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-Seven: The Spreading Web
Year 9 – Thirty-Four Months After the First Sacrifice
The whispers were everywhere now.
Not just in Liora's mind—in the castle itself. The servants had started hearing things. Voices in empty rooms. Footsteps in locked corridors. Whispers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
No one spoke of it.
No one dared.
But everyone heard.
And everyone was afraid.
Liora heard them too. Not the whispers of the castle—those were just echoes, fragments, the residue of fear. The whispers of her victims. Thirty-one souls, bound to her, serving her, reporting on everything they saw and heard.
She knew when the servants gossiped.
She knew when the guards plotted.
She knew when Darian wrote in his journal.
She knew everything.
And she was only getting started.
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Liora – The Thirty-Second Victim
She chose a woman this time.
A seamstress from the castle. Her name was Ilsa. She was young, skilled, and invisible. She worked in the sewing room, mending clothes for the royal family.
No one would miss her.
Not immediately. The sewing would still get done—there were other seamstresses. By the time anyone noticed that Ilsa had stopped coming, her body would be ash.
She was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She used the whispers to learn Ilsa's secrets.
She is in love with a guard, they whispered. She meets him at night. In the tower. Where no one can see.
She is happy.
She is vulnerable.
Liora smiled.
Love, she thought.
Such a weakness.
Such a weapon.
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Ilsa – The Tower
The seamstress waited in the tower, as she did every night.
Her lover would come soon. They would hold each other in the darkness, whispering promises that neither of them could keep.
She heard footsteps.
Not his.
Different. Lighter. Smaller.
She turned.
A child was standing in the doorway. Small. Pale. Dressed in white.
"Your Highness?"
"Hello, Ilsa."
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you."
Ilsa frowned.
"Me?"
"You're in love."
Ilsa's face flushed.
"How do you know—"
"I know everything."
The princess moved.
Faster than Ilsa could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the seamstress's wrist.
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Thirty-Second Ritual
She performed the ritual in the tower, surrounded by shadows and the scent of old stone.
The whispers watched.
They had been waiting for this. Hungry for this. The dark demanded blood, and the dark would have it.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power – Thirty-Two
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Thirty-two sacrifices. Thirty-two souls. Thirty-two 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 seamstress. Young. In love. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Ilsa's body in the tower 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 her chamber 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 added another entry to his journal.
Thirty-second victim. Ilsa. Seamstress. Disappeared last night.
Body not found.
Cause of death unknown.
Suspect: Princess Liora.
She is not slowing down.
She is accelerating.
We are running out of time.
He hid the journal beneath the loose stone.
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 looked away.
She ate her porridge.
She smiled at their mother.
But Darian did not stop watching.
He never stopped watching.
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Finn – The List
Finn added another name to the list in his head.
Ilsa. Seamstress. Thirty-two.
He recited the list every night before bed, a dark litany that kept the nightmares at bay.
Thirty-two names.
Thirty-two faces.
Thirty-two souls.
Thirty-two, he thought.
She's killed thirty-two people.
And no one is doing anything.
He lay in his corner, staring at the darkness.
He did not sleep.
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The Guard – The Lover
The guard came to the tower that night.
He found it empty.
No Ilsa.
No note.
No explanation.
He searched the castle. The lower town. The surrounding countryside.
He found nothing.
He never saw her again.
He never knew what had happened to her.
But sometimes—late at night, when the castle was quiet—he thought he heard her voice.
Whispering his name.
From somewhere dark.
From somewhere wrong.
He stopped visiting the tower.
He stopped loving.
He stopped living.
Another victim.
Another life destroyed.
And Liora?
Liora watched.
And smiled.
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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.
Thirty-two, she thought.
Sixty-eight more until the curse.
Sixty-eight 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, thirty-two 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-Seven