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-One: The Blood Deepens
Year 9 – Twenty-Seven Months After the First Sacrifice
The changes were accelerating.
Not just in her flesh—though that was changing too, growing stronger, faster, more resilient. In her blood. The dark was no longer a visitor. It was a permanent resident, flowing through her veins like a second life force.
The old texts called this stage The Deepening.
At thirty sacrifices, the blood changes. You will no longer bleed like a mortal. Your wounds will close in moments. Your heart will beat slower, stronger, more efficiently.
You are becoming something that does not age.
Something that does not die.
Rejoice.
Liora rejoiced.
She had stopped feeling tired. Stopped feeling hungry—not for food, but for the dark. The sacrifices sustained her now. The souls she consumed kept her alive in ways that bread and meat never could.
She was becoming something else.
Something more.
Something that the world had never seen before.
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Liora – The Twenty-Sixth Victim
She chose a woman this time.
A weaver from the lower town. Her name was Sera—another coincidence, another echo of a previous victim. She was young, skilled, and invisible. She worked alone in a small shop, weaving cloth for the castle servants.
No one would miss her.
Not immediately. The servants would notice the missing cloth, but they would assume she had fallen ill or found better work. By the time anyone thought to look for her, her body would be ash.
She was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She tested her new blood on her.
Not in the cellar—in the weaver's own shop. She approached her at midnight, when the streets were empty and the moon was high.
"Sera?"
The weaver looked up. Her eyes were tired.
"Yes?"
"I need your help," Liora said. "My mother—the queen—she needs a new tapestry. Something special. Something no one else can make."
Sera frowned.
"The queen?"
"Yes. She asked me to find someone. Someone skilled. Someone discreet."
Liora held up a silver coin.
"I'll pay you double her usual rate."
Sera looked at the coin. Looked at the child. Looked at the coin again.
"Where is she?"
"In the castle. I can take you to her."
Sera hesitated.
Then she nodded.
"Let me get my loom."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Sera – The Shop
The princess did not lead her to the castle.
She led her to the back of the shop, where the shadows were deepest.
"The queen is here?" Sera asked.
"No."
Sera turned.
The princess was standing behind her, her eyes black, her smile wide.
"What—"
Liora moved.
Faster than Sera could follow. Faster than she could react. Her hand closed around the weaver's wrist, and she pulled.
Sera stumbled.
Liora caught her.
"Don't scream," she whispered.
Sera screamed.
Liora's hand closed over her mouth.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, don't—"
Liora smiled.
"Shh."
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The Twenty-Sixth Ritual
She performed the ritual in the back of the shop, surrounded by looms and half-finished cloth.
The old texts had instructions for indoor sacrifices. The power was more concentrated here, more focused. The shadows clung to the walls, eager and hungry.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness screamed.
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The Power – Twenty-Six
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Twenty-six sacrifices. Twenty-six souls. Twenty-six streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
She raised her hand.
The shadows answered.
They came faster now. More eagerly. They wrapped around her arms, her throat, her face. She could feel them inside her, in her lungs, in her stomach, in her mind.
More, they whispered. We need more.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A weaver. Young. Skilled. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Sera's body in the shop's fireplace.
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 Journal
Darian had filled an entire journal.
Names. Dates. Observations. Patterns. He had documented everything—the disappearances, the rumors, the way the princess looked at people. He had drawn maps of the cellar, diagrams of the symbols, sketches of the princess's changing eyes.
He had proof.
Not proof that would convince anyone else—he knew that now. But proof for himself. Evidence that he was not crazy. That he was not imagining things.
That his sister was a monster.
He hid the journal beneath the loose stone in his chamber wall.
He went down to breakfast.
His sister was already there, smiling, eating porridge.
"Good morning, Darian," she said.
"Good morning, Liora," he said.
Their eyes met.
For a moment—just a moment—he saw something in her gaze.
Not recognition.
Not acknowledgment.
Amusement.
She knows about the journal, he thought.
She knows everything.
And she doesn'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.
Sera. Weaver. Twenty-six.
He recited the list every night before bed, a dark litany that kept the nightmares at bay.
Twenty-six names.
Twenty-six faces.
Twenty-six souls.
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-six 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-six, she thought.
Seventy-four more until the curse.
Seventy-four 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-six 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-One