like one thing leads to another.

like one heart bleeds for another.


Part II Chapter 1

Royal Black hated this feeling. This gut-wrenching tightness was twisting his insides to knots. It grew, becoming heavy; an uncomfortable weight sitting in the pit of his stomach as though it were dragging him to his grave.

It was dread. It was guilt. It was Misery.

All of it lay so deep.

So this was what it felt like to have a broken heart.

The cabin where they lived was dark and quiet but inside Royal's head was so much beseeching and emotional turmoil. Flashes of white panic lanced him like a blade as he watched his daughter gather her things to leave.

"You don't have to go, child." His gruff voice was thick with emotion. "Who care's if they grow suspicious?" A rugged and well-seasoned man should never sound so weak. A man such as Royal Black never cried. Not a day in his life. But right now... right now might be the very first time.

His daughter paused from slipping a dagger into its hidden sheath then continued, busying herself while avoiding his pleading gray eyes. She'd made that dagger, much like she made the greaves and vambraces she currently wore. So much time and effort he poured into her, only for her to leave him so soon, so suddenly.

Just look at me once more, before you go. Tell me you love me. Tell me you won't leave.

Her ink-black hair was weaved into a thick braid that rose and fell from her crown like a Mohawk. His little girl, not so little now, was always different. It's what made her special. Gods, he'd shared so much with her. So much. How could she turn away from it all under little suspicion? This entire village couldn't hold a candle up to her. Why was she so afraid? The dark heather-gray half-cloak he made for her hung by the door. As long as it did, there was still time.

She made a move towards it, sending Royal's heart shooting painfully into his throat, but instead, picked up her bow and studied it. Another item she made herself. While Royal taught her how to hunt and prepare the meat; how to sharpen a blade and aim an arrow, she taught him how to love and feel. They were a team: Royal Black and his little queen.

"Misery," he whispered, an undertow of begging in his tenor. "You don't have to do this."

"I do," she snapped, still refusing to meet his gaze. "I must. People are starting to wonder, and I can't live like this. We can't live like this. All these secrets and hiding."

She settled her dark gaze onto him, weighing him down with it. It was quite apparent magic was at work when those looked upon Misery's unusual features. Much of the village presumed she was part Elf, some sort of ancient or malignant vein, for her features were sharp and unforgivingly comely as if she was some by-product of the Wild Hunt. He never corrected them. Better they assume her to be an Elf, than what she indeed was.

From the moment he discovered her crying and abandoned in the foothills of the Mahakam mountains several months back, she'd grown at a tremendous rate. People were beginning to notice something was off. How did Royal return from his hunt with a toddler at his side? Where was that toddler now? And who was the skulking teenager hiding inside his cabin until dark? Another victim he kidnapped on one of his many hunts? Who was Royal Black?

Still, it was a risk he was willing to make. In the little time together, he saw her as his own; his daughter and even provided her his last name. Her charisma and cleverness gave him the laugh lines around his mouth and crinkled the crow's foot of his eyes. These walls for years had never heard him laugh until one return from a hunt.

But now, he only felt the fear of losing her. His charming Misery.

"At least wait until winter is over," he pleaded. "The cold will kill you."

Naturally, as any father would do when faced with the challenge of his baby bird leaving the nest, he tried stalling her, reasoning and negotiating as best as he could. She wouldn't have it.

Misery said nothing, reaching for her cloak. The end of Royal had come. She swept it over her shoulders, breaking Royal's heart every step she drew closer to the door. Gathering quiver, bow, and adjusting the sword and scabbard hanging from her belt, she placed her hand on the door and paused.

"I love you," she whispered over her shoulder. "And thank you. For everything."

Royal made a noise caught between a choke and a cry. This pain was unbearable, burning his face and chest. He was suffocating with despair.

She turned away, striding across the room, and placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving the black stamp of her lips on his skin.

Then she left, disappearing into the bright night with its full moon to leave Royal in horrible, horrible silence.


Dienne Mallory hated visiting Hunter Black's cabin. He was taciturn and coarse, and therefore not the friendliest of the Ban Gleann populace. But she was the town's milkmaid, and if she didn't make her rounds as ordered, her mother would have her up all night cleaning out the stalls with her bare hands. So she mounted the worn path that would lead her to the edge of the thicket. Therein in the shadow, just past a break in the trees was the man's isolated homestead.

