by Elizabeth Lo
“Any last words, boy?” he spits, his glare searing everything it touches. “Then stand on that stool there and put the noose around your neck!”
Black hesitates, the readiness flickering out of his eyes.
“I said, put it around your neck!” the General barks.
My defenseless brother stumbles and obeys. The General walks over and tightens the rope as if it’s some sort of honor.
“May this day be marked in history,” he continues, backing away. “On your marks…”
Black makes the faintest of smiles towards me.
No. Why are you smiling? For me? Even until the end, you still only care about me?
BANG goes the starting pistol, and he’s violently kicked off of the little wooden stool.
His smile fades. His eyes roll back. And all anyone can hear in that moment is the sounds of suffocation and death.
I feel sick, but I don’t dare blink or breathe. I want it to be a dream.
But one can only escape for so long.
I glance around and around and around…
But all I see are those unforgiving, cold stares again. Those stares that hiss and snarl at me, snapping at my face.
“Marcie…?”
My heart flutters as I look at her.
Her eyes… Her eyes are the same as all of them.
An earsplitting pitch rattles my throat. My hands cover my ears, trying to block out the sounds of a blocked windpipe and a snickering commander. My eyes squeeze shut to the point of tears. I don’t want to hear anymore.
I don’t want to see anything anymore.
Magic! That’s right… Surely I can do something…?
That telltale power surges through me, starting from my hands and moving along to the rest of my body. Everything is hot and cold at the same time. There’s a little feeling surfacing inside of me. Like discovering a switch.
Energy pulses into my hands just like it always does, but this time, it lacks direction, simply burning my hand with an overwhelming pulsing power. I don’t care.
Keep going.
Strangely, my eyes start to burn with magic, pulsing and surging through my head. My vision turns a reddish pink color for a moment. I peek through my fingers and see every single person in that square painted in a sickening color piercing through the pink overlay. A dark… purplish color. There is a glowing white orb in everyone, brilliant and blinding amongst the pink.
But more importantly, I see Black’s brilliant orb soaring out of his body. It soars into the air, shoots out in a flash, and disappears into the horizon.
My heart races and focuses and focuses and focuses, summoning more and more and more… Maybe I can save him.
Please… let me save him.
I flip the switch.
Demon Eyes, I can already hear the people whispering. It’s the Demon Eyes girl again…
Stop staring, stop staring…
Something happened, right? I did something, right?
My vision returns to normal. The world stabilizes, and the ground at my feet comes into focus again.
“Black?” My feeble voice just barely sounds.
His lifeless body is his only response.
“Black?”
In a panic, I jump onto the platform, reaching out and touching his still-warm body.
“Black?”
I shake his limp body vigorously, back and forth, back and forth, hoping something will happen. That his eyes would open, and the tongue lolling out of his mouth would turn pink again.
But all he gives me is a cold, dead silence.
His soul. That was his soul I saw leave his body.
He’s dead.
The world spirals away from my feet and shrinks itself into this one moment. All I feel is sheer numbness. Absolute nothingness.
No… that’s not right. He can’t be dead. He can’t be gone for real, right? But it was a promise… we promised to stick by each other’s side, right, Black?
Right?
Right?
Because… without you, what will I do? I’ll be alone…
I am alone.
A hand violently grabs me by the collar of my shirt, throws me down, and kicks me off of the platform with the toe of his boot. Instead of hitting the cold, cobblestone ground, I keep falling. And falling, and falling as the world goes dark.
I jerk up from my bed. Cold sweat runs down my back, and my freezing fingers barely hold the glass of water to my panting lips.
Get yourself together. Get yourself together…
It’s still dark out. I still have much more to go before dawn.
Another nightmare. The same nightmare. It’s been two years already… you would think it wouldn’t still be so vivid.
Still… Still… I’m still stuck in a loop, aren’t I?
One crack in the glass led to another, which led to another until the illusion of my life burst into a million pieces… It was, after all, only a few days after I got back from that magic demonstration that he went missing. And it was only a couple of days later when he met his end at the hands of the rope. I still wonder to this day if he was truly able to kill the notorious immortal Felicius Harvey. After everything was said and done, even my friend, Marcie, soon distanced herself from me. Or maybe I was the one who put the distance there.
Now, walls have become my best company. Sad, isn’t it?
But I only have myself to blame for that.
Because let’s be real, Midnight. It’s your ignorance, your cowardice, and your selfishness that has confined you to these walls. Not Felicius Harvey, nor Black, not even your parents. Maybe they were what led to this point… But everything after was all you.
And I think I’ve accepted it already, accepted the fact that I probably will be nothing more than a girl stuck in a loop.
I’m sure everyone’s forgotten already. About those little weekly gatherings they used to do. Everyone used to flock to Town Square every Monday to make some announcements—usually about mundane things such as whose cat died last Wednesday or a reiteration of Galviton’s Sunday news.
I’m sure Marcie brought me to the gathering that day as her way of trying to cheer me up. Even then, I was just trying to keep a smile on my face and cheer in my voice—neither of which, I think, lasted long.
