Miri swaddled the little girl and placed her in the cradle. The cradle was a strange and beautiful piece of art, a specialty thing Bartholomew had gotten made from most reputed blacksmith craft in the city. It was the first time she had seen an iron cradle. The inside was lined with polished oak, and she’d placed multiple quilts inside to make it comfortable for the babe.

Her naming ceremony would be in a few days, but Bartholomew was not bothered. After his declaration of wanting a family, he had made the necessary arrangements for the child’s care, shoved more than enough money into Miri’s hands, and retreated back to his complicated scholarly pursuits.

Late at night, he came into the nursery to check on the girl, placing a hand against the tiny forehead, before going back to his own sleeping quarters. He left disappointed, as if the girl was supposed to be something more. Miri didn’t know how babies could be disappointing. Disappointment came later, as children grew up into people their parents didn’t always recognize. Babies were just bundles of adorable flesh that needed lots of cleaning. She wiped away drool from the edge of the little girl’s mouth. Lots of cleaning and everywhere.

But the little girl was a good baby, as babies went. She only cried when she was hungry, seemed enchanted by everything she saw, staring in open-mouthed surprise. She was too young to understand, but there was something about the way her wide blue eyes opened and peered at everything. It didn’t look like merely innocent wonder, the baby stared at things so long Miri started to suspect she was analyzing them. She had a predator’s focus.

As she observed her more, she saw that the baby was stranger than her guardian, a feat Miri thought impossible until a few days before. Her eyes were beautiful, but terrifying. There was something behind those eyes, and Miri suspected that the hidden thing was the reason Bartholomew had taken charge of the girl in the first place.

The entire world felt off-kilter the night of the baby’s birth. She rubbed the goosebumps out of her arms remembering the night. Everything had fallen into place so easily. The young woman died within seconds, breathing her last as the baby cried for the first time. As if her life had existed only to bring the babe into existence. And Bartholomew had been so eager. For as long as she knew him Bartholomew had been comfortable and content with solitude. Even decades before when he had proposed marriage to her, she had felt it was more of a need to establish an appearance of normalcy rather than a desire for a family.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

After the baby closed her eyes and her breathing became slow and steady, Miri changed into her nightgown and settled into the bed at the corner of the nursery. The autumn wind blew in through the open window. The winter drapes had not been put up yet, and the baby seemed to be unbothered by the chill.

She blew out the light in the oil lamp beside her bed and fell asleep. She woke to the smell of smoke. One side of the room was on fire. The ceiling was black with ash and the curtains were ribbons of fire flying in a wind that was fiercer than was normal for autumn. Miri was covered in sweat, her nightgown sticking to her skin.

She couldn’t see the baby, but where the cradle used to be there was a pool of something glowing red and gold. Any normal baby would be crying, unless there wasn’t a baby anymore. Unless she was now part of that gold and red mess. Miri stood up and fell back, her feet burned by the hot stone floor. She grabbed her leather boots from the side of the bed, pulling them on quickly.

Smoke covered the room, and she fell to her knees to where the smoke wasn’t so thick and she could see better. Her skin reddened as she went closer. Miri felt the moisture leave her skin as she walked closer, and she considered escaping. The whole mansion could be on fire. With all the books Bartholomew owned it was a real possibility.

The pool of red and gold started to darken and solidify, and the heat subdued its attack on her skin. The fire in the curtains extinguished on their own, having nothing more to consume. Embers glittered at the edge of the tattered curtains. The smoke was starting to clear from the room. It was a fire that should have spread to the higher floors, but nothing was different outside. Everyone else was still asleep.

When the air cleared, she saw a dark silhouette, perched on the edge of the window. It was the size of a large bird, but not shaped as a bird would be. The way the beast lay on the window edge was more like a cat, curved into a circle and in a restful sleep. Miri walked closer, careful not to make noise. The beast opened its eyes and looked at her through sleep-heavy eyes. Blue eyes, with an inquisitive gaze that was terrifyingly familiar.

Miri was not one for books or fairytales, but the creature in front of her was one that everyone in their kingdom knew of. Certain things were meant to be feared. They needed no introduction. The beast was small enough that she could pick it up with one arm, but her instincts screamed at her to flee.

It was her own mortality, telling her she was not safe with the creature. Something that could melt through the metal and wood of the cradle would have no trouble incinerating her aged flesh and bones. But the eyes. Miri stopped on the threshold. The baby was still missing, and the creature looked completely at ease.

Miri left the room slowly and headed towards the library. Only one person would know what to do in the strange circumstances, and she feared that he was already prepared for it.