Honour is predicated on strength.

That is what I’ve misunderstood about the pickpockets and cut-purses, they lack the strength to care on matters of honour. Where does the next meal come from? Where will I hide when the rains spread a deathly cold through the streets? That is what they concern themselves with.

When one is powerful enough that such worries are no longer quite so demanding, they’ve become beholden to their cruel careers. The reason their stomachs are full, the reason they don’t freeze in the rains, is because of the cruelties they commit against others. They have no other skills to protect them, so they cling to what works.

Then what is to be said of those who dedicate themselves to honour without the strength to give it meaning? When they die without achieving anything at all? It is the very path that I’ve pursued thus far, is it that of stupidity? Is there meaning in this?

It matters more now than before, not because I lack power, but because the power that I can realize contradicts my honourable vows. I had thought to stretch the definitions of honour, that the outcome could defend the action, but I’m not so sure anymore.

How far might I go? How far can I let myself go?

“So, what’s the plan? We’re killing your uncle, no?” Belle asks, whispering low as we hide in my room. My vampiric senses allow me to hear across the house, from the gurgling of uncle’s cursed guts in the baths to my aunt’s quiet weeping in my parent’s bedroom.

“Ordinarily, I’d use one of these,” I say, showing her an old effigy. The bone and sinew bound together into a shape that leaves behind an impression nearly that of a beast, or perhaps a human that’s forgotten its form. Yet the horror that fills Belle’s expression is not at all magical in effect, it is mundane even if it leaves a heavy impression of horror lingering in the air around us.

“What is this?” she demands, glaring at me in quiet judgement.

“A talisman made from the bodies of those I’ve slain,” I explain. “They capture and share the terror a person felt as they died. It is a short-lived magical talisman if what I know of it is correct.”

“Horrifying,” she reaches for it hesitantly.

I flinch, though I should not. Her judgment is far from incorrect, and even accusations in her eyes are more accurate than not. What concern should a monster have in being correctly labelled a monster?

“Correct, but also useful,” I whisper. “My power comes from darkness and fear, so this is invaluable in bringing forth the latter.”

“Christina...”

I cut her off before she can say what is on her mind.

“This is my power, Belle. This is who I am, regardless of my own wants. If I cease hunting I will starve and die, is it not righteous to instead hunt those deserving and live on?”

She nods, but in the clarity that comes when murder is no longer fantasy, when reality is set out before her, the excitement dies away. She shivers in the cold that washes off of me, cautiously eyeing the shadows that belong to me.

“Is it so different from how your parents kill in war?” I ask, spinning the twisted figurine in my hands and trying to forget the look of disgust that she still directs at me and my creation.

“It is,” she answers quick, without hesitation. Reaching out a hand and placing it on mine, her heated eyes meet mine, and I reel back from her intensity.

“How so?” I ask, all I know of the battlefield is the stories. Stories no doubt twisted before they ever reached my ears. More lies to build the foundation of my upbringing.

“There is honour on a battlefield,” she says, her eyes glimmering with the excitement that I thought dead. “It is a challenge between foes, who stand in competition. We respect one another even in death, this,” she lifts the talisman. “This is not right.”

“I do not hunt honourable foes,” I say maintaining a cool expression as I face her. “I hunt those who think themselves hunters. This is… it’s another version of honour, I’m sure.”

I think fast, putting together the pieces as they make sense to me.

“Honour is a set of rules that you both abide by, no? Then, in my case, my prey and I abide by the same rules. I was nearly struck down, you know that, right?”

“Christina?” Belle squeezes my hand, her expression softening just a little.

“This is not a game, and it is not an honourable battlefield. The hunter and prey can exchange places in but an instant, and it is in that where we might see some of this ‘honour’.” Less and less does the word appeal to me, but I’m not yet ready to abandon it entirely.

“I don’t understand,” Belle says, her brows knit in thought as she considers my words. I’m not sure there is any sense in them myself.

“It matters not, you will learn better from seeing than from discussing it, no?” I ask.

“Yes, but that returns us to the question. What is your plan?” She asks once again.

“These effigies might have lost their magical effects, their æther streams burnt to dust, but from your response I can tell that they are still effective in some sense,” I say, gathering a few others.

I recovered those that I scattered through the house when I noticed their effects waning, but there’s no means of reinvigorating the magic now lost.

Still, a bucket full of horrors might create an oppressive enough atmosphere to strengthen my power. It should provide an edge, at the very least.

“While uncle remains in the baths, I’ll prepare these around my parent’s bedroom. If you could remove my aunt, that would help me greatly.”

“You want me to distract your aunt?” She asks.

“I want you to keep her busy,” I say. “So that matters don’t escalate to where we will be brawling like thugs in the street. If it comes down to it, I’m not certain I could survive her if in an honest fight.”

