Chapter 1 – Mirela
Demon spawn.
That’s what my father viewed me as, and he didn’t hesitate to let that label slip from his lips and stick to me, a ten-year-old child that only wanted to please her parents and feel accepted. But as I heard the excessive crying of my sickly three-year-old brother, Aleksei, echo through the halls of my Alaskan home in the dusky hours of the morning, I contemplated if my father had been right. But for a baby to cry to the point he was screaming and unable to catch his breath, he must have been demented in a diabolical way. It was evident in the way my mother sobbed as she struggled to rock Aleksei. The pain and lack of sleep radiated from her sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. It was palpable by the sound of my father’s quiet whispers and desperate tone that cracked as he spoke to someone on the phone. Even though their torment lessened in the presence of my brother, I was still the demonic spawn, unwanted and unworthy of my parent’s love. I didn’t understand why I deserved their punitive treatments.
There were times that I felt my mother was manipulated into viewing me with such aversion. Like she was wearing incorrectly prescribed lenses that were causing her vision to be hazy and unsure. She viewed me as an annoying smudge that wouldn’t wipe clean from the glass, but there were times when she lifted the veil and a flash of guilt and sorrow would consume her, allowing her to gaze at me with a softened heart. In those moments I wished I had the courage to wrap my arms around her and cuddle into her bosom. Instead, I would freeze in my position, afraid that I may disobey her in some way, or that my father would ridicule me for causing her emotional distress. So I remained despondent and distant, letting my dreams of unconditional love drift off into an unwritten fairytale.
I figured my parent’s rejection was due to my appearance. I looked nothing like them. My mother had elegantly straight chocolate brown hair, almond-shaped eyes as golden as the sun with small fragments of blue that scattered in her irises like small droplets of rain. My father had dulled light brown hair that swirled on his scalp and darkened greyish-blue eyes that were slanted down like they were frowning. I looked nothing like them with my bright, fiery red hair that swayed in uncontrollable waves, emerald-green eyes that beamed like a neon light, and the cluster of freckles that scattered across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose like a bundle of stars in a constellation. The only evidence of genetic relation to my mother was within the matching bone structure of our smooth jawlines, small button noses, and high cheekbones. I assumed the rest that made up my form was gifted to me from ancient relatives that I never had the pleasure of meeting.
My parents, Ysanne Egorova and Dennis Yakov, met when my mother stayed in Virginia when she was twenty-five. Dennis was a lonely high school English teacher that was consumed by grief. He had lost his parents and two brothers in a brutal homicide. Police never found the person responsible for their murder, so Dennis dedicated all his spare time to investigating the case and gaining his vengeance. My mother was struggling for simple necessities like food and warmth. She would work at the local grocery store to make ends meet. She stayed in an old, worn-down motel and she would clean the rooms in return for discounted rates for her stay. They had the cliché meet-cute where the guy runs into the girl at the grocery store, they flirt, they deem that it was love at first sight, and the rest is history. Their relationship moved quickly, and they were married with haste.
They had loved me once though. My mother would tell me bedtime stories, cuddle me when I was hurt, and my father would check my closet for monsters. Around my fourth birthday, I heard them screaming at each other in their bedroom. I couldn’t understand most of what they were saying, but I knew the argument was about me since my name was screamed multiple times throughout their fight. Ever since that day my father glared at me with such disgust and hatred, while my mother’s eyes were filled with resentment and pain. I never knew what I did wrong and for the past six years, I have been trying to correct whatever mistake I had made.
They would keep me locked away in my room, only allowed to come out for my meals which were spent alone on a secluded wooden table in the corner of the dining room. My meals usually consisted of slices of rye bread or porridge while they feasted on perfectly cooked herring that my father caught on his weekly fishing trips and steamed vegetables freshly picked from my mother’s garden. My lack of nutrition became evident over the years as my bones became visible under my skin and the kids at school teased me saying I was a starving dog that had to beg my parents for scraps. The leader of these bullies was Selina Bryan. She had it all. The lavish lifestyle of a large mansion with butlers and maids to satisfy her every need. The car services and chauffeurs that escorted her to and from school while I was lucky if my mother remembered to pick me up. An unusually sophisticated wardrobe of expensive name brand clothes and shoes. While I wore clothes from thrift stores that were always a little too big and shoes that were always a little too snug. Loving parents that spoke highly of her intelligence and made sure she got everything she wanted. I envied her but I also despised her. I had enough harsh treatment at home, and I wanted school to be my haven, but Selina made sure that didn’t happen. I tried to confide in my parents about the bullies at school, but they brushed it off as if I deserved the treatment.
