WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Eight: The Eternal Night
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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 Two Hundred Forty-Five: The Scholar's Discovery
Year 254 – Two Hundred Forty-Three Years After the Curse
The scholar in the west had studied for two hundred forty-three years.
Not literally—she was only thirty-two. But she had studied as if she had been reading for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every page of every book.
She believed she had found the queen's origin.
She believed she understood her weakness.
She believed she could end her.
Her name was Liana—another echo, another coincidence. She was young, curious, and brilliant. She had a library. A collection. A purpose.
She had heard the stories.
The legends.
The fear.
She believed them.
She knew the queen was powerful. Immortal. Invincible.
But she also knew that no one was truly invincible.
Everyone had a beginning.
Everyone had an origin.
Everyone had a weakness.
She just had to find it.
And she had found something.
A diary.
An ancient diary, written by the queen's own hand, hidden in a secret compartment of a forgotten library. It described her childhood, her first kills, her curse.
Liana had read it.
She had wept.
She had understood.
She was not born a monster, Liana thought.
She was made.
By her family.
By her kingdom.
By the world that ignored her.
There must be a way to reverse it.
There must be a way to save her.
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Western Library – Morning
Liana read in her library, as she always did.
The books were old. The pages were yellow. The words were fading.
Life is short, she thought.
Life is fragile.
Life is precious.
She did not see the shadows.
She did not hear the whispers.
She did not feel the darkness watching.
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The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Three million and seven 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 scholar.
She is curious, they said. She is brilliant. She is dangerous.
She has found a diary. An ancient diary. Written by your own hand.
She has read it.
She has wept.
She has understood.
She believes she can save you.
She believes she can reverse the curse.
She believes she can redeem you.
Liora's smile faded.
A diary, she thought.
My diary.
She has read it.
She has wept.
She has understood.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Western Library – Night
Liana worked late into the night.
She held the diary.
It was old. The pages were yellow. The words were fading.
She was lonely, Liana thought.
She was neglected.
She was ignored.
If someone had loved her—
If someone had seen her—
If someone had helped her—
She might have been different.
She might have been saved.
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Library
Liora appeared in the doorway.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Liana looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Liana reached for the diary.
Liora moved.
Faster than Liana could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the scholar's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Liana tried to pull away.
She could not.
Liora's grip was like iron.
"What are you?"
"I am what comes next."
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The Feeding – Liana
Liora reached into the scholar's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was curious. Brilliant. Determined.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the studies...
...the discoveries...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could understand her...
...that she could save her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The curiosity.
The brilliance.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Liana gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Liana went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The scholar was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Diary
Liora picked up the diary.
It was old. The pages were yellow. The words were fading.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She opened the diary.
She read her own words.
"I was born on a winter night. I did not cry. I did not struggle. I simply opened my eyes and began to watch."
"By age seven, I had killed my first human."
"By twelve, my hands were stained with the blood of dozens."
"I learned to wear innocence like a second skin—the soft voice, the tilted head, the demure smile that made everyone whisper, 'What a sweet girl.'"
"No one suspected."
"No one ever suspected."
"Until it was too late."
She closed the diary.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This diary could reveal everything, she thought.
My origin.
My weakness.
My humanity.
But I have no need for humanity.
I have no need for origins.
I have no need for weakness.
I am the origin.
I am the weakness.
I am the humanity.
She burned the diary in the library's brazier.
The pages curled.
The words faded.
The history died.
No one will ever read it now, she thought.
No one will ever know.
No one will ever understand.
I am safe.
I am eternal.
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The Three Million Eighth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the library, surrounded by books and silence.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power – Three Million Eight
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and eight sacrifices. Three million and eight souls. Three million and eight streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million eight, 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 body.
A scholar. Curious. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the curious.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Liana's body in the library's brazier.
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 ruins as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face in a broken fountain.
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 open to the sky.
No walls. No roof. No protection.
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 south. A warrior. Determined. She had been training for years, preparing for the day when she would face the queen.
She believed she was ready.
She believed she could win.
She believed she could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let her train, she thought.
Let her prepare.
Let her believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when she comes—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Five