Beneath Her Skin

Year of the Fire, 1692. She was sixteen when they tried to burn her. Not for any crime committed or for any sins, simply because she existed. They claimed she was the devil. A curse.

She stood out among the rest of the folk who lived around them. But the real curse wasn’t in her, it was what she did to save her.

Her sister, Theila.

She was only thirteen, barely a teenager. She couldn’t live her life the way she wanted to. But she always supported her, even in a time like this.

She was a curious soul, always smiling, always shedding light on the darkest days.

She was the older one, sixteen, and expected to be responsible, mature.

Their mother was cruel, the kind of woman who made them feel wrong just for breathing. Their father was distant, more ghost than man, barely a shadow passing through the house. She hated everything they did, even when they did nothing at all. She found ways to turn them into monsters. Villains. Devils.

The townsfolk were no better. Always on the hunt for witches, eager to drag someone to the fire. She spent most of her time in the dark corner of their cabin, leaning against the cold wooden walls, reading the books the dead had left behind.

The one she read the most had burn marks licking the edges of its pages, but not the important ones. There were spells in that book. Spells for resurrection. Spells for binding. For revenge. For remembering.

She had curly black hair that fell to her shoulders. Her dress was deep red, the color of dried blood, with a dark bodice laced tight around her ribs. She never wore the linen cap like the other girls. She let her hair flow, unruly. Mother scolded her for it, said she was an embarrassment, a disgrace to society’s standards.

But Theila was different. She wore bright colors, soft blues, and pale yellows. She tied her hair back neatly beneath her cap. She belonged in the world. But she never envied her; she supported her. Always.

Because no matter what they wore, no matter how the world saw them… They were the same.

The locals feared them for who they were, for who she was. She was the quiet type. Though she had let rage get to her sometimes. When her mother hit her sister, she had to step in. She got into a lot of shenanigans. But being so close to the town center, people were eyeing all corners.

Each day they lived, another person was being burned alive for sins they didn’t commit. The screams, the torture, lingered in her still-developing mind. She clutched her book every time she heard the frightening sound.

Her mother didn’t know she read this book. Her sister often got curious and scrambled up to her when she was reading it. She was entranced by it just as she was. But she didn’t get to read it for long. She had gotten calls to clean the cabin, as her mother was lazy.

They did her dirty work, and when those terrifying men with pitchforks went knocking on their door, she had to rush to her room and hide her book. If they saw what she had hidden, they would execute her, and her sister would be alone.

She had to protect her at all costs.

Her mother was a scary figure, always shouting at them. She would leave bruises on her sister for days and days. She feared her most, the evil look in her eyes. It made her feel so uneasy inside. She never hugged her mother, and she refused to look her in the eyes when she confronted her.

Her father went on long errands and never returned. Her mother always told her, but it wasn’t true. He had never returned despite it being years. As she grew, the more she realized the harsh truth. He was gone, and despite the tears she shed, nothing could bring her father back.

But it was one fateful day that reminded her of how her father died.

The execution of her sister.

She had always stuck by her side when her mother beat her, and she tried her best to comfort her.

“My dear Thelia, nothing shall hurt your soul.”

That was the exact quote she’d use. It always cheered her up. It was not so easy to cheer her up; their mother would leave her bruised for weeks.

They were a proper family until they fell apart. Bit by bit, mother went insane, taking her anger out on them. The night before the killing of her dear sister, it was just the tip of the iceberg.

Mother had been drinking and seemed to get into her moods. She kept yelling at them, yelling at her sister. The abuse she suffered… it could kill thousands. She was so tough, so strong. She was so young.

She would go and grab old vodka from the shelf in the living room. She’d drink it for hours, until she wasn’t herself. She would grab her, beat her senseless. It was too graphic for her to describe. The horror her soul felt every moment.

But it was time for a change, she thought. She went into her room as she flipped the pages. When she was trying to practice her witchcraft in her place of comfort, the sounds would distract her. She was never safe, not even when she tried to protect her. This book had to have a way to help her, to save her.

She flipped the pages in a panic, and she found it. The page she needed. It was a spell for healing, and she knew what her sister needed. She did not hesitate, even if it could get her killed.

It says, “The witch who casts shall be known, for the person healed shall prosper.” The rest were in Latin. But with a determined look on her face, Meira was about to do justice, to save her sister from her mother’s ridiculous tantrums.

She sat in the middle of her room and started chanting the words. It made her mother halt, her sister crying loudly. She had been focused, not letting a peep in her mind.

She said it a few times, each time the lights flickered. She felt the air grow heavy, the force of sound make its way within her. Her spirit felt lifted, but in a way it felt miraculous. A true miracle, despite how terrifying it was to do.

