The Midnight Before Me

by Elizabeth Lo

  The Midnight Before Me

  Elizabeth Lo

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Please Put a Review on Amazon

  About the Author

  Preface

  Once upon a time, there was… wait, no. This isn’t a fairy tale, is it? I mean, I wouldn’t say it has a happy ending.

  Let’s try again.

  Welcome to my world, and welcome to my country, Galviton.

  I live in a world filled with spells and curses, order and chaos, all thrown together into this mixing bowl of a universe. There’s good and evil in everyone, with the balances in each person seemingly uneven, yet really not.

  Really… it’s not that different from your world, is it?

  Except… in my world, people’s souls are made of magic energy. When a person runs out of magic energy, or when their spirit becomes light enough to leave their body, they die. Magic is like a phenotype to magic energy’s genotype—it’s the spells and curses. Simple, right?

  Spells are controlled by a magician, and they extract magic from the said magician during the duration they are cast—meaning, once the magician stops directly fueling it with magic, the spell will stop. Curses are uncontrolled and merely take a portion of the magician’s magic and run with it, sucking up more magic as they go along.

  Oh, but of course, I can’t forget enchantments—an ancient form of magic that uses incantations and runes to cast a long-lasting effect on an entity or to literally imbue an object with magic—though this form of magic has long been banned due to the many issues with them and their “highly curse-able nature.” But… technically speaking, really, the only true difference between a curse and an enchantment is that one is blindly malignant while another is put in place for a reason. Which means, the line between curses and enchantments is actually pretty fuzzy… but I won’t get into that right now.

  Anyway, amongst magicians, there are two types of us. Movers, who can only move particles around (thus the name). And Assemblers, magicians who can move particles around, but can also fuse them or combine them or… well, I don’t fully know what they do… I’m not an Assembler, myself.

  Assemblers are considered the more powerful magicians—the superior ones. Movers can only perform Mover spells. Assemblers can perform all spells. Maybe it’s unfair, but it’s not like people have a choice. When a Mover performs an Assembler spell, it becomes faulty or even dangerous. It’s like having perfect pitch versus relative pitch. Whichever one you have is not your choice, and one of them is obviously better but more rare.

  Of course, there is an exception to both those categories. A third type of magician, I guess you could say. Which is where I come in.

  I have what’s called “Arimean Eyes.” But as far as most people are concerned, I have Demon Eyes. Creepy eyes that represent untold power and disastrous consequences, easily recognizable by their bright fuchsia color that look red in certain lighting. Just like a demon’s. I won’t tell you too much about them right now… you’ll learn more soon enough.

  Anyway, before I set you on your way to journey with my past self, I’ll give you some basics about my country as well, Galviton, a sliver of land in between the two rivaling powerhouse-countries, Thyrmia and Ronum. But at the time you will start reading, both Thyrmia and Ronum are no longer involved with Galviton’s business, and it will instead be dealing with a new internal problem: a curse set in motion by a certain queen who witnessed the death of her lover.

  Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Except, I promise you, this story is anything but. Though… that’s not to say there isn’t any love.

  Northern Galviton is quite chilly and foggy most of the year (as it’s closest to Thyrmia), while southern Galviton is warmer. It’s said if you hovered one mile up in the air at the southernmost border, you can see the entirety of Galviton because of its inclined slope. You would probably see quite a lot of trees with many dots of towns within them as we’re a newer country with a magic-based industry and therefore don’t need a large population. It’s a beautiful little country, I think.

  We don’t really think of people with different hair color or eye color or ancestry to be a different race… In Galviton, “ethnicity” is synonymous with our word “family,” though family has a much more friendly implication. Aromas are the family with red hair and slightly pink skin that originally came from sunny Ronum; Frosts are the family with white skin and hair that came from the frigid country of Thyrmia.

  Most Falcons, with their weirdly teal hair, are in the military just because their ancestors were in the military. Falcons are generally seen as the “military” family of Galviton. Oh, and while I’m at it, the Frosts are known as the political and generally higher class family (though my mother was quite the exception), and the Aromas are known for taking up the majority of the working class. There are more families, but those are the most significant ones.

  I’m in the Thunder family, and we’re known for… well, considering I’m the last Thunder left in Galviton—maybe even the world—the Thunder family is known as the magical, eccentric family. Though I suppose I should first mention that the origins of the Thunder family is from Arimea. After all, how do you think I got associated with the Arimean curse in the first place?

  Why is this important? Well, family dictates a person’s “last name,” as you would call it, so us Galvies (that’s what we call ourselves) don’t really have to worry about the complications of the surname stuff. Those of mixed families usually take their father’s surname, though it doesn’t really matter.

  Names often go like this: Artemis Soren Frost.

  The middle name is the first name of one of their parents. In this case, it’s the father. And the “last name” is the family name. You’ll get used to it.

