This cold. I've felt this coldness before. Am I dreaming or awake right now? No, more than that… have I ever truly been awake? Or am I just one transient nightmare someone else dreamed up? There was a spark before, right? Before Holly on the beach…
Freyja drifted deeper, as if caressed by golden sands. Gentle waves lapped at the shore of an over-psyche, some apotheosis of all primal minds. Beneath the sands, her spirit sifted deep into the past, on a night marked by a dark star.
-
"This child… what a shame."
"A bad omen for sure."
"Nothing good will come of her birth. That is the cursed fate she was born to…"
-
An early morning, with dew-kissed grass. A front lawn? A willow tree wavered in the breeze. A young, black-haired girl lay on her knees, cradling a small, furry form growing quickly cold. A rabbit, mauled by a passing stray dog. Its fur is matted with blood, it's breathing labored. It's nose twitches. Twitches. Stops.
A paw drops, and the rabbit falls dead. Beyond restraint, tears well up in unusual black eyes circled by amber rings. No known disorder can account for those eyes. Demon's eyes. Inhuman.
Helpless sobs fill the crisp air, and leaves scatter on a sudden gust.
"Why are you crying?" another voice reaches out. Its owner, a girl slightly older, walks into frame, hands laced behind her back. She looks inquisitive. The glare of the rising sun obscures her face.
"A dog… it got the mother rabbit…" Freyja continues to cry.
"Hmmm, I see." her elder holds her chin.
"Why?" Freyja asks.
Such a simple, heartbreaking question. The form may change, but the spirit is always the same. Why did they die? Why does it have to be like this? Why is the world cold?
Her elder is still a child herself. She lacks the wisdom or experience to articulate the sad truth that mankind is no center of the universe, and that nature cares little for their values or sense of meaning.
One day, an eternity ago, someone looked into the sky, and they became aware. They asked the timeless question - why? When earthquakes swallowed up villages, or locusts swept crops, or lightning rained down, the answer was ever the same. A force of nature. Uncaring. Cosmic power beyond human understanding or control. In time, people came to personify that raw power, and then, to deify it. Loss was so much easier to rationalize and cope with when it was willed by a higher power, however cruel it may seem to those left behind. Those who feared death were pacified with the faith in a heaven to go to, where all would be reunited. Those who feared exclusion from paradise prostrated themselves before the elements, and debased themselves in pleas for mercy. The pride that drove their forebears to set sail over the distant seas and expand - to evolve in search of the ever elusive horizon - was demonized as defiance of God. Mankind was arrogant to step outside of its pen. It wasn't safe out there.
With this platitude engraved in their hearts, they were able to cling to the skin of the planet, reassured in the inherent purpose of their own, tragically short, meandering lives.
Things died because God willed it. Because only he was eternal. Death was the inescapable ego check.
And so, as had happened billions upon billions of times before, the emptiness called God had claimed another pound of flesh, leaving a confused child to weep.
But Eden had no such conclusions yet. Instead, she only knelt beside her younger sister, and stroked her hair.
"Hey now. Don't cry. It's the circle of life." she said, smiling warmly.
"The dog didn't even eat her, he just ran away. It's all his fault." Freyja said.
"That's probably because you just scared him off." Eden said.
Freyja looked horrified.
"Things die, Frey. It's no one's fault. That's just the way it is. Cows eat the grass, and we eat the cows. We're probably like monsters to the cows. It depends where you're standing. The rabbit died and can't be there for her young. It's sad. But it's not easy being a predator either. That dog gambled and lost. Lions and tigers and bears don't get to go to the grocery store or a burger place when they're hungry. It's kill or be killed."
Freyja waited for Eden to say more. When she didn't, Freyja stuck her lip out.
"That's not comforting at all!" she said.
Eden lightly bumped her head. "Dummy. Who said I was comforting you?"
Freyja started to tear up again.
"Look, sis. Sometimes we don't want to hear the truth, but that doesn't change it. Things die. Plants, animals, even worlds and stars. We'll die one day too. You can't change that. But you can change how you look at it. It's amazing that we're here in the first place. That's a gift. As long as you're alive, you have to treasure it, and protect it shamelessly. The dog missed its meal, but that doesn't make the rabbit's death meaningless. Even tiny germs are alive. They'll make use of the life. Nothing is ever really wasted. Come on." Eden took Freyja by the hand, gently scooping up the rabbit.