“The whole world sees you’re worthless,” my father would say.
But when the bullies would come to me for their daily torture of beatings after school, something would always scare them away. I always thought it was something I did without realizing it. When they would crowd me, I would go numb and drown myself into a mental blackness to ignore the pain. When I would snap out of it, the bullies would have disappeared, and I would be laying on the cement oblivious to what had happened within that time.
Now, my only sanctuary was the beautiful garden in our backyard. My only confidante was the midnight sky and the glistening stars that would hypnotize me into believing that there was still exquisiteness in the world. I developed the concept that beauty radiated even within the things we feared the most. Like fear of the dark being subdued by the beauty of the moon and wonder of the stars. There was magic deep within me that outsiders would admire once they released their trepidation. I prayed every night for that moment of acceptance.
When my mother became pregnant with Aleksei, the negligence and lack of attention escalated. I wasn’t allowed to feel the baby kick inside my mother’s abdomen or even get close to her because father feared I would infect the baby with my ghastly disease. I prayed that my brother would love me the way that I promised to love him. My parents spent every spare dollar we had on preparation for the Aleksei. Cribs built with the finest materials, a mattress with the softest cushion, and an excessive number of toys. He had everything he could have possibly wanted, and he wasn’t even a part of the world yet, whereas I slept on a cumbersome bed with springs that jabbed into my sides and filthy dolls that I found in garbage cans or sketchy alleys.
After Aleksei was born, I yearned to play with him and develop a bond with him. His sweet innocent blue eyes would beam at me as his toothless smile stretched from ear to ear. I would sneak into his room and make him giggle by talking to him and tickling his tummy. When I would get caught by my parents, they would beat me until I had welts on the back of my thighs and lock me in the broom closet to think about the damage I could cause him with a simple touch. Now that he was sick, they blamed me. They said my presence around him was draining his soul and making him weak. Like I was slowly possessing him with evil spirits that were swallowing his spirit to the point he could no longer fight back. I didn’t believe them though, and when Aleksei sweetly smiled at me, I knew their accusations were something they developed in their mind. They needed someone to blame, and if they needed me to be their target, I was okay with that. It gave me a sick sense of purpose.
Once Aleksei learned to walk and babble my parents struggled to keep him away from me. He would sneak into my room and beg me to play games with him and to share his toys with me. He struggled to say my name so he would call me “Lala.” It was sweet and adorable. At first, I was jealous of him. I was jealous of the love and kindness he received from our parents. I thought maybe they had loved him more because of his appearance. He had thin light brown hair that swirled on his scalp just like our father. He was the spitting image of him due to their matching bone structures with their distinctive chins, slanted jawlines, and diamond shaped faces. The only thing my brother inherited from our mother was her almond shaped eyes with the same beautiful flakes of blue. But I knew our parent’s behaviour was not our fault. He was an innocent child, and he couldn’t control their actions. He was loving and kind to me and that was enough. We would sneak away into the garden and play hide-and-seek. He would hide in the same spot under a cement bench near the flowerbeds filled with beautiful red, yellow, and white roses, but I would pretend I couldn’t find him for a little bit so he could enjoy the thrill of the game. I could hear him giggling as I would say, “you must have found a great spot because I can’t find you.” Then, he would jump out and shriek, “here I am, Lala!” I would pretend to be shocked and impressed, and then we would repeat the game. I was glad that Aleksei didn’t follow our parents’ behaviour. Most of the time he was confused. He didn’t understand why I was treated differently and when I would get in trouble, he would sneak into my room and cuddle me while I cried.