“I understand, but I’m going to be there for the killing,” Belle says, leaving me no room to deny her. “I need to see what you’re doing to judge it, no?”

“Yes,” I admit. “Then can you think of a means to remove my aunt?”

“She won’t remove herself?” Belle asks. “She doesn’t seem fond of your uncle, and I’d guess that she’d try to avoid him where she has the chance.”

Just as she says as much, my aunt jumps from the bed as if startled and leaves the room. She moves through the house, spooked and looking into the shadows for demons that aren’t there. The ghosts are quiet tonight, but they won’t be for long.

Now that I pay closer attention, I see that many of the staff here are experiencing the same quiet anxiety. They reach for knives the moment someone steps through a door, or something stirs the curtains.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Their fear stimulates the cold winds spreading through the house.

I turn to Belle and analyse her expression. How did she know that my aunt would evacuate the room, and right at the needed moment, no less? Is this some sort of conspiracy, perhaps?

No, that’s just fantasy. I’ve seen too much indecency from the nobles around me that it’s got my head in a twist.

“She’s gone, we’ll go to the room now before uncle returns from the bath,” I say.

Walking through the halls, we garner attention from the staff, but they don’t move to stop us. The quiet glares they level at me don’t seem near as fearful as they ought to be, I suppose they don’t yet recognise me as the evil that haunts this home.

Thankfully there is no trouble even as we open the doors into the grand bedroom. The sheets are untidy, and grease stains the bedside tables. It’s not the same room that it once was, the servants aren’t keeping it near as clean as they ought to.

The room is drowned in various perfumes meant to cover the smells that spawn from uncle’s cursed body, but they do nothing for me. Worse yet, under the unpleasant fragrances, there is a hint of another smell, one that I recognise lingering on the alley whores.

I’m rather glad that my nightly excursions kept me from the house when such ungodly deeds were done. To think my house could be any further stained. I should not have delayed as long as I have.

“Place these everywhere,” I say, handing Belle half of the dried talismans. I’m not certain of my uncle’s strength, but I know that I will dispose of him this night regardless of his struggles.

Between the two of us, we set the figures around the room with plenty of time to spare. They leave a terrible impression and even with the magic gone, I can feel the air sinking with an oppressive weight.

Belle is breathing heavier, though the task was not one that should demand such effort. She shivers in the cold, but I dare not let the temperature rise any further. Instead, I increase the frost that I emit into the room.

Uncle is nearly done with his bathing, and soon he should be coming here. For reasons I don’t fully understand he doesn’t have his maids assist him in bathing or dressing, which should mean that he will arrive here soon and on his own.

“Should we hide?” Belle asks, messing with her dress quite unlike the noble she is. Her commoner traits shine through, charming in a way. My cold heart has no need for such affections, so I turn my attention away from her.

As the grand clock slowly ticks away in the lounge, and aunt tells my nephew a little story of monsters and men, uncle finally makes his way up to us.

“He comes,” I say, resting myself on one of the few chairs available while Belle stands over my shoulder as if my guard.

His heavy feet pound on the wood stairs as he approaches, he slams the door open with his meaty arms the moment he arrives.

I spread a chilling frost around him, but his stench rushes into the room at the same moment, Belle gags behind me from the offensive perfume.

“Uncle, do come in,” I say, meeting his eyes.

He steps inside, rage burning in his eyes though his flabby face remains stiff. He strides toward me like a blind bull. When he stands in the room with me, I push the doors closed behind him with a forceful shove of my telekinesis magic.

My practice is slowly paying off, but even so, it nearly wore through my dedicated veins to see such a small task done.

It matters not, as the effect is enough to stumble uncle, who finally takes in the state of the room. He sees the figures, born from his own murdered thug, demented broken shapes that imitate what the guard truly was at the depths of his soul. Encapsulating what he felt as he struggled his last moments in vain.

“We must talk, uncle,” I say. “You will not like it, that only makes it more important.”

“What?” He barely grunts the question, rage burning in his eyes repelling the atmosphere that I try to cultivate.

“This house is mine, uncle. It is not by my noble rights, but through a measure more… bloody,” I say, drawing on the curses laid upon this house that night, the night of my death.

“You see, the dead are not yet ready to let the living move in,” I warn him. “Bow and let your end be fast.”

“The little bitch has started to think that she’s something more?” He asks, chuckling to himself and picking up one of the cursed effigies that was left on the table by the door. Something about him is different to before. “You’re not the first person to want me dead.”

His rage is cold and cautious, and not nearly as fearful as I intended. Without that fear, I’m not nearly so confident in my victory, but I still have a few other tricks left to play.

Drawing upon illusions that come to life in the shadows, I recall the person I was that night when I died, the monster that slayed us. Their screams and terror still haunt this house, and never again will they be free from this place.