It was busy then. The war in Dvitreland had just ended. We won, but even now, it feels as if we didn’t. For the first two-thirds of it, we were on the losing side. Somehow, people don’t seem the same anymore. Military officials look like the life has been drained out of them. They demand more from us, the citizens, asking for more funds and supplies. “Preparation is key,” right? I know it all too well.
The military and many courts began a practice of hanging criminals who committed “serious crimes” under the influence of General Aristide Frost. Perhaps more for entertainment than for justice, I suppose? It was more common in upper-class areas where they could afford to spend an evening at the gallows, but that’s not to say it wasn’t controversial. Public executions were finally banned last year, but it was two years too late to save Black.
At the time, I thought that Black wouldn’t go so far as to break the law and be forced to appear in a town meeting like that. He was always too careful and calculated. Any step out of line, and he risked being taken away again.
And yet… there he was. Pushed to confront our tormentor and creator because I had blocked him out in my fear of the outside world.
The cold stare of that Falcon General hasn’t left me yet either. Shuddering, I draw my legs together on my bed and curl into a tight ball as I remember.
But regardless of who made the announcements that morning, there’s no going back. Regardless of how it all turned out, it was inevitable that I would come out the other end with parts of me missing.
Not one bit have I changed, except maybe I’ve gotten a bit paler from spending so many days inside and my hair’s grown quite a bit. My fifteenth birthday already passed, but I feel just as old as I was the day I
died for the first time.
But… for everything else… well…
The way people look at me has changed. I can see it in the way they carefully avoid me and speak overly polite while shooing me away. Like I’m something to be afraid of. Even they got word of what happened in that marble-floored theatre room. The famed Arimean Eye magic demonstration. People gave me the nickname, “Demon Eyes,” when I was a child for fun, but now it seems to be my only name.
People send me death threats, maybe as jokes, maybe as a type of malice powered by ignorance and curiosity. Sure, even if they acted on it, I wouldn’t really die, but… at this point, another one of my fake deaths may really tip me over the edge of this precarious fence I perch on between unsure peace and certain insanity.
It doesn’t help that I can’t look anyone in the eye anymore, even if I wanted to. Not when all that will be reflected there is Demon Eyes and a monster. Not when all I can see in those eyes are walls with guards stationed in every one of them.
But it’s true. I’m not even human at this point. I just hate seeing it spelled out in every person’s gaze when they look at me.
To believe I lived in ignorance of it for the first thirteen years of my life… Now it’s become my life. There will never be a Midnight Thunder, the brilliant artist, or Midnight Thunder, the renowned magician. Midnight Thunder, the Demon Eyes girl—that’s me. The girl who can’t die.
The rumors about me had started with my superhuman ability to cheat death. At this point, I believe they’ve moved on to rumors spreading about some destructive power inside of me, able to wipe out the entire country.
Because I don’t even leave dead bodies behind, it only adds more fuel to the rumors. It’s as if I never die, and yet, every death is smeared into my memory. I’ve died two more times actually, ever since then. One was from murder. Another was from a failed suicide attempt. Though both have been washed away by the effortless waves of my unending loop.
And without Black, my house is empty of anyone else but me. The halls echo with nothing but my own footsteps. Everyone in my family has died from some military-related cause. I suppose it runs in the family.
I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Sleepless time ticks until dawn. Light tries to push its way through the curtain of my dark room, letting a soft glow hit my nightstand. It tickles my hand a little.
The air is cold when I leave the safe cover of my blankets. I didn’t even comprehend when I put the glass back in its spot next to the lamp, but it sits there, empty.
Hmm… When was the last time I even went outside? I haven’t opened the curtains in days. Maybe weeks. Because of that, I’ve been letting my hair grow. It’s kind of nice to have it there to tell that time is still passing.
Even the mirror has seldom moved an inch from its corner in the room. I look awful, don’t I? Those disgusting, reddish pink eyes still stare back at me. They glow faintly in the dark, somehow. Yet another feature to separate me from the world.
I reach out and touch the shiny surface. The glass disintegrates away as if kissed by acid. Decomposition. A forbidden spell I’ve used most of these recent days studying. It’s funny how one of my goals in life became to end it.
Dropping my hand back down, the spot where my eyes were reflected are now gone, replaced by a blackened hole. I consider blacking out my hair, too, but in the end, I decide against it, under the excuse that it would ruin the aesthetic of the mirror too much.
I’ve perfected this spell, Decomposition. My brother taught it to me when I was younger as a party trick, but I’ve spent these past few months refining it.
How long has it been since I haven’t looked at these four walls and the ceiling above me? When I wasn’t studying this spell, I was lying in bed staring at nothingness—unable to neither sleep nor wake up. Occasionally, I would convince myself to get up and eat something.
At least when I was studying the spell, I had something to do. Something to put my mind to. It was in those moments of escape that I felt… somewhat normal. When a normal person is alone, they talk to themselves. They crack jokes maybe, or they entertain themselves. They smile to themselves or laugh with themselves. In fact, just yesterday, that’s what I did. I laughed… in an almost hysterical way as I resorted to every possible means of distracting myself.