I swept my thoughts away as I curled into my flat pillow that barely had enough cushion to prop my head and tucked the itchy blanket under my chin. I was begging for a moment of silence so I could drift off into a deep trance, but my eyes were quickly startled open when I heard a gust of wind spin outside and sleets of ice pounding against the wooden walls of our miniscule two-story cottage. The leafless tree limbs clawed at my bedroom window as if they were fighting to hold themselves from blowing away. The decaying floorboards squeaked as the home lightly swayed from the pressure of the wind, and chills slithered down my spine as I heard the front door creaked open. The footsteps of this mystery person echoed up the stairs and stormed down the hallway towards my brother’s room where my mother was rocking a fussy Aleksei. I could sense the aura of this person, and my skin tingled from an overwhelming sense of familiarity. The scent of sandalwood and sweet bergamot penetrated my nostrils as my mind frantically searched for a memory that connected to this captivating aroma.
Suddenly, it hit me.
Those sleepless nights when I would awake from terrifying dreams, a large figure would be cradled in the darkest corner of my room. Only thing that was visible were the glowing red eyes that burned into my soul leaving me speechless and alarmed. Before I could adjust my groggy vision, the figure would disappear, and I always shrugged it off as if my eyes were still transitioning from dreamland to the real world. But that scent was present each time. The odour would become stronger and more alluring the deeper I would inhale it in.
My heart pounded against my chest as my adrenaline matched those mysterious nights where I had intense nightmares. I could hear my father faintly whispering, desperate for help, begging for the sickness to be expelled from Aleksei. My mother wept through shallow breaths as my brother continued to scream. I could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but when the mysterious person’s voice bellowed, I tensed. His voice was harsh, deep with a faint rasp, and intimidatingly pompous.
“Haven’t I helped you enough, Ysanne?” He growled at my mother. She whimpered as her cries restricted her from responding. She sounded like her throat was impeded as she heaved shortened breaths. I wondered what it was like to have my mother weep for me—afraid of my life being taken by death too soon. Would she mourn me if she lost me forever? Her actions showed that she would be glad to be free of me and the constant nuisance that I forced upon her shoulders, but as a little girl I still had a small glimmer of hope.
I heard my father raise his voice. “How dare you talk down to her? Your kind is beneath her.”
“Dennis, don’t,” my mother pleaded.
“You called me and begged me for my help. I suggest you only speak when spoken to.”
“I’ll give you anything. Name your price,” my mother cried as Aleksei’s screams increased in volume.
I could feel the mood shift in the atmosphere. A thick rage rattled the walls causing picture frames to unhook from their nails and collide with the floor. The cold wind intensified its speed causing the casement windows to aggressively burst open. I hurried to close them as debris and sleet blew in. The wind was too strong, and I struggled to close them as I bit my lip to refrain myself from screaming. Suddenly, the wind and sleet ceased causing me to fall to the ground, bumping my forehead. I winced from the pain as I frighteningly returned to bed. I hid underneath my uncomfortable blanket as a single tear escaped the confinement of my tear ducts.
As I calmed myself, I realized everything was silent. Even my brother’s cries were hushed, which was a rare treat since he had gotten sick over a month ago with a never-ending fever. I felt my eyes grow heavy as my ears strained to hear the interaction with my parents and the mysterious man, but my exhaustion engulfed me, and my eyes closed without my approval. The last thing I heard the man say before I drifted off into a deep trance was, “I want what’s rightfully mine in return.” Those words sounded dark and possessive, yet were laced with yearning and devotion. It was a strange statement, and I couldn’t calculate a reasonable explanation. That declaration roared in my mind as my grip on reality slipped and I fell into my dreamland.
My eyes opened to a world of darkness, blood, and chaos. Shadows swayed around me, and they begged for me to relish in an unknown and forbidden power. I pulled my knees to my chest and rocked myself as black vines slithered towards me. I cringed as the slimy tentacles wrapped around my ankles and my screams were trapped in the solid lump in my throat.
Ghostlike voices were carried with the breeze.