They went to the base of the willow, and Eden began digging, her hands and fingers unnaturally strong. That strength hadn't manifested in Freyja just yet.
A shallow hole expanded beneath the upturned roots of the tree, wide enough to lay the fallen lagomorph to rest.
"We can do at least this much. Trees are very long-lived, you know? They can last hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. I wonder what they would tell us, if they could speak? They see a lot more than we ever will." Eden said.
"Probably 'help, I'm trapped'," Freyja said gloomily.
Eden sweat. "Let's hope not…"
Guiding Freyja's hands, she planted the rabbit.
"When we die, our bodies return to the soil. Trees take life from the soil. So, if we bury the rabbit here, part of her will become one with the tree. Trees last a long time, so I'm sure this one will carry her spirit. She'll get to watch her children grow from these leaves." Eden smiled.
"Carry her spirit?" Freyja asked.
"Yeah. Humans are the same, in their own way. We don't live thousands of years. Not by ourselves, anyway. But we pass on our experience to those that came after us. As long as our memories are carried on, our spirit will never disappear. Even if the universe were to blink out right now, I don't think it's an accident that it started in the first place. Even after a bunch of forevers of darkness, a new light will be born." Eden said.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
"Really?" Freyja asked.
"Yes. That's what I think. So, it's our job to live. And if we're going to live, we need to smile. So give me a happy face." Eden pat Freyja's head.
Freyja pouted.
"You're full of shit, Eden!"
Eden twitched. "Or we just become worm food, whatever. Deal with it."
Either way, they marked the grave with a lone flower.
-
"I don't like that building." Freyja glared at the cathedral. "It smells stuffy."
"What do you mean?" Eden asked.
They were a bit older now.
"It's bossy. Stinks of fear and anxiety." Freyja said.
"I think they call that praying." Eden informed Freyja.
"What's that?" Freyja asked.
"Well, uh, basically it's asking God for a favor." Eden.
"God takes favors?" Freyja asked.
"Maybe? Hard to tell."
Freyja smiled. "Can he bring the rabbit back then?"
"You're still thinking about that?"
"Well can he?" Freyja insisted.
"I don't know. I don't think he's ever given anyone back." Eden said.
"What a cunt." Freyja glared.
Eden grimaced. "You're six years old, where are you getting your vocabulary? Jesus."
-
"What's a demon?" Freyja asked.
"Sis, I'm doing homework, can't you go to the library or look it up?"
"But I want to talk to someone. Mom and dad don't talk to me anymore. Not since I got mad and burnt the door."
The door in question, she had walked face-first into like a tiny brainlet. The ensuing tantrum not only caused the plywood to spontaneously combust, it completely reduced it to ashes in a matter of seconds.
"They're fallen angels and spirits of Hell."
"What's Hell?"
"It's afterlife detention."
"That's cunty."
"Freyja, if you get caught saying shit like this, you're going to get both of us belted."
-
Inanimate objects weren't the only things that Freyja could burn.
Children who shoved her around at the playground were also perfectly flammable. A mother hovering over their roadrashed, crying brat whining about the red hot slap print on his face shot Freyja a dirty look and made the sign of the cross. Freyja glared at her, and all notions of going to the authorities or seeking retribution drained away with the woman's fear-sprung piss.
However, something much scarier than angry parents or cops was aimed at Freyja.
Eden was.
Freyja held her reddening cheek, eyes betrayed and tearing up.
"You have to have more self control, you're a lot stronger than other kids, Frey." Eden said, tone grave. "If you lose your shit over a meaningless scuffle, you're going to end up doing something you can't take back."
Freyja pouted and folded her arms. "I fucked up."
"I know." Eden said, confused why this admission of guilt didn't match her sister's face.
"He's still alive." Freyja's eyes burned.
"No, goddammit!" Eden grabbed her sibling by the collar. "You can't think like that! We can't solve all our problems by burning them, it's not us vs the world!"
Freyja shoved Eden away. "Who cares? Mom and dad don't like us anymore anyway, and all the other kids think we're freaks. Everyone can burn."
"Freyja!" Eden snapped.