But it only made her mother angrier. She stomped into her room, feeling the heavy shift in the atmosphere.

“You are crazy, young lady!” She wagged her finger.

She looked around in a panic.

“It was not, my mother. I had felt it too,” she explained as an excuse.

She laughed in her face. She didn’t seem to be buying any of what she was letting down.

“How should I trust you? Always getting into stuff like your sister.”

Her face was grumpy, showing a lack of emotion.

“My sister Thelia does not do such a thing.” She rose, facing her.

“Then explain, young lady. How are her scars healing?”

Her face sat still like she was trying to debate on which way to reply next.

“Mother…” She stumbled, and she walked up to her at a slow pace.

“You dare lie, Meira? I had left you alone, and you do this?” Her voice rose in pitch.

“I don’t dare, mother.” She cried, gripping the wall behind her.

Then Thelia rushed into the room. A look of shock spread across her face as she witnessed what was about to occur.

“It was my mother.” She said bravely.

“Thalia…” She stuttered.

She tried to rush and grab her from out of reach, but her mother stood in her path. Holding her back.

“Let the young one speak, you demon.” She exhaled.

She held back a gasp out of fear.

“I cast the spell.” She admitted.

Her face lightened up, growing pale.

“Thelia, you suffered enough already!” She exclaimed.

Mother looked at her, grabbing her by her neck.

“You keep daring me, like you’re one to test me.” Anger grew in her voice.

She felt herself choking, and she was seeing stars before she knew it. Her face grew purple almost instantly from how forceful she was.

It was the one way she could have saved Thelia… but she was choked to the point it weakened her, and she passed out.

“Meira!” Thelia yelled, rushing over to her.

“Meira, you must get up, you must!” She exclaimed. “Remember what you told me? Nothing shall hurt your soul.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, shaking her to no response. She was truly alone, with no older sister to help her.

Her mother laughed, and the anger and rage in it were felt. She glanced over beside Thelia, and she saw the book. She was at the wrong place and time. It was barely touching her shoulder.

“Well, well. What do you grasp upon Thelia?” She said sarcastically.

Thelia glanced at it and shook her head.

“That’s not my mother.” She bowed, putting her hands in prayer.

“You tested me for the final time.” Her eyes tightened shut, and she walked back to the living room.

Thelia rushed after her.

“Mother, please, I’m no witch. I plead with you.”

“Enough.” Mother said sharply. Tears quickly fell down Thelia’s cheeks.

“I promise not to be what you think.” She pleaded.

But she ignored it, she ignored the entirety of it. It was her book, but she was paying the price of being the most hated one in the household for simply obeying the rules. All she had gotten was being called a demon, being sheltered away in the corner of her room.

She grabbed her long coat; it was chilly outside, but she wanted to take care of her once and for all. She knew she was no witch, but she also knew how much Thelia meant to her. She was the demon nobody wished to see.

She grabbed Thelia’s hand and rushed her outside. She gently opened her eyes, noticing the door was wide open. She had followed the trail she left behind.

She was screaming as everyone looked at her. Pitchforks in hand, torches in the other.

She stood in the middle of the town center. The townsfolk watched in silence.

“My daughter is a witch!” She yelled.

Thelia looked horrified, her cheeks bright red, and her expression was unreadable.

Meira tried to barge in, but the guards held her back.

“Let me near her at once! She is not the witch!” Meira shouted.

“Ignore my foolish daughter, she knows not of what she speaks.” Mother said, clearing her throat.

“Thelia!” Meira’s voice yelled, lingering in the town center briefly.

She was quickly strapped to the pole. With no hesitation, Mother grabbed a fire wand and raised it over her body. Thelia was quivering, shaking at the seams. She was close to peeing herself in fear.

“Meira!” She shouted. Catching Meira’s attention.

The guards blocked Meira’s view, but she tried to look at her.

“Nothing shall hurt my soul.” Thelia said with shaky confidence.

Meira sobbed, screeching in pain.

She was then set ablaze, right in front of Meira’s eyes. The most horrifying thing to experience. Meira’s soul left her body, and Thelia’s screams were ear-piercing. Mother just watched, her eyes spelled out what she was feeling: happy.

Then Meira’s eyes darted to the book, and she knew what she had must do. She grabbed it and escaped through the backyard door. She went ahead to rush into the field and find bushes to hide behind.

Her mother was quickly alerted by the guards, chasing after her.

“You come back here, you demon!” She shouted, rushing after Meira.

Her heart was racing at one hundred miles a second. She was unable to process what she was feeling, but the emotions were too much for a girl to bear alone. She saw a binding spell in the book, and she knew what she had must do.

