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 Fifty-Three: The Hollow Crown
Year 13 – One Hundred Months After the First Sacrifice
The castle had become a tomb.
Not literally—people still lived there, still moved through its corridors, still went about their daily routines. But the spirit of the place had died. Hope had withered. Courage had fled.
The queen was a ghost.
She walked through the halls with empty eyes and a pleasant smile, greeting everyone she met, remembering nothing. The servants had noticed. The guards had noticed. Even the nobles, visiting from their country estates, had noticed.
Something is wrong with the queen, they whispered.
She's not the same.
She's... hollow.
No one said the name aloud.
No one dared.
But everyone knew.
Princess Liora had done something.
Princess Liora was responsible.
Princess Liora was dangerous.
And no one—no one—was willing to stop her.
---
Liora – The Forty-Third Victim
She chose a man this time.
A scholar from the castle library. His name was Eldrin—another echo, another coincidence. He was old, wise, and invisible. He spent his days among the books, reading, writing, thinking.
No one would miss him.
Not immediately. The library would still function—there were other scholars. By the time anyone noticed that Eldrin had stopped coming, his body would be ash.
He was perfect.
But this time, Liora did something different.
She wanted his knowledge.
The whispers had told her that Eldrin knew things. Old things. Secret things. Things that had been hidden for centuries.
He knows about the curse, they whispered. He knows about the ritual. He knows about the one hundred sacrifices.
He knows how to speed the process.
He knows how to make you immortal sooner.
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so useful.
---
Eldrin – The Library
The scholar worked late, as he did every night.
There were books to read. Notes to write. Secrets to uncover.
He heard a sound.
Footsteps.
He turned.
A young woman was standing in the doorway. Not a child anymore—thirteen years old, but she looked older. Her skin was pale. Her hair was dark. Her eyes were black.
"Princess Liora?"
"Hello, Eldrin."
"What are you doing here so late?"
"I came to see you."
Eldrin frowned.
"Me?"
"You know things. Old things. Secret things."
Eldrin's frown deepened.
"Your Highness, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. You know about the curse. You know about the ritual. You know about the one hundred sacrifices."
Eldrin's face went pale.
"How do you know—"
"I know everything."
She stepped closer.
"Tell me what you know."
"I can't—"
"You can. And you will."
She reached into his mind.
---
Eldrin – The Knowledge
The scholar tried to resist.
He had spent his life studying the mind, learning to protect it from intrusion. But Liora was stronger than anyone he had ever encountered.
She pushed past his defenses.
She found his memories.
...the curse...
...the ritual...
...the one hundred sacrifices...
...but there is another way...
...a faster way...
...a darker way...
...if you consume the souls of the powerful...
...if you drain the life from the strong...
...if you take the essence of the innocent ...
...you can accelerate the process...
...you can reach one hundred in half the time...
...but the cost...
...the cost is...
Liora pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The knowledge.
The secrets.
The power.
Eldrin gasped.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
He went limp.
She withdrew from his mind.
He collapsed on the floor.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The knowledge was hers now.
All of it.
---
The Forty-Third Ritual
She dragged his body to the cellar.
Not to drain—to sacrifice. The old texts had been clear. Some deaths were for draining. Some were for killing. Some were for offering.
Eldrin was an offering.
The forty-third sacrifice.
She laid him on the floor.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness screamed.
---
The Power – Forty-Three
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Forty-three sacrifices. Forty-three souls. Forty-three 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.
The scholar's knowledge will help me.
I know the faster way now.
I know how to reach one hundred in half the time.
Fifty-seven more.
Not fifty-seven.
Twenty-eight.
If I consume the powerful.
If I drain the strong.
If I take the innocent.
Twenty-eight more.
And then—
Then the curse.
Then forever.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A scholar. Wise. Old. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
---
Finn – The Despair
Finn had stopped counting.
Not the names—he would never stop counting the names. But the days. The months. The years.
He had been watching for four years.
Four years of fear.
Four years of death.
Four years of her.
He was thirteen now. Taller. Thinner. His eyes were hollow, shadowed by years of watching, years of waiting, years of hoping.
He still kept the list.
Forty-three names.
Forty-three faces.
Forty-three souls.
He recited them every night before bed.
But the list was getting longer.
And he was getting tired.
How much longer? he thought.
How many more have to die?
When will it end?
He knew the answer.
It would never end.
She would never stop.
She would never be caught.
She would never die.
He closed his eyes.
He did not sleep.
He did not dream.
He just waited.
---
The Castle – The Fear
The fear had spread.
Not like a fire—fires were quick, bright, visible. Like a disease. Slow. Invisible. Inevitable.
The servants no longer walked alone after dark.
The guards no longer patrolled the east wing.
The nobles no longer visited at all.
Everyone knew.
Not what she was—not exactly. But they knew she was dangerous. They knew to stay away. They knew to keep their mouths shut and their eyes down and their children close.
And Liora?
Liora watched.
And smiled.
---
Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Forty-three sacrifices.
Twenty-eight more until the curse.
If she followed the faster way.
If she consumed the powerful.
If she drained the strong.
If she took the innocent.
Twenty-eight more.
She closed the book.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was gone.
Something else was looking back.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
The queen is blind, she thought.
Darian is broken.
Finn is tired.
No one is watching.
No one is listening.
No one is trying.
I am free.
Soon, I will be more than free.
Soon, I will be a god.
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, forty-three souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
---
End of Chapter Fifty-Three