  Hmm… what else…? Oh, right.

  It’s also important to know that Galviton is known for its strong military power—after all, the country was founded during a war. Participation in the Galvitonian Imperial Forces is a thing of status and pride all on its own.

  Or at least, Galviton was known for that.

  Of course, with the introduction of the Memento Mori curse, nothing but trouble started to stir, and insanity became a prevalent characteristic of people. More and more people began to kill or be killed, and I suppose that’s where the story starts.

  In this time, three people—a cursed girl, a tired hero, and an insane queen—start their journeys, connected by the country’s curse… and they begin to understand that one must die for the other two to live.

  In the end, we each received one of three things: redemption, ruination, or hope. I’ll let you decide who got what.

  My name is Midnight Thunder, and this is the story of the Midnight before me.

  Chapter One

  Midnight

  Two Years Ago

  “Come on, now… Midnight…” says the fiery-bearded old man through gritted te
eth. As if he doesn’t even want to admit that I have a name.

  There’s a knife in my hands. The instructions I was given prior to today flicker in and out of my head.

  When I tell you, I want you to point the knife at this artery in your neck—that’s right, that one—and just sink it in there. The rest will all happen on its own.

  But my hands shake, and the knife clatters to the floor. The pairs of eyes looking down at me are like spears telling me to surrender before my redheaded foe.

  Why am I here? Why me? Why couldn’t it have been some other girl brought here? I never heard about this until yesterday morning.

  How long have I been here? Trapped in this stuffy room, cornered. I have only one choice, and it’s a choice I don’t want to make.

  “Do you need help, Midnight,” the man standing in front of me says for the nth time.

  Everyone else, sitting in high theatre-like seats, look perpetually bored, each checking their watches or tapping their pens or doing some form of impatient twitching.

  “Felicius,” one of them says. “Please stop wasting our time. You’ve been exiled for… what? A couple centuries, maybe? We’ll lift your sentence now, okay? No need to go to these lengths with this… ‘Arimean Eye Experiment’ stuff.”

  A few more pen taps. A few more checks of a watch.

  “NO!” Felicius shouts, startling everyone in the room. “NO! It… This isn’t about my exile, you blubbering buffoons! This is something… so much more…” His eyes shine with passion and greed. “This is about the course of humanity! This is about a new era of undying beings!”

  A woman in the back slams her hands on the table and stands up abruptly.

  “Mr. Harvey.” The frustration is as clear as glass shards in her voice. “We’ve been here for two hours, and nothing has happened. You shouldn’t tamper with the natural lifespan anyway—your own body is proof! Return this poor little girl to her parents, and please… just leave this whole case be.”

  Felicius visibly shakes underneath his Ronumese robes.

  “You Galvies just don’t understand! Neither you nor your dead Fantastique king!” he spits. “You’re all just afraid of change happening to your illusion of a perfect world! But it’s inevitable! We must work to further develop humanity as a whole! You all say it yourselves! ‘Preparation is key! Preparation is key!’ Then, let us prepare ourselves for the future!”

  His voice is almost hysterical. His eyes a little too wild.

  Even Mr. Harvey doesn’t seem to believe what he’s saying. Yet, why is he here, trying so hard?

  A man in the front stands as well.

  “Please. Calm yourself, Mr. Harvey,” he says coolly. “You’ve already… done whatever experiment to this girl… just get this presentation over with.”

  A white-haired woman, sitting primly at the top of everyone, supervises the entire encounter. The Head Chairwoman of the Magic Council of Galviton, otherwise known as the Queen of Galviton, Glorieux Frost. Silver eyes that reflect all the light that hits them are dark with something more. Long, snowy hair drapes over her shoulders, and her face is almost ethereally beautiful. But it feels as if no one has noticed that she’s there.

  No one will look her in the eye, just like they won’t quite look at me.

  Grumbles flow through this room so well they could be confused with its natural acoustic. It’s only when they all silence themselves, as they lay their eyes on the silver knife slipping out from Felicius’s robes do I realize how hollow this room really is.

  His feet squeak across the smooth marble floor. His robe rustles as he moves.

  Sharp blue eyes tower over mine.

  A streak of silver crosses my vision just as a deadly piece of metal drives its way towards my heart. My hands cross in front of me a few milliseconds too late.

  The tip of his knife dips under my guard and slips through my ribs. I feel my breath cinch and see the knife sink into my flesh and tear through my chest.

  Blood stains my formal dress and then paints the clean marble floor as he yanks the knife out, no longer shiny, but glistening with my blood.

  “This is why I should have never released you or your God-damned brother!”

  At first, I don’t feel anything. I simply watch the blood gush out of me like wine from a barrel.

  Then the world goes dark at the edges while brightening at the same time as the marble floor tilts and smacks me in the face.