It's just a regular cabin, Dienne! she chided herself. A dark, foreboding, and gloomy establishment.

Royal Black was his full name, but everyone just referred to him as Hunter Black, because it was what he spent most of the time doing. Pelts, mounted antlers, fur caps for armor, and hide; the lot of Ban Gleann treated him also as their local butcher. But like Dienne, it was a hard pill to swallow when approaching Hunter about a favor. It wasn't that he was difficult, it was how unapproachable he seemed. Quiet, reclusive, and separated even by his home's placement, Ban Gleann was a small village where secrets were hard to hide and enemies even harder to avoid. Dienne's mind flew back to the time he returned to one of his excursions with a child, instead of a dead animal. He was a father apparently so he couldn't be too mean, could he? Dienne's own mother suggested she pay a visit to see if she could get to know the girl, appearing to be about the same age. But once again, Hunter wasn't having any of it, and while he didn't deny there was a child in his midst, he didn't confirm it either.

At the entrance of the grove, Dienne took a deep breath and closed the remaining distance, almost stomping her way up the path. I will not be intimidated. I will not be intimidated. But now that she stood before the worn door, fist posed for a heavy knock; she felt her heart quicken beneath her breast.

3...2...1..

She knocked hard and fast.

From within, she heard someone curse, a chair groan, then footsteps. The door cracked open fast, revealing Royal Black and his hard steel gaze. If a look could cut, Dienne's head would be cleaved clean from her shoulders.

A cloth, colored in blood, pressed to his neck.

"Weekly milk run," Dienne chirped, lifting her small crate of cow's milk.

Royal winced, adjusting the cloth firmly to his neck. "Right, give me a minute." He disappeared, leaving the door cracked enough Dienne could spy a blazing hearth, a blanket and... a pair of eyes.

Dienne sucked in sharply. The girl was wrapped up in a blanket, staring straight into Dienne's soul with eyes bound in the blackest night.

"So the rumors were true," Dienne breathed, pushing the door wider, lulled by the dark gleaming eyes studying her. She took a step past the threshold. "There are not many children in Ban Gleann. My name's Dienne. What's yours?"

The curious gaze set in a pale friendly face blinked. Around the child's head, the blanket hid what color of her hair was, but Dienne guessed by her dark brows, she was black of haired. The Hunter's hair was also black. Maybe they were related. Her mouth reminded Dienne of the Fae, Elder Folk, who possessed features too beautiful to behold. And blood? A dark substance smudged her mouth.

Dienne stopped, coming to her senses. Royal. The cloth pressed to his neck. The secrets. This girl. Blood on her lips. Her mouth went dry with fear. But those black eyes called to her, forced her feet to drag across the floor and soon she was standing before this girl very close to Dienne's age. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor. The blanket slid away, revealing the blue-black hair that fell in inky ribbons about her pale shoulders.

The girl smiled, revealing her fangs and blood-coated tongue.

Dienne wanted to scream and run, but she could only blink and watch in frozen horror.

The girl leaned forward, sliding off her wooden stool.

Footsteps. Royal's commanding voice. Dienne's own pounding heart.

But it was too late for Ban Gleann's milkmaid as the girl shot from her seat, tackling Dienne to the hard floor. A sharp white-hot pain seared through her neck as the girl buried her teeth into her. If Dienne could have cried out, all of Ban Gleann and perhaps even Ban Ard would hear her. But there was no air in her lungs, and soon, there would be no blood in her body as the girl began to pull headily. She could feel it whooshing through her, hear the gulps against her ear. Her chest burned, head pounding.

The room grew darker. Sounds distorted and fell away. It seemed the floor was opening up for Dienne, accepting her into its grave depths. Then it all went quiet.

"By the gods...," Royal breathed, stepping out from the back. "What have you done?" A lifeless body now strewn across the floor awaited him. Misery released her bite and scampered back, suddenly remorseful.

