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-Two: The Deepening Dark
Year 10 – Fifty-Two Months After the First Sacrifice
The years were passing faster now.
Not literally—time moved at the same pace it always had. But Liora's perception of time had changed. The dark had stretched her consciousness, expanded her awareness, made her feel older than her ten years.
She had been killing for over four years.
Thirty-six souls.
Thirty-six lives.
Thirty-six streams of darkness flowing through her veins.
She was no longer a child.
Not in any way that mattered.
The old texts called this stage The Deepening.
At forty sacrifices, the body changes. At fifty, the blood. At seventy-five, the bones.
At one hundred—
She closed the book.
Sixty-four more, she thought.
Sixty-four more until the curse.
Sixty-four more until forever.
---
Liora – The Thirty-Seventh Victim
She chose a man this time.
A blacksmith from the lower town. His name was Halvar—another echo, another coincidence. He was young, strong, and alone. His wife had died in the winter. His children had been sent away.
No one would miss him.
Not immediately. The metal would still be forged—there were other blacksmiths. By the time anyone noticed that Halvar had stopped coming, his body would be ash.
He was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She used her abilities to test him.
The whispers of her victims had grown stronger. They could see into minds now, not just hear thoughts. She sent them to probe Halvar's dreams.
He is afraid, they reported. Not of death. Of meaninglessness. He fears that his life has no purpose.
He fears that no one will remember him.
He is vulnerable.
He is ready.
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so useful.
---
Halvar – The Forge
The blacksmith worked late, as he did every night.
There was metal to forge for the castle. Metal for the nobles. Metal for the servants who would use it without ever knowing who had made it.
He heard a sound.
Footsteps.
He turned.
A child was standing in the doorway. Small. Pale. Dressed in white.
"Your Highness?"
"Hello, Halvar."
"What are you doing here so late?"
"I came to see you."
Halvar frowned.
"Me?"
"You work so hard. No one appreciates you."
Halvar's frown deepened.
"Your Highness, I don't understand—"
"You don't need to understand."
The princess moved.
Faster than Halvar could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around his wrist.
"Please—"
"Shh."
---
The Thirty-Seventh Ritual
She performed the ritual in the forge, surrounded by fire and metal and the smell of coal.
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 roared.
---
The Power – Thirty-Seven
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Thirty-seven sacrifices. Thirty-seven souls. Thirty-seven 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 blacksmith. Young. Strong. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
---
Darian – The Fading
Darian had become a shadow of himself.
He sat in his room, staring at the wall, not moving. His body had grown thin. His skin had grown pale. His eyes had grown hollow.
The servants whispered that he was dying.
His mother wept.
His father cursed.
But Darian heard none of it.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere dark.
Somewhere wrong.
Thirty-seven, he thought.
Thirty-seven people.
And I couldn't stop her.
I couldn't stop any of them.
He closed his eyes.
He thought about the blacksmith. 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 List
Finn added another name to the list in his head.
Halvar. Blacksmith. Thirty-seven.
He recited the list every night before bed, a dark litany that kept the nightmares at bay.
Thirty-seven names.
Thirty-seven faces.
Thirty-seven souls.
Thirty-seven, he thought.
She's killed thirty-seven people.
And no one is doing anything.
He lay in his corner, staring at the darkness.
He did not sleep.
---
The Queen – The Realization
Queen Elara had begun to suspect.
Not the truth—she could not imagine the truth. But something was wrong with her daughter. Something was wrong with her son. Something was wrong with the castle.
She sat in her chamber, staring at the fire.
What is happening to my family? she thought.
What is happening to my home?
She thought about Liora. The sweet smile. The soft voice. The eyes that seemed to see too much.
She thought about Darian. The accusations. The breakdown. The silence.
She thought about the disappearances. The servants. The travelers. The people from the lower town who had vanished without a trace.
Is it connected? she wondered.
Is she connected?
She shook her head.
No. She's a child. She's my daughter. She's innocent.
But the doubt remained.
It would never leave.
---
Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Thirty-seven sacrifices.
Sixty-three more until the curse.
Sixty-three 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 dying, she thought.
Finn is forgotten.
The queen is doubting.
Soon, even she will see.
But by then, it will be too late.
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-seven souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
---
End of Chapter Forty-Two