But now, it’s over.
My last tether to the world, gone.
It’s time to fulfill my goal.
If my purpose in life is supposed to be a world-changing, successful experiment—to show off my ability—then, I don’t want it. But… without a purpose in life, what else do I have left?
My hand, a hand that can now destroy practically everything, is warm against my chest—above my heart.
If killing me doesn’t work… what about destroying me?
Chapter Four
Midnight
Midnight. Stop.
A voice echoes through my thoughts and ricochets through my mind.
A blackened hole forms in my shirt, and my own pale skin underneath melts away. Why is my hand shaking? Noise is filling my head. I can’t hear anything, yet my eardrums are making my head spin.
I said, stop!
The noise stops.
It was my own whimpers in pain, filling my ears and shaking my entire body. My body jolts forward, and the next thing I know, I’m staring at the wooden boards of the floor.
A blackening spot in the floor forms near my hand, the Decomposition spell still potent.
I’m left with my breath rushing back into my panicked lungs. I couldn’t even bring my hand close enough to actually touch my skin. Scared? Am I scared?
No, no…
Maybe if I bind my hand to my chest?
You will do no such thing, Midnight Thunder, the voice says, coming back stronger than before making my head feel as though it should shake.
“Oh? So you can read my thoughts, sir?” I say, surprising myself with the sound of my own voice. “Scary…”
That’s not the point here, he snaps. What do you think you’re doing? Goodness, I leave you humans to your own devices, and this is what happens!
“Humans…? Are you not human?” I exhale, peering at my chest. I shudder at the sight of my red, raw flesh. Blood drips down onto the floor.
No. I’m not, he says, mellowing down. Excuse my manners. I am the Royal Nuagepanthère of Galviton. Pleased to make your acquaintance.
The Royal Nuagepanthère of Galviton… Huh. If I remember correctly…
Your name is Sucre, isn’t it? I ask absentmindedly. As in sugar in Thyrmian?
The Royal Nuagepanthère, Sucre, or really, a glorified giant pink cat—the most prized possession of the country—is talking to me through long-distance telecommunication right now.
Yes, he answers, almost with pride even though “sugar” is basically a pet name. And under my order, you are not allowed to harm yourself.
I touch the wound with my good hand. It stings like a million bees coming from my chest. Something in me is relieved; something in me is disappointed. I didn’t make it past all the skin, let alone any bone. Let alone my heart.
Midnight. Please, he says again.
This… “being” already knows my name. How? He’s a magical giant cat-like animal living in the lavish Summer Palace year-round. Things like the names of humans should be trivial to him… unless…
A sigh goes through my entire body. No, I know why he knows my name.
Um… How are you speaking to me? I ask instead.
I was finally able to separate your magic aura from everyone else’s. I’m speaking to you from the Summer Palace… Incredible, isn’t it? You wouldn’t believe how long it took.
So he wants something from me, too.
Yes, yes… I sigh, then insert a fake enthusiasm into my mind. Welcome to Midnight’s Errand Service. How may I help you?
Is that any way to respond to your elder? he says back in a grumbling grunt.
What would you like to ord
er today, sir? I project back, smiling as if I didn’t hear him.
He should just out with it. Get it over with. “I need you to do something for me,” “Do me a favor,” or just straight up “You should feel obligated to do as I say.” I wait for any of those statements to enter my mind.
But instead, he says… I need your help.
I wait for the catch to happen. The ultimatum, the threat, or the bribe. But it doesn’t come.
What… do you mean? I ask, slightly dumbfounded.
Exactly what I said, girl. Pay attention.
Yes, I say. But I’m not sure what an all-powerful nuagepanthère would want with someone like me.
Oh, stop it with that. You all assume that I can use magic the way you humans do. I wouldn’t be asking you if it was just something I could do myself.
Oh? Because that seems to be what everyone comes to me for, I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended.
But a spark of acid-like effects spray onto the floor once more. My fingertips curl in and sting my palm.
I can’t do a particular spell… with my lack of magic, he says. Which is why I must resort to you for help. …I see you have meddled with yet another spell you weren’t supposed to, Sucre says through my mind, taking note of the magic radiating from my hand.
Are you here for my eyes? I ask cautiously. You’re here for that curse, aren’t you—the one that made my eyes this color and my body this way. You want to use them for something.
I can hear him sigh even without it sounding in my mind.
Yes. Unfortunately, yes, I am.
Fixing my body position into a more upright one, my hair moves out of my vision to reveal the entire angry red blotch on my chest in the mirror across from me. Scarlet, raw, with a deep red in the center where the indent is just a little deeper. I have a feeling it will be there for a while.
So tell me, I continue on once I’m comfortable. Do you want me to join some gaggle of assassins to be the perfect invincible mercenary? Use me for entertainment? Demonstrate my abilities to a council so you can spread my “immortality?” Or would you like me to be a scapegoat for something? You wouldn’t think so, but funnily enough, I’ve heard all of those before.