-
Freyja's puphood anger cooled into a dim glow overtime. Age fifteen, she had found moody, gothic subculture, extensive piercings, heavy metal, and cringey poetry as an outlet for her fermenting angst. She even managed to make a few superficial friends. She wouldn't allow them to see her special powers, and be branded an outcast among the outcasts. She didn't trust herself if some faint semblance of a life was ever dropped out from under her. When Eden disappeared two years ago, she didn't know why. No goodbye, no note, no closure - poof, you're an only child now.
The mating pair who created Freyja were on her ass for just about everything during this time. That wasn't an easy two years to get through. By the time Freyja had been arrested a few times for underage drinking, brawls, and general juvenile delinquency, they'd at least had the integrity to just give her a permanent cold shoulder and stop pretending to act like parents in the first place. Whatever fleeting love was there when Freyja was young was long gone. She didn't question it at the time. That was just how life was. It wasn't till her parents retreated fully into alcoholism that things came to a head. While mom just holed up in her room, blissfully unaware of Freyja's silent wish for her to finally overdose on the wrong combination of vodka and sleeping pills, dad took a much more hands-on approach to psychologically scarring their remaining daughter.
Which is to say he beat the shit out of her. Truancy = black eye. Backtalk = split lip. Felt like it = head shoved into her dinner.
Freyja didn't notice she was grinding her teeth constantly till she chipped one of them. It was filled back in the next day, such was part of her unusual set of paranormal traits. Only just now was she fully starting to grasp how bizarre and unnatural these traits were. When other moody teenage girls got grouchy about cramping, the bathroom door didn't catch fire. Other people only ever got a mouthful of fangs in cheesy horror schlock.
She didn't remember what finally escalated their story to its final act, but Freyja fought back for the first time. She thought she was strong as a child, but this was a whole new ball game. Her father was a cowed, crying puddle at her feet, curled into the fetal position, his clothes and the flesh of his back in burned tatters. And there was her sweet mother, hiding behind the overturned kitchen table, eyes wide with fear.
Freyja wanted to laugh, it was so ridiculous. She wanted to ask, 'What's there to fear, mom? Why look so surprised? Did you think you could whip a dog forever and not get bit? This is the child you chose. This is the outcome you decided when you abandoned me'.
She thought of Eden, triggered by that word - abandoned.
Boiling tears rolled down her face, and she broke into a lunatic smile. She cackled nonstop throughout the night.
And then, something dislodged in her memory - a forgotten, fading thing painted in grayscale, pushed far away into the attic space of her skull, to let her sanity live on intact. She thought it was just a dream at the time, a dream within a dream.
"Mom? What's wrong?" A five year old Freyja had asked out of the side of her mouth, half-pressed into the pillow, one eye cracked slightly open.
"Changelings…" her mother muttered. There was something half-concealed behind her back, something with a silvery glint.
The rest of her dream was of sleepwalking down the hall, coming upon a crooked painting of a lighthouse amidst a storm. When she moved to straighten it, it fell off the wall, revealing a strange discolored streak in the wall's paint. Freyja's night vision was already good enough to see this even in pitch darkness. She scratched at that wall with claws, and it came away, revealing a musty room that must have been closed up and sealed off. Inside was an empty crib, and pictures, oh, so many pictures, of her parents… of her mother, pregnant and going through the development of that pregnancy in each successive photo, like a slideshow. She looked younger then. The dates on the adjoining documents and mementos were all wrong.
Was Eden not their first child?
"You were never supposed to…" her mother's haunting voice trailed off.
-
Freyja, her current self, was staring down the Faceless Man's gaping, cave-like hood. She saw a pale newborn, face gone blue, a child strangled by their own umbilical cord.
-
As if sensing her future self's revelation, Freyja, standing over her brutalized father and backing her terrified mother into a corner, snarled. "Did you ever love us?"
She spent that night sleeping on a cold park bench. When she returned home to reconcile, they had a nice dinner together and hugged it out. Then, as Freyja slept and her father got deeper and deeper into a pile of bottles, he got the idea to go through with what his wife couldn't. He broke his empty bottle into a vicious stabbing implement, and buried it in Freyja's back as she lay face down in bed, asleep.
Her eyes shot wide open as she gasped, then the yellow rings tightened and took over, dying the rest of the cornea in that same hue. Her hair grew longer and enveloped her as surging back muscle pushed the invasive glass out of her body, and she finally completed the transformation all the previous breakdowns and surges of anger had failed to provoke.
The hellhound was born - and her neighborhood burned.