"I'm sorry, father." Misery murmured, touching her bloodied lips with her fingers as if to hide what she'd done. "I was so hungry... I couldn't think straight. Her heart was pounding... I...I wanted her."

Royal tried to remain as calm as the circumstances allowed. He didn't want her to panic and flee to the woods as she usually did when overwhelmed. Instead, he scrubbed a hand down his face and respired heavily.

"I'll take care of this, just..." he pursed his lips then pinned her with a hard look. "That's what I'm here for, Misery. I am what you must survive off of. You can't do this to innocent people. It's wrong."

Misery lowered her eyes onto the girl growing paler and colder by the second. Royal shook his head and turned away to search for a rug he didn't care for or bed sheets. Something to wrap the body.

When he disappeared into the rear of the cabin, Misery finally moved away from the corner she wedged herself. She touched the girl's cold face, cupped the chin and turned her lifeless eyes skyward. Dienne Mallory. Her family owned a dairy farm just down the road from here. She was a good kid, brave, and ambitious. Hated how early she had to rise to tend to the farm, but loved taking care of the animals. Misery knew this because the blood told her. Like Royal's blood, she culled from it, gathering memories, talents, skills... But she couldn't pick and choose what to learn. Everything came. Their sadness. Their shortcomings. Their insecurities. Dienne had come once before in search of Misery, in search of a friend. She had two older brothers and another sibling on the way.

Frowning, she moved closer, cradling the dead girl. She lowered her head, listening to the quiet chest where her heart had stilled. Respiring, Misery closed her eyes and focused. Willed. Demanded. The blood answered, stirring once more, flooding the veins. The cold skin held against her arms warmed again. Then it came. A faint thunder. It grew, strengthening, obeyed.

Dienne Mallory opened her dark brown eyes to the world once more. A little paler, a little woozier than she understood, and slightly confused.

"You had a spell," Misery smiled while Dienne rose up from the floor and looked around. "Perhaps you should go home."

And when Royal returned from the back bedrooms, Dienne was gone.

All traces and remnants of Misery's terrible secret nothing but a dream.


Grim-faced, Misery set out to wander the Northern Kingdoms. Southward, she headed, not for any particular adventure but because it was only a matter of time before the curious denizens of Ban Gleann turned on her and her father for witchcraft or dark sorcery. And Misery's was the worst kind.

She'd heard the whispers and the rumors seeping through the slats of the hunter's old cabin. Talks of sinister magic, sacrifices, and blood offerings to some dark lord dwelling beneath the nearby mountains. Why else did he have marks on his neck and wrists? They didn't understand the reasoning behind it. Royal Black had been nothing but nurturing in her hours of growth, as any father would. Having never married, he had no any children of his own and was willing to do whatever he could to provide for the child he suddenly came to have. When he took her in, claimed her as his own, and raised her as best as a man could, he knew full-well Misery was not human. Fangs, night-black eyes, and pale no matter how much she sat in the slice of sunlight during the day; she also had an unconventional appetite. One which Royal met with an open mind and empathy. It was the reason she grew so quickly, maturing unnaturally like a ruthless weed. Having only lived in Ban Gleann for a year, she took on a figure and maturity that suggested early to mid-twenties. Albeit, she'd only been on this earth a little over a year. Culling gave her the experience she lacked timewise.

How was that possible? Simply put: it wasn't. But because of Royal's sacrifice, it was manageable. Without him, Misery wasn't certain surviving would be easy, but she had a plan.

You can't do this to innocent people. It's wrong.

And now it was time to leave before the locals grew too curious or did something harmful to Royal out of scorn and confusion. Misery wouldn't be able to contain herself if they came too close out of curiosity. Even at this moment, she wanted to stalk door to door and berate them for their lingering eyes and careful whispers. For putting her in this position, to begin with.

It took one mishap for Misery to learn she had to be careful, relying on Royal wholeheartedly until it was starting to take a toll on his health.

This was for the best. At least wherever she ended up, she would be a stranger. Another unknown face in the crowd. They wouldn't know what she was capable of. What she did to survive and how it changed her. The culling. They wouldn't know.

And in such a vast world still bleeding and healing from so many wars, the guilty and the punishable were out there.

Yes, this was for the best.