Written: 8/15/23
Word Count: 1,101

I can do this. I've been teaching myself how to be fake for years now. My reputation always preceded me—I never could quite get past that—but it's fine. Folk who were close to me may have understood I was pretending, but newcomers couldn't possibly. They'd always been pre-warned by my infamy, not by my actions themselves.

I couldn't make it in the Capital, where folk lied about anything and everything. All their candied smiles sent waves of revulsion down my skin. They were fake. They were all fake. As a child, I couldn't stand it. I simply couldn't understand why everyone played nice, why everyone pretended they cared, when they were really just sharks in the water, waiting for that first blood drop to invite a frenzy.

I acted out. I was alone, I was confused. Nothing made sense, and nobody could ever explain it to me in a way that settled my mind.

The Beckett as a child—me as a child—was a mess. It's undeniable. And maybe I deserve to suffer for making everyone's lives around me harder. Maybe the years of ridicule, of being shunned, of being treated like an exploding capsule were all my prices to pay.

But I was done with that. Right? I wasn't going to explode. I'd been so good—so yewing good—but once I made my first mistake all those years ago, I became unredeemable.

The Elvaniac of the Swanmere family.

The Loon of the East.

But these folk, these Dark Elves and whoever else lived here, didn't know my reputation. They could be fooled.

I could change my fate if I give into it just this once.

I think.

My shoulders sagged under the weight of my deerskin bag as I forced it back to the painful divot on the fleshy part of my shoulder. I wonder how long it will take for those marks to fade.

I trudged my way back around the messy garden paths, returning to the front. My boots clacked resoundingly against the wood of the wraparound deck, slight creaking at every other step.

With one last steeling breath, I pushed the door open into shadowy dark, where only my silhouette's outline was faintly visible in the doorway.

"Oh, look," I burst out in surprised joy, "my stuff's right here by the door." My Father had made good on one promise, which was a positive sign. Maybe he really would send Mother to live with me. Wouldn't it be easier to have both disgraced family members in the same spot? Easier to keep an eye on, I'd say.

I toggled on the switch at the wall to the right of the door. Shadowy green flames puttered to life all at once, affixed to braziers. Already, the dark rooms gave me more of an understanding of the layout. Each green flame was affixed to a wall, and based on the reach of the glows, I could determine this front entryway stared into a long hall. But there was another flickering green light to my left, which told me there was another section of the house, reachable from the entrance.

I veered to the left.

Hoping to find a different light source than the emergency green torches all houses and buildings came equipped with, I walked into a mostly-dark space. The steady flame was just enough light for my enhanced vision to contour the rest of the darkness. It was an entertaining space of sorts with plush furniture and tables.

Looking around on all the walls, I finally found a blue light switch for the main source of central magic. As I stepped across the room, my foot stuck on something sticky against the ground. My boot was able to step through it, but it lingered at each step.

Great. The place was filthy. I hope I didn't just step in dragon urine or something like that.

"Don't be crazy," I muttered to myself, flicking on the switch. Bright white light coming from little discs inserted in the ceiling at regular intervals above my head blared. I looked away, blinking spots. "Dragons can't fit in—"

My words died.

My steps faltered.

Then, the shaking began.

I careened against the window behind me, the curtains buffering me from touching the panes of glass directly. They held me in their cocooning hold as my hands automatically came up to shield my face.

But I'd seen.

I'd seen it all.

"Oh, naga."

One stumbling step became a half-step. Two more stumbling steps became something of a stagger, my boots walking right back over that sticky spot on the ground. I'd carelessly dismissed it as filth, forgetting why I was even here in the first place.

Aunt Rosetta...had been murdered.

"They didn't clean it," I chanted, turning all around me. It was strange. The room was tilting faster than I was turning. "They didn't clean it. They didn't clean it."

Who was I kidding?

Aunt Rosetta had been murdered in cold blood. Her murderer hadn't been brought to justice. There was no news of an investigation.

The villagers hadn't cared one bit about my aunt. They hadn't even cleaned up for their next sacrifice.

"I'm next."

I'm going to be killed, just like Aunt Rosetta.

How much more obvious do they have to make it?

"I'm next, I'm next, I'm next." I backed up as far as I could go, my spine meeting the drapes behind me. Sliding down to the ground, I hid behind my trembling knees, unable to stop from peeking through my hands at the mess in front of me.

The trail began in this meeting room. Aunt Rosetta had run. She'd run away, bleeding profusely. Had they broken those tables against her body? Jagged shards of wood littered the wooden paneling, mingling with splotches of blood turned dark with time. The trail continued far into the distance, well past the limit of my night vision.

She'd run away from her attackers. How'd they even get in? The door wasn't broken. Had she let her own murderers inside? Had it been spur of the moment—a crime of passion? Or had they pretended to be a client, a villager, or someone otherwise non-threatening, only to attack her the moment my aunt was closed in? Vulnerable.

She'd never been one to fear anything. Aunt Rosetta lived her life facing forward, despite anyone's judgment. She didn't let the restrictions of being from the 11th Ring's Head family, nor from being a noble, nor from the restrictions of how to act as a High Elf, stop her. They never stopped her.

How could someone murder her?

Why?