to it until they perished.
Which, according to historians, couldn't happen, else Cerule would die with them.
She slammed her journal shut and stood, her legs wobbling from the abrupt motion. Or was it from the incessant bad dreams she'd had, predicting her demise? She saw them take her to the Monster's underground Lair, thank her for her service, coat her in the customary sugar scrub, and devour her. But was it a dream? Or... a vision of what was to come? A premonition?
Whatever it might have been, it prompted her to wake that morning convulsing, ill, frozen to the core, as if death itself crawled along her skin. And Jorco weather was too hot to wake freezing.
At once, she sensed guilt wrapping around her intestines, as if squeezing her to make her realize; she caused the vivid flashes in her sleep. She disobeyed—she ventured into a zone no Ceruleans were allowed to.
Of course, I must pay the consequences, right?
She grunted. "No." Staring at her wooden desk's scratched surface, its sturdy shelves holding all her books and notepads, the baskets of colored quills and trinkets, she realized her break-time was over. Sneaking her diary into the secret compartment at the back of one of her drawers, she brushed a fingertip over her collectibles. The herbs gathered around her town, drying in a silver tin. A scribbled note from her boyfriend. A battered, beaten-up diary she'd never dared open. Though she yearned to read it now, she had homework.
Atop her light bedspread, her book "Cerulean History, Volume Four" rested open at the page she'd left it, her essay scrawled over it.
And since she needed to recite said essay out loud, she plucked the paper and cleared her throat. "The Eldians and their counterparts, the Impians, created Ceruleans from elements of nature as they came to life. Molded shapes and sizes, invented ages and colors, and placed their creatures around the world to see if they'd reproduce. And they did."
For a moment her wall covered in sketches and maps caught her eye. The landscapes she drew, the fantasy continents and pretend worlds from her dreams. The quotes from her favorite writers written in thick black ink.
Was it all pointless? She was going to die, right? Decorations, designs, homework—was it necessary?
Dizzy from the memories crashing through her, she abandoned her essay and hastened to the room next door—her bathroom. A thin film of sun peeked through the slitted window, and she sucked in a breath as she pressed the button on the sink to extract water. The liquid trickled from the metallic faucet and into the silvery basin, where she dipped her hands. The icy sensation soothed her, eased her worries.
And in seconds, the soothing disappeared, hearing her mother's voice somewhere in the back of her skull.
Crap.
What would her parents say? Their eighteen-year-old already rebellious daughter trespassed. And to impress a boy, no less.
In a panic, she scrambled out of the bathroom and glanced down the hall, towards the stairs. Dry-heaving, she tiptoed closer, calves cramping as she fought tremors.
Ah, but the parents weren't home yet. It was mid-afternoon, how had she forgotten? They were still at the local supermarket, haggling prices for their gathered crops. Like every sixth day of the week, the fruit and vegetable farmers of Jorco met to exchange their goods. Meaning she had a few more hours to brainstorm; to figure out how to destroy their lives yet again.
"Hey Mom, hey Dad. Guess what I did last night? And guess what it's going to do to our family?"
Oh, they were used to her antics. But this? This wouldn't be the same. If it caused her to become the next sacrifice—
She stormed down the brick stairs and smacked her face to the foyer window, double-checking her facts. Sure enough, the family carriage was gone.
"Calm down, Mel," she told herself as she meandered to the living room and sank into the leather couch. Her mom's favorite fruit plant's leaves dangled over her face, shading her from the light pouring in from the window. "It'll be all right. I'm exaggerating. It won't happen."
"If you trespass, you die—there's no denying it."
The stupid rumor passed along at school echoed in her head. Gossip claimed many had ventured into the Forbidden Side before her... and none lived much longer to inform the world what they saw.
"Damn you, Quincy!"
The boy's bright azure eyes swam in her mind, along with his blinding sly smile as they snuck under the wall and into the dark. Their linked hands as they skipped farther into the unauthorized territory. A frozen space of obscurity, buried in snow, sprinkled with blue crystals.
Blue crystals that Quincy was obsessed with.
"Come with me! I have to see them, figure out if the whispers are true; that the purest Cerulean Crystals are on the other side!"
Why had she caved? He knew better than to entice her, yes, since he was nineteen and past the risk of sacrifice, and she wasn't... but still! Had he not learned not to feed her curiosity?
Scoffing, she imagined herself rebuffing his requests, saying what she really thought. "It's off-limits and illegal, Quinn! I can't go with you!"
But instead, she bit her tongue and gave in. Because the Forbidden Side... was too tempting to ignore. Deprived of sunlight, chilled by heaps of snow, it was a dangerous place for anyone to visit. Punishable by the Sheriff, and... reputed to send eighteen-year-olds to their deaths.