“I will find you,” it whispered in my ear as my nails clawed at the creeping plant to free myself. Suddenly the voice began to pour in from different directions and I became overwhelmed with panic.
You can’t hide from me!
I can smell you!
I will take what’s rightfully mine!
I began to shiver uncontrollably as my fingertips began to bleed from my feeble attempts to scrape my way to freedom. The soil that cradled my body became drenched with an unknown liquid, turning it muddy. The wet dirt began to sink, sucking me in like quicksand. I screamed as malicious laughter echoed around me. I gripped the sides of the hole, frantically trying to pull myself out, but the black vines confined me to my inevitable doom. In the distance, a reflection of a bright green light blinded me. Everything around me became muffled as if my ears were emerging in thick water. I squinted as the green material radiated near me. I hastily reached for it and cradled it in my hands. It was a small piece of emerald stone with pointed edges that stabbed into my skin from my firm grasp. My palm grew damp as blood dripped down the side of my wrist. My stomach twisted from the sight as my cheeks became pale. My vision grew hazy as the threat of fainting clouded my mind. I had always been squeamish around blood. My eyes rolled back as my body grew limp, slowly being eaten by the mud. I thought this was it for me. I felt myself being buried alive but then I heard my mother’s angry voice.
“Get up!” She snapped as my body jolted.
“Mirela! Get up now!” My body was being rattled as if the ground erupted with a chaotic earthquake.
“You stupid girl! Wake up!” I aggressively flung myself up as my eyes burst open. The evil world had disappeared, and I was safely back in my room.
It was all a dream, I thought to myself. Usually, I waved off my dreams as traumatic nightmares that I simply struggled with, but something felt different about this one. It felt like there was a meaning deeper than my young brain could comprehend. It felt real like a premonition or an eerie warning of something wicked to come.
“Finally!” My mother rolled her eyes as she yanked the blanket from my chest. “Come downstairs now! We need to discuss a few things with you.” Afraid of my mother raising her hand to me for disobedience, I groggily but swiftly did as she asked.
As I reached the bottom of the staircase, the warmth of the rolling fire roasting in the fireplace caressed my skin. The heat effortlessly flowed through my veins, energizing my soul. Fire always made me feel at ease. My father accused me of being an arsonist and that my comfort with flames was evidence of my demonic traits. It was hard to explain, but I had always felt like fire bent to my will. I believed it was just my lonely imagination creating friendships and an understanding with the flames, but deep down I believed there was more to it. I could simply stroke the ripples in a blaze without scorching my finger. My callous flesh seemed to lack the ability to burn confirming my father’s idiotic ideals that I was a satanic creature embedded within an innocent child. I would hide my fascination with fire the best I could, but something about the reddish-orange inferno always drew me in. I was the disgusting moth drawn to a flame, hatching sinful larvae to erode the fabrics that preserved virtuous hearts.
Voices resonated from the living room causing my quickened steps to slow into an uneasy tiptoe. The old grandfather clock ticked unusually loud as it read seven in the morning, which meant I was only asleep for two hours before my mother rudely woke me. In Fairbanks, Alaska, we were not graced with the sun due to the presence of the polar night, a time of darkness, snow, and winter’s brutal cold. The only hint of light was the royal blue glow that strewed over the town.
I nervously massaged the bizarre birthmark on my left wrist. It consisted of light brown scribbled lines that intertwined together. Over the years, the lines became darker and more distinctive. It was difficult to make out, but to me, it appeared to be the letters M and V perfectly aligned like a puzzle. Kids at school always teased me that it was the marking of the loser’s club and my father said it was the stamp of the Devil.
It was simply sporadic lines engraved in my skin.
I believed it was a mark of my uniqueness.
My stomach fluttered in my belly as a rush of excitement overwhelmed me. Today was my tenth birthday and I wondered if they had a surprise for me. It was doubtful, but I appreciated anything they would give me. I had yearned for a strawberry flavoured birthday cake that was labelled as mine. I hadn’t tasted the sweetness of that delicious baked good since I was four.