The determination in her boots as she ran was high, but her fragile soul was leaning on pure adrenaline. She was quaking in them every so often on the run. She was wanted by everyone in the village for grabbing the book. But she had to find a hiding spot. It was her final duty.

She knew she would die; it was an inevitable fate she tied herself to. But she was not selfish; her sister was a part of her. If she had died, Meira promised herself to go with her. That was before she found this spell, this very spell that could save them, if prompted.

She ran through the deep bushes, right into the woods. She’d hear footsteps behind her for a while as they slowly faded. The rustling in the woods came to a halt. It was just hers now, but she was still not safe. The townsfolk who were in the forest camping, and the random passerby who would be seen. She had to take cover, be hidden completely.

But as she knew it, her mother caught up to her. It surprised her, but she grabbed Meira and tossed her up against a tree.

“You… you were always a good-for-nothing.” She shouted at Meira as she was gasping for air, grasping for the leaves below her.

“Thelia died tonight, you should be celebrating, but instead… you’re running with that cursed book!” She shouted.

Meira tried to crawl, tried to run. But she was contemptuous. It was fight or flight, and Meira had to fight.

She grabbed a spiked tree part hidden within the grass, and she held tight to it.

“You have no words, dear Meira? Do you confess to your witchcraft?” She raised her brows, her look as fierce as ever.

“I don’t… confess to something so wrong, mother.” Meira stuttered.

But she refused to listen.

She grabbed Meira, throwing her up against the tree.

“Why are my children such nuisances!” She bashed her body against the tree over and over, until she could barely see. Until the blood was behind her head, behind her back. Covered in scratches.

“Mother…” Meira cried quietly.

“You…” She said, enraged. But she looked at Meira’s bruised, beaten body. She let her go.

She felt no remorse; however, she kicked Meira’s almost lifeless body down. She barely had any time to live, and she knew it was coming near.

The blood gushing from behind her head was growing ever so slowly; she had to escape. But the escape was so far, she couldn’t do it alone, but she was strong, she had to do it, for Thelia.

She bent down toward Meira’s level, hunched over the grass. The air was blowing through her hair.

“You will die like she did.” She assured her.

When she reached in for Meira’s arm, Meira stabbed her with the branch.

“What’re you doing!” She shouted in pain.

Meira felt the rage herself, and she continued based on her instinct.

She stabbed her, her mother, over and over. It was like exercising a demon to her, but it was so painful for her to do. But she killed her sister, a line crossed in the sand. She could not allow her life to be lost, as she was her loved one.

She sliced her, and she felt the blood hit her. Her eyes went from lively to barely alive, to dead. Her chest was split in all sorts of ways. It was hard to look; her eyes were barely pure anymore. As if they ever were.

She had to rush; her time was nearing as well. But she was hellbent on her journey, her mission. Her soul won’t perish, neither will Thelia’s. They would see each other again, she put it in her head, it must be true.

She ran away, all bloodied and bruised from the stop. She stopped near an abandoned campsite; nobody was around. She had let her book open on the ground in front of her.

She opened her book, the one she had hidden from everyone, the one written in a language older than man. She lit a circle of candles.

“To wish upon a soul dying is to bind. Your soul and the soul of choice shall be intertwined at will.”

It seemed so fake to a nonbeliever. But as a person with hope, she had hoped this would also work the same as her last spell.

She chanted her sister’s name, over and over, until her voice was raw.

“Thelia, Thelia, Thelia…”

She gave her blood. Her tears. Her soul. She begged any spirit, any force, to listen. To help her. To answer.

And something did.

The ground trembled. The flames turned blue. The air grew thick like honey, and shadows crept in from all sides. She felt her, she felt Thelia, right in front of her.

But she didn’t stay.

They had taken her soul too soon, too violently.

So she changed the spell. She rewrote the words. She did the unthinkable. She asked not for her return in the present, but for her return in another life.

And she bound herself.

To the earth. To the flame. To the bloodline of every person in that town.

She cursed them. All of them.

The ones who cheered. The ones who watched. The ones who did nothing.

She made a pact. She offered her soul to the darkness if it meant Thelia would be remembered. If it meant they’d pay.

And when they came for her the next morning, she didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.

She smiled because she knew they were doomed to die. They tied her to the stake, just like her sister, but she wasn’t afraid.

She looked at the sky as the flames rose, and she whispered, “I’ll find you, Thelia. In the next life. And we will be together again. I’ll never stop searching.”

She felt her body rise in the ashes, and her eyes shut. The bright glow of her dark brown eyes was the final thing the earth would see as she died.