WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book One: The Unblooded Lamb
---
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.
---
Chapter Forty: The Calm Before the Storm
Year 10 – Forty Months After the First Sacrifice
Liora had turned ten.
The birthday had been a quiet affair—a small feast, a few gifts, the obligatory curtsy to her father's empty throne. No one had remarked on how pale she had become. No one had noticed how her eyes seemed darker than before. No one had seen the way the shadows bent toward her when she walked.
She was changing.
Not just inside—outside now. Her skin was paler, almost translucent in certain lights. Her hair was darker, almost black. Her eyes had lost the last traces of brown; they were gray now, the color of storm clouds, the color of death.
The old texts called this stage The Transformation.
At forty sacrifices, the body changes. At fifty, the blood. At seventy-five, the bones.
At one hundred—
She closed the book.
Sixty more, she thought.
Sixty more until the curse.
Sixty more until forever.
---
Liora – The Thirty-Fifth Victim
She chose a man this time.
A fisherman from the river. His name was Bren—another echo, another coincidence. He was young, strong, and alone. His wife had left him. His children had been taken away.
No one would miss him.
Not immediately. The fish would still be caught—there were other fishermen. By the time anyone noticed that Bren had stopped coming, his body would be ash.
He was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She took her time.
The hunt was the best part now. The stalking. The watching. The moment when the victim realized that they were not going to survive.
That moment was everything.
---
Bren – The River
The fisherman worked late, as he did every night.
There were fish to catch for the morning market. Fish for the castle. Fish for the nobles. Fish for the servants who would eat them without ever knowing who had caught them.
He heard a sound.
Footsteps on the dock.
He turned.
A child was standing behind him. Small. Pale. Dressed in white.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Liora."
"What do you want?"
"I want to show you something."
Bren frowned.
"What?"
"Follow me."
She turned and walked along the riverbank.
Bren hesitated.
Then he followed.
---
The River – The Kill
She led him to a secluded spot, hidden from view.
"There's nothing here," Bren said.
"I know."
He turned.
She was standing behind him, her eyes gray, her smile wide.
"What—"
She moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around his throat.
"You're alone," she said.
"What?"
"Your wife left you. Your children were taken away. No one will miss you."
"How do you know—"
"I know everything."
She squeezed.
---
The Thirty-Fifth Ritual
She performed the ritual by the river, surrounded by the sound of water and the smell of fish.
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 laughed.
---
The Power – Thirty-Five
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Thirty-five sacrifices. Thirty-five souls. Thirty-five 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 fisherman. Young. Strong. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
---
Darian – The Statue
Darian had become a statue.
He sat in his room, staring at the wall, not moving. The servants brought him food. He did not eat it. His mother came to visit. He did not speak to her. His father came to shout at him. He did not respond.
He was not alive.
He was not dead.
He was just there.
Thirty-five, he thought.
Thirty-five people.
And I couldn't stop her.
I couldn't stop any of them.
He closed his eyes.
He thought about the fisherman. The man he had never met. The man who had died anyway.
He thought about the princess's eyes. Gray. Empty. Hungry.
He thought about her words.
"Living is worse."
She was right.
Living was worse.
He opened his eyes.
He stared at the wall.
He did not sleep.
---
Finn – The Watcher
Finn had stopped hoping.
He still watched. He still listened. He still remembered. But he had stopped hoping that anything would change.
The princess was too powerful. Too careful. Too perfect.
She would never make a mistake.
She would never be caught.
She would never stop.
Thirty-five, he thought.
Thirty-five names.
Thirty-five faces.
Thirty-five 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.
---
Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Thirty-five sacrifices.
Sixty-five more until the curse.
Sixty-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.
Darian is gone, she thought.
Finn is broken.
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-five souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
---
End of Chapter Forty