WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book One: The Unblooded Lamb
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CONTENT WARNING: This series contains explicit sexual violence, human sacrifice, psychological torture, murder of innocent characters (including children and family members), ritualistic killing, and extreme horror. No character is safe. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter Thirty: The Flesh Changes
Year 9 – Twenty-Six Months After the First Sacrifice
The twenty-fifth sacrifice changed her.
Not dramatically—not in a way that anyone else would notice. But Liora felt it. A shift in her flesh. A deepening of the dark. A transformation that had begun in her blood and was now spreading to her bones.
The old texts had warned her.
At twenty-five sacrifices, the flesh begins to change. You will become stronger. Faster. More resilient. Wounds will heal quicker. Illnesses will pass you by.
You are no longer entirely human.
Rejoice.
Liora rejoiced.
She tested her new strength in the cellar, away from prying eyes. She could lift things now that would have been impossible for a nine-year-old girl. She could run faster, jump higher, move with a grace that was almost inhuman.
Her skin was changing too. It was paler now, almost translucent in certain lights. The veins beneath showed dark, as if her blood had thickened, as if the shadows themselves were flowing through her.
Beautiful, she thought.
I am becoming beautiful.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was still there.
But she was fading.
Something else was taking her place.
Something older.
Something hungrier.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
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Liora – The Twenty-Fifth Victim
She chose a man this time.
A farmer from the outskirts of the town. His name was Gregor. He was young, strong, and alone. His wife had died in the winter. His children had been sent to live with relatives. He had no one.
He was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She tested her new strength on him.
Not in the cellar—in the field where he worked. She approached him at dusk, when the sun was low and the shadows were long.
"Gregor?"
The farmer looked up. His eyes were tired.
"Yes?"
"I need your help," Liora said. "My horse has thrown a shoe. I can't get back to the castle."
Gregor frowned.
"You're a long way from the castle, child."
"I know. I was riding and I got lost. Please. I'll pay you."
She held up a silver coin.
Gregor looked at the coin. Looked at the child. Looked at the coin again.
"Where's your horse?"
"Over there. By the trees."
Gregor nodded.
"Let me get my tools."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Gregor – The Field
The princess led him toward the trees.
Gregor had lived on this farm his whole life. He knew every field, every fence, every hidden path. But tonight, the land felt wrong. The shadows seemed deeper than they should be. The silence seemed heavier than it should be.
It's just my imagination, he told himself.
I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping.
But his instincts—the ones that had kept him alive through thirty years of hard living—were screaming at him to turn back.
Something is wrong, they whispered.
Something is very wrong.
He looked at the princess.
She was walking ahead of him, small and pale, her white dress ghostly in the twilight. She seemed so innocent. So helpless.
She's just a child, he told himself.
She needs help.
That's all.
He ignored the screaming in his gut.
He kept walking.
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The Field – The Kill
They reached the trees.
"There's no horse," Gregor said.
"I know."
He turned.
The princess was standing behind him, her eyes black, her smile wide.
"What—"
She moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react. Her small hand closed around his throat, and she lifted.
He weighed two hundred pounds.
She was nine years old.
She held him in the air like he weighed nothing.
"What are you?" he gasped.
She tilted her head.
"I am what comes next."
She squeezed.
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The Twenty-Fifth Ritual
She performed the ritual in the field, under the stars.
The old texts had instructions for outdoor sacrifices. The power was different—more diffuse, less concentrated. But still useful.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness surged.
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The Power – Twenty-Five
The fire in her veins became an inferno.
Twenty-five sacrifices. Twenty-five souls. Twenty-five streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
She raised her hands.
The shadows exploded from her body.
They filled the field. They climbed the trees. They covered the sky. They pulsed with hunger, with power, with the terrible joy of finally being free.
Twenty-five, they whispered. Twenty-five and the flesh changes.
You are stronger now.
Faster.
More.
Rejoice.
Liora opened her eyes.
They were black.
Pure, endless, consuming black.
But she could see.
Everything.
She could see the souls of the dead, hovering in the corners of the field, waiting for her command.
She could see the threads of fate, stretching from the farm into the future, branching and twisting and changing.
She could see the darkness inside herself—not as a presence, but as a landscape. Endless. Beautiful. Terrible.
This is what I am now, she thought.
This is what I will always be.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
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The Disposal
She burned Gregor's body in the field.
The fire was hot. The smoke was thick. She worked quickly, efficiently, scattering the ashes before dawn.
No one saw her.
No one ever saw her.
She returned to the castle as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face.
She braided her hair.
She chose a white dress.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She went down to breakfast.
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Darian – The Observation
Darian saw her at breakfast.
She was sitting with her family, eating porridge, smiling at her brothers. Her dress was white. Her hair was braided. Her face was soft and sweet and completely ordinary.
But Darian saw something else.
Something in her posture.
Something in the way she held herself.
She's stronger, he thought.
Something has changed.
She's more dangerous than before.
He wrote this in his journal, in his secret code.
Subject appears physically different today. Posture more confident. Movements more fluid.
Possible increase in strength or speed.
Need more data.
He hid the journal beneath the loose stone.
He went back to breakfast.
His sister was watching him.
Smiling.
I know what you are, his eyes said.
I know you know, her eyes replied.
And I don't care.
He looked away.
He ate his breakfast.
He kept his mouth shut.
But he did not stop watching.
Neither did she.
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Finn – The List
Finn added another name to the list in his head.
Gregor. Farmer. Twenty-five.
He recited the list every night before bed, a dark litany that kept the nightmares at bay.
Orin. Greta. Corin. The man by the river. Marta. Roran. Varek. Elara. The boy. Sir Aldous. Lyssa. Bren. Mira the seamstress. Eldrin. Elara the servant. Gared. Sera. Orin the carpenter. Margit. Ser Corvin. Halvar. Brynn. Willem. Elspeth. Gregor.
Twenty-five.
And more coming.
He could feel it.
The princess was not slowing down. She was accelerating. The hunger was driving her, pushing her, making her reckless.
She'll make a mistake, he thought.
She has to.
No one is that perfect.
But she was.
She had been perfect for twenty-five kills.
Why would she stop now?
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The Vigil Continues
The castle slept.
The guards dozed at their posts. The servants dreamed in their narrow beds. The nobles snored in their silk sheets.
But three people did not sleep.
Darian lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day's observations in his mind.
Finn lay in his corner, staring at the darkness, reciting the list of names like a prayer.
And Liora—
Liora sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight, the shadows dancing around her like living things.
Twenty-five, she thought.
Seventy-five more until the curse.
Seventy-five more until forever.
She closed the book.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror looked back.
But the girl was fading.
Something else was taking her place.
Something older.
Something hungrier.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
And somewhere in the depths of the castle, in a cellar that no one visited and no one remembered, twenty-five souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
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End of Chapter Thirty