The Criswell's Curse

“Good morning, Mother.”

Lilith’s graceful smile greeted me, her pure blue eyes gazing into mine. In a beautiful garden, embraced by the wonders of a prosperous Seeding, she sat in a front of a small table. Her long, curly ginger hair fell down to her waist, reflecting the rays of warmth back to their owner. Slowly, her fingers place down a porcelain cup in its rightful tray, a faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air.

“Good morning, my dear. How was your night? Did you sleep well?”

I approached calmly before sitting right next to her. The coldness of her hands embraced my own when we touched.

A faint mint colored fluid decorated the cup’s interior, which ended up contrasting the carefully sculpted amethyst details surrounding its outside. A gush of wind made the bright green grass sway, wishing to attain wings, to fly away. And, as if it was magic, a small sparrow found its way onto the light wood, chirping as it jumped closer to the cookie crumbs resting on the table.

“Yes, I did. How about you, Mother? How was your night?”

I glanced at her frail figure, a sharp sting hurting my heart. She may have survived, but not without a price, not without losing something precious: her ability to walk. Because of me, she was glued to a chair, bound by the servant’s will to move where she wished and, even though she taught me not to feel guilt, I still did.

Every time I saw her, blame would consume me - my selfishness, my own egoistical desires - for ruining her precious life.

“Very pleasant.” She replied tenderly. “The roses are blooming beautifully today, don’t you agree?”

“Would you like me to get you one?”

Lilith simply chuckled, her hand patting my cheek. “Do you know what love is, Ophelia?”

What could I answer? How could I answer?

“No.” My answer was unexpectedly cold, slightly ruthless.

But she didn’t care. Her hands wrapped themselves around the cup, warming up its outer skin with the warmth of the tea. “Love is like a rose, dear… you want it even though it hurts you… You wish to pick it, but you can’t, or it will wither. Love is watching the roses bloom every Seedling, wanting to harvest them but choosing not to do so.”

I couldn’t understand. Her words were surreal, unrealistic.

Love sounded far too painful, far too sadistic for a person to bear. That was why my heart had locked itself away, so I wouldn’t feel it again, so I wouldn’t hurt again. Whenever this illogical emotion appeared, reminding me of its existence, an empty space perked in my chest, as if a missing chunk of my heart had been stolen, taken away.

Who was the person I loved? And why… why can’t I remember?

“What worries you?” Her beautiful green eyes knew me way too well.

“Mother…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it, to admit the truth.

“When you get older, you understand certainties are but shells of your pride, shattering with your new perspective.” She smiled warmly, her warm hand on top of mine. “I do not know what clouds your soul, but you are strong… I am certain you will figure everything out. You always do.”

Her body was growing colder, her smiler fainter. Time only stopped for God, and I had simply watched it pass by.

“Oh, my… look at the time, dear. You should go.” Her hand goes back to the teacup, her blue eyes becoming dull, focused on the twirling finger caressing the borders of the item.

“No, I do not want to, Mother. Just a moment more, please.”

“You must, my dear Ophelia.”

Her voice rung through my ears before her lips displayed their last act of kindness. Suddenly, a harsh wind blew, turning everything around me into sand, except the table and the teacup, who still lingered, forcing me to accept the harsh reality.

“I have to go, I always have to go because… you are not real. Isn’t it… Mother?”

Tears flew down my face rapidly as my body rose. With a blurry sight, I glanced back, seeing everything had turned to sand - what an ill joke.

None of this had been true. Anne wasn’t with me. Mother was dead. These were mere memories of a future I yearned for. A day belonging to tomorrow with moments that would never come to me, that would never be mine.

I bit down on my bottom lip. The beautiful nature, the perfectly cut garden, the Criswell’s mansion - everything was gone, replaced by a strong, deafening, silencing bright light.

“Lilith…” I whispered her name, cleaning away my sorrows. “If only I…”

“Do you think it would change?” A man’s voice spoke. It was… familiar.

“Wouldn’t it? Mother wouldn’t die and I wouldn’t be…”

The shape of a person appeared before me; his figure hidden away by an intense fog. I glanced at the floor - he had no shadow.

“Who are you?”

He ignored my question. “Do you blame her?”

Instantly, my head shook sideways, denying such a possibility entirely.

How could I blame Lilith? She was my mother, the only person who ever loved me, who truly cared. The true fuel for my hatred wasn’t her. The reason I despised all those nobles and aristocrats, all those who harmed me, wasn’t because of their actions. It was always because deep down, the recipient of my most disgusting feelings was none other than…

“Myself.” I mumbled, sinking into my knees.

“If you truly blame yourself…” Somehow his voice was as soothing as a lullaby. “… then why do you want them all dead?”

My eyes widened, my soul lightened. Was this what people felt like when they confessed their sins to God?

“Isn’t it their fault? You are right to blame them.” His voice was alluring, causing my burdens to become fuzzy, becoming lost - forgotten even. “Humans are weak creatures, their hearts tainted by greed. You did nothing wrong, Ophelia…”

My heart thumped rapidly; my cheeks slightly flushed after hearing my name. He kneeled in front of me and amidst the fog, his arm appeared, a long snake-like tattoo going from the back of his hand into the mist. I wanted to grab it, to rely on it.

“We are the same, you and I…” The monotonous tone quickly turned eager, displaying his actual intentions. “Humans are despicable creatures, greedy demons who should only know despair… Yes, they are to blame!”

Sensing the intense remorse and hatred coming from this unknown figure, I pulled my hand back to my chest. “I am human too; wouldn’t that make me the same? A despicable creature?”

He froze before taking his arm back into the mist, causing its essence to thicken. I grinned, knowing our feelings were mutual, our guards both held up high. Rising back to my feet, the only sound echoing in this sickening light was deafening silence.

“Ophelia, do you truly consider yourself a human? Even after dying nine times?”

Something was different. His words were sarcastic, but not born out of mockery. They appeared rather… curious. I stood there in silence, not knowing what to reply.

When humans die, they do not come back to live. But I have, not once, not twice, but nine times. Could I truly consider myself human at this point? If I couldn’t, what was I?

My body shook uncontrollably, comprehending my own ignorance. I was merely a fool who knew nothing, a useless person - if I could consider myself that. Pain echoed through my skin as my nails scratched the skin in my arms in repeated motions. Blood drops left my body, tainting the bright floor.

I can bleed… doesn’t that make me…?

“Humans can bleed, animals can bleed, demons can bleed… even I can bleed.” Several bright red drops covered the floor, travelling right to my side, as if being guided by that man’s will.

Doubts ran wild in my mind, trying to find any justification, any reasoning. What was I?

A human? A curse? A demon?

Or a flaw created by God?

“What am I? You must know, right?” The clouds began to dissipate, causing me to panic. I needed an answer. I needed to know. “Wait!”

I launched my body forward, but the mist was gone, causing me to fall on the ground, leaving me alone in the middle of that overwhelming brightness.