I AWOKE TO the sound of my own gasp, in a bed that felt both soft yet hard, in pitch darkness.

My heart pounded and ached so much that I doubled up and clutched at my chest. It took me a few seconds to realise that woven leaves and feathers were binding my torso, while I peeled back the blanket over me to discover a simple cloth was wrapped beyond my waist, and a red grass skirt fashioned over it.

'Are you sure you want to follow the coyote-man?' a foreign and distant voice echoed in my mind. Like a dream that I was forgetting. 'It might lead to answers,' my own voice flittered through.

Coyote-man? What on Earth...

It sounded so out of reach —unclear and barely distinguishable. Perhaps it had been a dream after all.

Though something...something felt off.

"What have you done, child?" a harsh voice suddenly hissed in old Mayan dialect from across the room. I turned to see a frail elderly woman hobble towards me with a lamp in her hand. "You were not meant to fall asleep. The ritual is ruined. What do you have to say for yourself? Now the wrath of the gods will be upon us!"

Somehow, I couldn't open my mouth to respond.

The woman dragged me out of the strange bed —which I found to be a block of dried mud and clay, with a thick layer of sheep's wool fastened atop for comfort —and led me out, into the chilly night. It was supposed to be moonless, but my eyes widened at the sky as a full moon shone blue-green.

"Look," said the woman. "This is your doing."

People were stumbling out of their lodgings and gawking at the sky. And when they spotted me, they cried witch. Magic existed and was practised in our world, but they called me a witch with the most evil intent —plague magic. The word 'witch' shook whatever part of me that had been asleep fully awake, and it finally dawned on me.

When is this? It feels so long ago.

I wasn't in the right place —the right time.

The woman continued to drag me into the centre of our village, huffing and straining in her haste.

I still struggled to keep her pace, my legs protesting although they didn't know where they were going. Then she shouted, swore horribly, at someone else who was running in the same direction.

The person paused, turning towards us. In a flurry, her yellow hair billowed in the breeze, and her decorative paint was stark against her pale skin.

"Not of us," screamed the woman. "You should burn with my insolent granddaughter!"

The young woman was startled by my supposed grandmother's outburst, and for some reason, she seemed to understand what had been said.

Her gaze met mine, and the world froze.

I knew those eyes. Her eyes were hazel —big and round, so unlike ours. Her skin was milky and light, which made her very obviously stand out. My village had thought that she was a witch sent to curse us all. But I...I had befriended her. I didn't see what made us so different —we were the same on the inside.

And even if she did look different, it was because she had come from off shore as a baby. Her family —her people, were from a little ways East, and her ship had been caught in a storm. She had found refuge here on our island, and no one had had the heart to turn her away.

She was my age. I had grown up curious about her, though she had always been out of my reach.

"This isn't my fault," she responded, still looking directly at me with soulful eyes as we ran.

"Everyone will think it is, Sacniete¹," my grandmother spat, yanking on my hand.

Sacniete...meaning 'white flower'. A milder discrimination than that she received daily.

"Meya²," Sacniete said to me. "What is to be done?"

That was my name, I figured. But as I attempted to open my mouth, I found that I still could not speak.

"I will tell you both what is to be done," clipped my grandmother, her strides lengthening. "Justice."

I glanced away from Sacniete guiltily —and then caught the yellow and red eyes of a snake, its skin in a curious shade of jade. It decided that I was to be its prey. I tried to cry out, as it slithered in our direction, but it was pointless. I had no control over it.

We then arrived at the centre of the village.

The elders were there, grave and angry, and were soon joined by my seething grandmother after she had roughly thrown me at their feet. Sacniete stopped beside me, and offered a hand to help me up.

She only got so far as to have my hand in hers. But the touch was electric. Our gazes met, almost unable to break apart, in plain sight of every villager.

"...Soulmate," said Sacniete.

I drew a breath. She knew our language —but she had never said anything with such conviction before. And what she had said —recognition burst in me at the truth of it. Me and her...we were meant to be together.

"The witches are consorting!" someone then cried.

I looked away long enough to see the stony judgement on the elders' faces. My eyes widened as my grandmother sneered. They were going to sacrifice us in the morning at Huitzilopochtli's alter.

But before they could take us away, I saw something unexpected and out of place. "Tezcatlipoca!" I cried, pointing towards his temple that lay in the distance behind us. He himself was right there, standing behind the elders in the shadows. His eyes met mine.

A familiar scent washer over me. Night and death.

Screams and accusations bombarded me, before I was swallowed up in darkness.

¹ Sacniete is pronounced as 'Sack-nee-ah-tay'
² Meya is pronounced as 'Mae-ah'