By some magical twist of events, she and Quincy weren't arrested. Oh, they triggered all the alarms, but Quincy navigated around them. He was prepared.
The announcement flickered to life in her brain. The one reiterated every year, after a Sacrifice Ceremony. "And remember—wherever there is darkness, no Cerulean shall go. Darkness is rebellion, and no rebel is protected by us. Outcasts receive no safety."
Rebels and outcasts were deserters. Those who snuck into the Forbidden Zone... and never returned. None knew if they were alive, or submerged beneath feet of ice. Not that any of that frightened Quincy, no; it only fueled his desire to explore.
"They're all over the Forbidden Side, Mel! I need to study them, to prepare!"
His preparations were atrocious. The stupid scholarship he won, to analyze Cerulean Crystals in all their various forms, would take him away from Jorco, away from her, for years. But she was too mad at him to cry about it now.
Yet... a tiny twinge in her soul reminded her it wasn't all his fault. No... she was the one who couldn't keep her hands to herself beyond the wall. The beauty of the raw, untouched, unaltered crystals hypnotized her. She touched one, which sent an electrifying jolt up to her shoulders and paused everything around her. Her heart, her lungs, her breaths—everything stilled in time as her fingertip caressed the freezing surface.
She never should have removed that glove, never should have let the crystals entice her so. Because then sirens screeched and Quincy seized her wrist and lugged her back to the Inhabited Zone, where he proceeded to yell at her until she ran home.
But what could she have done? The crystal called her, compelled her to touch it.
She didn't understand why she took off the glove, though. True, she didn't think she'd need it; as a hot-blooded Jorco citizen, the southernmost city of Cerule, she didn't have a cold bone in her body. Jorco was stuck in a permanent heat wave, since the planet couldn't rotate on its own orbit. And she'd lived in Jorco all her life... so a little bit of that white snow stuff couldn't scare her. Not that she wanted to touch it—and she didn't—but why would she need to cover up from it?
So when Quincy had forced gloves on her before their excursion, she snorted.
"No, I'm serious, Mel. You're going to need these." He pointed at a fuzzy fabric called a scarf, thick boots that crawled up to her knees, and a thick shirt called a coat. "Because you will be cold." He gave her a hat, too, with sides that drooped and made her look like a dog with floppy ears.
The sound of his voice in her eardrums caused her to wince. He'd been cheerful and chirping before they took off. But when they returned, in pain from cringing at the blaring alarms, sore from running as if their lives depended on it... his tone changed.
"You're too immature for all this," he had said, taking advantage of his height to tower over her, his gaze piercing her like spears. "I know you... how you freak out, how you disobey. It's second-nature to you. And you compromised this... all of it."
She'd tried to protest, but he shut his door on her, telling her to go home and they'd talk later.
But they hadn't. Not a peep from him since she bolted from his front yard. After their arguments—and they had many—he usually came over to apologize. Today... he gave no sign of life.
As she climbed the stairs back to her room, she wondered if she should make the first move, for once. And maybe she could explain the vision to him. He would realize how dire it was; because Melaynia rarely dreamed. And she should have expected a turbulent sleep cycle—the hand she used to touch the crystal throbbed. Not from cold, but as if something had clawed into her skin and nestled around her bones.
It should have been her warning sign; she shouldn't have slept at all.
Her images were in black and white. Her name called out, her parents torn between pride and despair. Attendants throwing her underground, where the Monsters ate her. She revisited the dream countless times, but nothing changed. Nothing ever would—the Sacrifice Ceremony was an honor, and no Cerulean would deny that.
At the top of the stairs, her limbs shook so much she had to hold the wall for stability. The Sacrifice Ritual was the Monsters' way of dealing with her rebellious tendencies, for sure. They were forgiving creatures, yes, cared for their inhabitants; but they held grudges, or so the obscure library books said.
Those books also claimed severe temperature changes and touching raw crystals could cause hallucinations. So... was that what prompted the dreams? The visions? Was she poisoned, affected, insane?
"I need to see Quinn."
After a few minutes, she dashed to the foyer, slipped on her sandals, rushed outside. Her essay would have to wait—this was more important.
Past her driveway, she turned left to take the back route towards Quinn's house.
It was all too eerie, too reminiscent of a different experience she once had with the Ceremony. No, it wasn't her first time so close to it, and she wished she'd remembered that when she took the risk.
Because twelve years go, Melaynia's sister was part of the Monster's Ritual.
Valnia. Why didn't I ask you more before you died?
She never had a chance to understand. And twelve years later, her bitterness hadn't subsided. She hated the Monsters for eating her sister; but she refused to join Valnia in death.
Not for trespassing. No. I have to stop this from happening.
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