The Curse Of Her Sacred Blood

The diner sat at the corner of a busy New York street, always buzzing—always alive. Teenagers often gathered here, loud and energetic, but never rude. They were the only flicker of decency in a place that, some days, felt like a circus with knives.But not everyone was so gracious.

“Are you even listening to me, bitch?"

The voice was a venomous screech. A blonde woman... more plastic than person stood up and hurled her iced tea at me, the cold liquid soaking my skin and clinging to my uniform like a second, sticky skin. Her eyes glinted with cruelty, and a twisted smile tugged at her lips.

I didn’t flinch. I smiled. That drove her mad.

“Are you stupid or what?!! I ordered a black iced coffee, not lemon tea!”

Without a word, I pulled the bill from my apron, dropping it gently on their table. Her boyfriend—sleazy, greasy, and shameless—had placed the order. He had spent the last ten minutes undressing me with his eyes.

“Please clear the misunderstanding with your companion,” I said coldly before walking away, ignoring the tremble in my clenched hands.

In the staff bathroom, I scrubbed my face, the cold water biting into my skin.

“Didn’t think you had that much restraint,” Ruby muttered, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“The manager made it clear.. one more outburst, and I’m out.” she groaned at the memory of her manager scolding at her few days ago and made himself sure to give her a warning

I took the handkerchief she offered and dried my face slowly, deliberately. My skin was burning, not from the tea—but from the rage boiling beneath it..

“That wasn’t just disrespectful. That was a fucking assault,” Ruby hissed.

I looked at my ruined uniform, the tea stain like a wound across my chest.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered in worried knew quite well her bestie can just do her job while wearing sticky uniform

I didn’t answer.

Ruby knew that silence.

“I’m heading home,” I said eventually, showing her the worn-out vintage watch wrapped around my wrist. “Shift’s over.”

“You’re plotting something,” she said, her voice a half-smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”I grabbed my bag from the locker and stepped out. The Barbie and her boyfriend were now outside, arguing in full view of the sidewalk, their voices echoing into the night.

“Why the hell were you checking out a waitress?! I’m your girlfriend, not that gutter rat!” she spat at him in anger

“At least she’s real,” he muttered, his voice laced with spite.

That was my cue.

I stepped in front of them, holding a bottle of Coke. I’d shaken it until the plastic bulged. With perfect timing, I twisted the cap just slightly—and let the carbonated fury explode onto her pristine white dress.It soaked her like a curse.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, fake innocence dripping from my voice. “You weren’t paying attention, and you bumped right into me.”

She stood frozen, drenched in sticky brown fizz, eyes wide with horror. Her mouth twitched. Then she exploded.

“You did this on purpose! I’m calling your manager! You’re done!”

“You’re welcome to try,” I said, stepping aside to give her a clear path back inside.

But her boyfriend stopped her. “It’s not worth it.”

He looked at me. No—through me. I could see the hunger in his eyes.

“Try keeping your eyes in your skull,” I spat. Then I smacked the empty Coke bottle against his head—not hard, just enough to sting.

“Bella?” a familiar voice called.

It was Max and the diner kids, watching the chaos unfold like it was street theatre.

“Nothing to worry about,” I said, smiling at them. “Just a bit of karma.”

Max grinned. “Well deserved.”

“You shouldn’t talk to adults like that,” I gently chided him, but even I was grinning.

“See you around, Bella!”

I waved and walked away, leaving the Barbie behind, fuming in her soda-soaked designer shoes.

My apartment was a twenty-minute walk from the diner. When I got there, I stripped off my ruined clothes and stepped into the shower, hoping the water would cleanse me, my body and mind. But as the steam rose, so did something else.

Darkness.

My eyes fluttered shut. But instead of calm, I saw her...

Me.

Bound in chains of black iron, wings shredded and bleeding. My body sat broken on a stone floor, knees folded, arms stretched wide, shackled to the walls like a crucifix. My white gown was torn and stained crimson.

Thorns—sharp, sentient, alive—wrapped around me in a cruel halo, poised to strike deeper if I moved.

I watched myself scream silently, blood dripping from torn feathers, my face twisted in agony...

.

.

And then I saw him.

A pair of red eyes in the void—burning, ancient, hungry. They weren’t just watching. They were claiming.

The darkness slithered closer, thick like smoke but alive. I turned to run. But every direction led deeper into the void. The black mist caught my legs. I fell hard onto a floor that didn’t exist.

Then came the hands.

They weren’t hands—they were shadows with claws, curling around my throat, choking me.

I couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred. My heart pounded like it was trying to escape my chest. I was dying in a place that didn’t exist—but it felt real.

With the last spark of strength, I clawed my way out. I shattered the connection. Gasped. Cried. Lived.

But I wasn’t the same.

Because just before I broke free, he whispered in a voice older than time:

“I’ll find you soon, Malyshka.”

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