As I timidly walked around the corner, the mystery man invaded my vision. His large masculine physique was cradled in my father’s favourite chair as my parents kneeled before him. They were whispering praises and thanks as he emotionlessly scratched the stubble on his chin. My heart sputtered as his aura and appearance suffocated me. His light brown hair was perfectly slicked back, and he had protruding eyes with cadmium green perfectly painted in his irises. They shined brightly underneath the fiery glow that emitted from the fireplace. His eyes were similar to mine but they were more beautiful and more powerful than my eyes that were weakened by sorrow and fatigue. He had pale skin with some discolorations on his arms that looked like scars. His gaze pierced into me as the muscle in his chiselled jaw flinched. His broad shoulders tightened as his muscular chest heaved. The rattle of his breath echoed from across the room and slithered down my eardrums causing an intense chill to crawl under my skin. He wore a black business suit with a black tie and a charcoal grey vest. His large hands gripped the arm rests of the chair as I slowly inched my way closer to him. My birthmark began to burn, and I winced from the pain, but I was intoxicated by his charisma, a cocktail mixed with fear and curiosity. He held his head high with nobility and confidence. His facial structure was smooth with dominantly strong traits.
He tilted his head and gawked at me as a sinuous grin illuminated from his plump lips. I gasped from the sight. Sharp fangs greeted me before they slowly receded into his gums to give the façade of normal canines. My knees buckled as I constrained a hoarse scream. Whoever this mystery man was, he didn’t appear to be human. He was menacing just like the dark shadows that haunted me in my nightmares. I wanted to run but my feet were rooted in the ground and the neurons in my brain refused to communicate with my muscles to move.
“He has the ability to help your brother, Mirela,” my mother whispered, keeping her head cowered down before the man.
I felt a tingle of hope flutter within my heart. I wanted my brother saved just as much as my parents, despite what they may have thought.
“Be thankful that he can correct what you have done to Aleksei,” my father hissed at me.
“Your weak blood is what caused your son’s illness,” the figure growled through gritted teeth causing my father to recoil into himself. A sense of pleasure erupted within me. It was nice to see my father afraid of someone. Now he knew what it felt like to be frightened by someone bigger and more ruthless than himself. He was learning what it felt like to be in my shoes. A darkness within me begged for the man to punish my father. To beat him senseless like my parents have done to me for the past six years. I wanted him to feel pain and to be tortured for all the physical and verbal abuse he had burdened me with. Dennis easily intimidated me for multiple reasons that were too complex for me to understand at that time. I begged for his love, attention, and acceptance, but most of the time the whippings were the only times he would look me in my eye. It was like it satisfied some unfed vengeance that he kept buried deep inside. It was the same for my mother. With each lash she would give me, it was like she was getting even with someone else that had wronged her. At first, guilt and shame would devour her, but the more she beat me the less those emotions consumed her. As if she had accepted it as a form of therapy for whatever torment she had endured before she had me.
The man motioned for me to come closer and with each step I took, the smell of sandalwood and sweet bergamot grew stronger. He aggressively nudged my father out of the way with his leg causing him to collide with the floor. He extended his palm towards me. I uneasily accepted and his large hand engulfed mine. My body jolted as my birthmark seared into my skin more intensely. A reddish-orange light glowed from the scribbled lines on my wrist. My lips parted as a gust of wind blew through my hair. His eyes never left mine. His grip tightened and the light grew brighter, the wind increased speed. I felt as if we were trapped in a magical cyclone and the world around us was disappearing.
As he slowly released his grasp, the wind ceded, and the light dissipated. I cradled my wrist into my chest as a wall of fear and confusion flushed over me. What was that light? Who was this man? Was I still dreaming?
“I am Valerian Zakharov.”
“Mirela Kozlova.”
“You are mesmerizing.”
I scoffed at his statement. It was creepy and inappropriate. He was a grown man, at least in his early thirties, he shouldn’t have been calling a little girl mesmerizing.
I grimaced as I took a few steps back to create a safe distance between us. “I’m a child.”
“Feisty, too.” He chuckled as he rose from his seat, adjusting the blazer to his business suit and bashfully tugging at the cufflinks before glaring down at my parents. “I accept her as my payment.”
