WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Three: The Queen of Shadows
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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 Ninety: The Farmer's Peace
Year 31 – Nineteen Years After the Curse
The farmer in the south had farmed for nineteen years.
Every day. Every night. Every season of every year. He tilled the soil, planted the seeds, harvested the crops. He had never fought in a battle. Never cast a spell. Never dreamed of glory.
He believed the queen would leave him alone.
He believed she didn't care about him.
He believed he was safe.
His name was Bren—another echo, another coincidence. He was thirty-one years old, with calloused hands and a weathered face. He had a wife. Two children. A small farm on the edge of the kingdom.
He had heard the stories.
The legends.
The fear.
He did not believe them.
He could not believe them.
No one was that powerful.
No one was that evil.
No one was that alone.
He was wrong.
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The Southern Farm – Morning
Bren woke at dawn, as he always did.
He kissed his wife. He hugged his children. He went out to the fields.
The sun was warm. The soil was rich. The crops were growing.
Life is good, he thought.
Life is peaceful.
Life is safe.
He did not see the shadows.
He did not hear the whispers.
He did not feel the darkness watching.
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The Castle – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Four thousand and sixteen souls now served her. They flitted through the shadows, invisible to all but her, reporting on everything they saw and heard.
They told her about the farmer.
He is happy, they said. He is peaceful. He is safe.
He does not believe in you.
He does not fear you.
He does not respect you.
Liora smiled.
Let him be happy, she thought.
Let him be peaceful.
Let him be safe.
For now.
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The Southern Farm – Night
Liora traveled south, invisible as always.
The whispers guided her. Four thousand and sixteen souls, bound to her, serving her, hungry for more.
He is close, they said. His farm is ahead. He is inside. He is sleeping.
He is perfect.
She found the farm.
It was small, made of wood and stone, surrounded by fields of wheat and corn.
She walked through the fields.
The crops swayed in the breeze.
The shadows followed.
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The Farmhouse
She entered the farmhouse.
The family was sleeping. The farmer. His wife. His two children.
They looked peaceful.
They looked happy.
They looked safe.
Liora stood over them, watching.
He does not believe in me, she thought.
He does not fear me.
He does not respect me.
I will teach him.
She reached out.
She touched the farmer's face.
"Wake up," she whispered.
His eyes opened.
"Who—"
"Shh."
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The Feeding – The Farmer
Liora reached into the farmer's mind.
He tried to resist.
He was strong. Hardworking. Determined.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past his defenses.
She found his memories.
...the farm...
...the family...
...the peace ...
...that he could live forever...
...that he could be happy...
...that he could be safe ...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The peace.
The joy.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
He gasped.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
He went limp.
She withdrew from his mind.
She looked down at him.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The farmer was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Family
The wife woke up.
"Bren?"
No answer.
"Bren!"
She saw Liora.
"Who are you?"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Liora reached out.
She touched the wife's face.
"Close your eyes."
"No—"
"Close your eyes."
The wife closed her eyes.
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The Feeding – The Wife
Liora reached into the wife's mind.
She found her memories.
...the love...
...the children...
...the hope ...
...that they could grow old together...
...that they could be happy...
...that they could be safe ...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The love.
The hope.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
The wife gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
The wife went limp.
Another shell.
Another victim.
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The Children
The children woke up.
"Mommy?"
"Daddy?"
Liora turned to them.
They were young. Innocent. Pure.
Their souls were worth ten.
Ten, she thought.
Each.
Twenty in total.
The hunger will be quiet for a long time.
She reached out.
She touched the first child's face.
"Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to."
The child closed its eyes.
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The Feeding – The Children
Liora reached into the children's minds.
They did not resist.
They did not know how.
They were too young.
Too innocent.
Too pure.
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The laughter.
The joy.
The souls.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
They gasped.
Their bodies convulsed.
Their eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
They went limp.
Empty shells.
The final victims.
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The Four Thousand Twentieth Sacrifice
She performed the rituals in the farmhouse, surrounded by the bodies of the family.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness screamed.
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The Power – Four Thousand Twenty
The fire in her veins burned brighter than ever before.
Four thousand and twenty sacrifices. Four thousand and twenty souls. Four thousand and twenty streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Four thousand twenty, she thought.
The hunger is quieter now.
But it will return.
It always returns.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the bodies.
A farmer. A wife. Two children.
Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the peaceful.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned the bodies in the farmhouse's 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 walked back to the castle as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face in a broken basin.
She braided her hair with her fingers.
She wore a white dress she had found in a forgotten wardrobe.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She sat on the throne.
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The Empty Throne
The throne room was empty.
No servants. No guards. No nobles.
Just Liora.
And the whispers.
You are alone, they said.
Yes, she thought.
But I am not lonely.
I have you.
I have all of you.
Forever.
She closed her eyes.
She listened to the whispers.
They told her about the world.
The new kings. The new heroes. The new legends.
They told her about a young woman in the east. A dancer. Graceful. She had been performing for years, bringing joy to the people, avoiding the queen's notice.
She believed the queen would never find her.
She believed she was safe.
She believed she was invisible.
Liora smiled.
Let her dance, she thought.
Let her perform.
Let her believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when I'm hungry—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter Ninety