Shapes form from the shadows, memories half-formed, twisted but still not as cruel as the original scene.

Belle takes a step back at the sight, but uncle does not. He steps closer to me, only glancing briefly at the darkness.

“What happened to my ‘fine’ brother and his perfect family, what happened to you, was deserved. You think that you are owed this life? This home? No. You have it because your father, my brother, was ruthless, as was our father before him.

“I will not lose again, not to his spawn.” Uncle’s guts grumble, leaking with sickness that covers his shirt. He does not care.

“You deserve nothing,” I say, standing from the chair and moving closer to him, summoning frost to my hands. Thin layers of ice crack over my skin as I form fists.

“Oh, I know,” Uncle sneers down at me, the shadows that I’ve summoned darkening around us, though there is no fear to inspire it. “I was born hated by the gods. I know that I deserve nothing, so I have to take it for myself.

“Do you know what it’s like to be born unwanted? To be born wrong? Everyone looks at you and wonders why you’re still alive. They ask themselves why I haven’t killed myself yet.

“Spite,” he answers his own question. “I’m still alive because of spite, and it’s why I’ll take everything that I’ve been denied.”

His hand snaps out at me, faster than should be possible. I try a moment late to step around his attack, but I’m too slow.

“You deserve nothing,” he says, his stomach growling low while his eyes glow. He sees none of the horrors surrounding us, looking through me to see someone else, or something else.

Strengthening myself, I lash at him with my magic and my hands, but his grip is resolute. I claw at his arms as he lifts me, and if I still needed to breathe, I’m sure that I’d be choking to death. Yet, the monster I am now is not beholden to such mortal constraints.

“You think that’s enough to kill me? You think that you’re enough to kill me?” He asks, laughing in low derision. “Then how about I enlighten you on a few things.”

He lifts his second hand, and it lights up with bright flames.

Fire and light, the magic of nobles.

Already the heat is enough to burn, if he brings it any closer…

“I still don’t have any visible veins, not yet, but I’ve trained hard. I may have been born cursed, but I still have the ability to grow. I’ve trained, little bitch. I’ve grown strong enough that even knights would struggle to slay me.” He says, looking down at his burning hand. “Soon…”

“Stop!” Belle shouts, drawing her side sword and leaping at him. Her sword cuts into the arm that holds me aloft, but even though she struck with all her strength it only cuts a few centimetres into his flesh.

“Ah, you. The other little idiot,” he says turning his gaze away from me and accidentally leaning the flames closer to my face.

It burns.

It burns, but I can’t let Belle be hurt because of me.

As my face bubbles and blackens, I kick out at my uncle with my feet, stomping on his head. It barely even makes an impact, but it steals his attention away from Belle, who’s stumbling back away from him.

I can’t squeeze any air from my lungs, I can’t say a word, as uncle glares back at me and presses the fire to my face.

The searing pain lasts for but a moment before I become numb to all sensation. My own dark æther bubbles through my bloodless veins, bursting into bright sparkling light and feeding the flames that burn me.

Light consumes all.

I struggle, but I can’t find the strength to resist.

Is this my end? Is it really so simple, so cruel and awful? My own ignorance and confidence led me to stand against my uncle and underestimate him. A small taste of power and I thought that I could stand up against these pests, instead…

The light fades away, taken by darkness, but I can still feel the world around me. Hands are grabbing me, twisting me, pulling me away. Fear, terrible heartrending fear, surrounds me, feeding my cruel new nature.

Summoning healing through my bloodless veins, I recover enough to make sense of the burning world.

Belle is grabbing at me, pulling me to the side as uncle is slammed into the ground. My own thin magics are now completely gone as flames burn around the room, and water cuts through it all.

My aunt stands over uncle, her reddened eyes harsh as she looks down at him in judgement. The sword in her hand flows with sharp flowing waters.

I’ve never seen this woman before, though she wears the face of my aunt. She’s broken through her shell and torn off her chains. Like a brave knight standing over a terrible villain, she glows.

“Enough. That’s enough,” she says, lowering her sword into his chest. He catches the sword with his hands, but his flesh is sheered away cleanly.

He wheezes out a desperate plea, but no one listens. Her watery sword turns red with blood as uncle thrashes on the ground, screaming. Servants stand at the open door, staring in wide-eyed horror.

The atmosphere strengthens my magic, but I can only use it to heal. It’s not my moment. Not anymore.

When finally the man lies dead and silence returns, my warrior aunt looks over at me, her sword bathed in currents of watery blood. She lowers her head for a moment before standing straight.

“I’m sorry, I should have done something about him sooner,” she says, tears trailing down her eyes. “If it was just my own suffering, I thought to bear it as a warrior… I didn’t think he’d go this far…

“I’m sorry,” she repeats the words, but I can find nothing to say in reply.