  I wake up just a few feet away. I’m shaking. No, I’m bouncing. My head is electric. I can’t breathe, yet I’m breathing too much. The world is blurry… or maybe I’m spinning around too fast.

  I’m naked, stripped of my dignity as well as my clothes. Exposed.

  The shocked, silent stares of the people around me seem to stab me in the heart a second time. Why does Felicius’s grin go from ear to ear like that?

  Stop it. Stop it, stop—

  One pair of eyes brings my confusion to a ringing standstill.

  That white-haired woman. The Queen. Her silver eyes, as shiny as the blade right before it pierced my chest, dance with some unknown emotion. Curiosity? Fascination? Pity? I can’t look away.

  “See?” Felicius yells, a hint of madness glinting in his eyes. “She’s still alive, isn’t she? We could create a new race of humans! A superior race that can live beyond death!”

  “How could you?” someone yells across the room.

  “You killed her!”

  “I did no such thing!” Felicius hollers, becoming more and more agitated.

  But their voices sound distant to me over the thundering beats of my heart—my heart that isn’t supposed to be beating.

  The eyes. The eyes are what hold my attention. That make the thumping go faster and faster. All looking at me. Me, whom I thought was just like everyone else.

  Some eyes that look at me are intrigued. Intrigued?

  “But look… she’s still alive,” some mutter.

  Still alive? Still alive?! I want to yell, but nothing comes out.

  I can’t focus on anything. My knees slam the cold stone floor, and a slippery liquid touches my finger.

  My head shakes as it turns.

  Metallic, gunmetal hair. Wide open, ugly fuchsia eyes. A red rose of blood on the side of her chest and hair, soaking in a puddle of red, so dark it could be black. Her fingers start to glow and dissipate in the air, as if the world is erasing her existence already.

  It’s me. But I’m over here.

  A wail starts around the room. A scream that makes my ears hurt as I hear it.

  It’s my own scream; I’m trembling so much that the world is out of focus.

  They keep muttering. They keep staring.

  Staring and staring and staring and staring and staring and…

  Staring.

  Stop it. Stop staring.

  “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” I scream, my voice bouncing on the walls.

  All I see are their eyes, their eyes, their eyes. Watching me.

  Staring.

  I can’t breathe.

  I’m breathing too much.

  My heart has stopped.

  My heart is beating too fast.

  I’m dead.

  I’m alive.

  Their eyes. Their eyes that form walls that press against me. Eyes that tell me, “You’re not human.” Eyes that say, “Monster.”

  Trapped. I feel trapped.

  Help me…

  Gasps and murmurs start echoing through the room, and soon, Felicius starts to bristle in anger.

  They’re staring still.

  Striking blue eyes meet mine and cast a chill through my spine as Felicius Harvey jerks my head up with a hand gripped tightly on my hair. The screaming stops and is replaced with whimpering. An embarrassing, pathetic sound.

  “This was a mistake,” he says. “You were a mistake.”

  And that was the day my world shattered.

  Chapter Two

  Glorieux

  Present Day

  Glori
eux Frost is a lonely woman. All of her friends are either long dead or traitors, and she spends most of her days isolated from the world. She is the queen of Galviton, married without a choice to the king. There is no aspect of her life that isn’t already planned out or meticulously controlled. Half of the people in the palace barely even know what her voice sounds like.

  She spends every day putting on an impeccable smile, and every night hiding in the dark, cowering under plush sheets that might as well be steel bars.

  It’s built up inside of her. A slow-burning rage. This frustration. Everyone in the palace disgusts her. All they see is status, position, and any possible way to hungrily climb up both.

  But any time she starts thinking about this, the buzz in her head feels restless. Today, she has decided to take a trip to the roof, to dangle her legs over the edge in order to clear her mind. Cold wind swirls her legs and cuts through her pantyhose, numbing her body just as she likes.

  The roof of the Winter Palace is far away from people, and the walls are as gray as ashes right before a volcanic eruption. This is the castle she doesn’t like—unlike the white and gold exterior of the Summer Palace, the Winter Palace only returns a hard, unforgiving stare to anyone who dares to look upon it. And yet, she finds sitting here strangely calming, a chance to look over the world.

  Her father was the previous General of War, Aristide Frost. Glorieux was born into a life of standing tall, smiling prettily, and saying all the right words she must say and nothing else. The consequences of not doing so earned her nothing but a scolding, and later, disappointment, slander behind her back, and even beatings. Never is she allowed to “be sad” or “be stupid” or even “be ugly.” All of which are privileges that everyone else around her take for granted.

  This is why I keep telling you, to just… Break free…

  Come on, princess, we’ll guide you…

  Shut it… She thinks, digging her fingernails into her palm. It’s not as easy as you think. I have a duty…