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-Nine: The Hollow Victory
Year 9 – Thirty-Six Months After the First Sacrifice
Three years.
Thirty-three kills.
A cellar full of ashes and shadows.
And Liora Veyne, age nine, had won.
Not the war—the war would last forever. But the battle. The battle for the castle. The battle for the truth.
Darian was broken.
Finn was silent.
The servants were terrified.
The guards were blind.
The nobles were gone.
No one was watching anymore. No one was listening. No one was trying.
Liora moved through the castle like a ghost, unseen and unstoppable. The whispers of her victims filled her ears, reporting on everything that happened in the shadows. The dark flowed through her veins like a second blood, making her stronger, faster, more alive.
She was invincible.
Not yet immortal—that required sixty-seven more sacrifices. But invincible in the only way that mattered. No one would stop her. No one could stop her.
She smiled at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror smiled back.
But the girl was fading.
Something else was taking her place.
Something older.
Something hungrier.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
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Liora – The Thirty-Fourth Victim
She chose a woman this time.
A baker from the lower town. Her name was Marta—another echo, another coincidence. She was middle-aged, skilled, and alone. Her husband had died years ago. Her children had moved away.
No one would miss her.
Not immediately. The bread would still be baked—there were other bakers. By the time anyone noticed that Marta had stopped coming, her body would be ash.
She was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She enjoyed it.
Not the kill—that was routine now. The hunt. The stalking. The watching. The moment when the victim realized that they were not going to survive.
That moment was delicious.
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Marta – The Bakery
The baker worked late, as she did every night.
There was bread to bake for the morning. Bread for the castle. Bread for the nobles. Bread for the servants who would eat it without ever knowing who had made it.
She heard a sound.
Footsteps.
She turned.
A child was standing in the doorway. Small. Pale. Dressed in white.
"Your Highness?"
"Hello, Marta."
"What are you doing here so late?"
"I came to see you."
Marta frowned.
"Me?"
"You work so hard. No one appreciates you."
Marta's frown deepened.
"Your Highness, I don't understand—"
"You don't need to understand."
The princess moved.
Faster than Marta could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the baker's wrist.
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Thirty-Fourth Ritual
She performed the ritual in the bakery, surrounded by the smell of bread and the warmth of the ovens.
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 sighed.
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The Power – Thirty-Four
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Thirty-four sacrifices. Thirty-four souls. Thirty-four 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 baker. Skilled. Alone. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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Darian – The Hollow
Darian had stopped leaving his room.
He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for death. The servants brought him food. He did not eat it. His mother came to visit. He did not speak to her.
He was a ghost now.
Like the victims in the cellar.
Thirty-four, he thought.
She's killed thirty-four people.
And I couldn't stop her.
I couldn't stop any of them.
He closed his eyes.
He thought about the carpenter. The man he had tried to save. The man who had died anyway.
He thought about the princess's eyes. Black. Empty. Hungry.
He thought about her words.
"Living is worse."
She was right.
Living was worse.
He opened his eyes.
He stared at the ceiling.
He did not sleep.
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Finn – The Silence
Finn had stopped talking.
Not entirely—he still answered when spoken to, still said "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir" and "thank you." But he had stopped sharing. Stopped telling stories. Stopped laughing. Stopped living.
He peeled his potatoes.
He kept his mouth shut.
He survived.
Thirty-four, he thought.
Thirty-four names.
Thirty-four faces.
Thirty-four souls.
He recited the list every night before bed, a dark litany that kept the nightmares at bay.
But the nightmares came anyway.
They always came.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Thirty-four sacrifices.
Sixty-six more until the curse.
Sixty-six 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.
Darian is broken, she thought.
Finn is silent.
The castle is mine.
Soon, the world will be mine.
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-four 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-Nine