Duskwalkers.
To see one meant death was near. Not just for humans, but also the Demons, animals – everything. They were terrifyingly intelligent. They could speak, they could bargain, and they could destroy if their mood decided it.
Some villages, far, far away from where she lived, had never encountered one. Most humans would live their entire lives and never see one, nor speak to someone who had. Unfortunately, that had never been the case for the town she called home.
Even from when she was little, she’d known about Duskwalkers. That if she saw one in the distance, to run.
The easiest way to spot a Duskwalker was their face, or rather lack thereof.
The Duskwalker that presumably lived closest to them in the Veil walked around with black clothing that covered its body from neck to feet. It also wore a black cloak that covered its head.
One could have presumed it was a human from behind, based on its attire, if it weren’t for the fact that it was seven feet tall with Impala antelope horns jutting through two holes cut into its black hood. If it faced you, you would see a long-nosed wolf skull as it stared at you with glowing blue orbs that floated in its empty eye sockets.
The Duskwalker never travelled alone, always accompanied by two black ethereal wolves that had blue flames wisping through their fur. Their faces were skulled as well – like they copied their master – and they were disturbingly silent. Their paws never crunched in the snow in winter or rustled the leaves in summer. They didn’t huff their breath. They didn’t howl.
They only made a strange, warped bark of an animal that sounded as though it was dying, and they only did it on command of their master.
To see a Duskwalker, and his companions, roaming above the Veil in human territory meant it had been ten years since it had been last seen, and it was looking to make a bargain in one of their towns once more.
And apparently, Reia Salvias was going to be offered up as a sacrifice.
“For as long as we can remember, there have been monsters,” Reia said with a stern, yet dull voice. Lifting her arms, she allowed the Priestess dressing her to deftly clad her in a white dress. “Why do they believe I am the reason for them now?”
The dress slipping over her body was simple enough.
It hugged her curves around her torso before it hung loosely around her hips and legs. Lace cuffs were frilly as they draped long and wide around her wrists, swaying each time she moved her hands. Although her hands stopped at her mid-thighs, the frilly sleeves draped down to just below her knees.
Other than the long sleeves having lace, the only other place there was lace was around her waist that then trailed down in front of her, reaching a V down to her knees.
It appeared to be terribly made, but it was remarkably soft, like a cotton cloud, against her sensitive skin.
“You know why,” the Priestess answered with a curt tone. “They have told us you are a harbinger of bad omens.”
The Priestess – since that was all Reia could call her by as they didn’t share their names – was dressed in a white cloak that had large purple runic symbols painted into the seams of the cloak. Every seam around the hood, the sleeves, the opening down the centre, and even the hem that danced just above the ground were covered in purple runes.
They all wore white clay masks with accents of gold decorating each one. The woman dressing her had decided to paint a cat-eye design around the mask’s white mesh covered eyes, while the lips, that bore only the slightest opening so she could be heard, were painted golden like lipstick.
The Priestess sounded much older than Reia’s twenty-six years of age, but instead of the kindness that she’d spoken with in her aged voice to the rest of the village, she spoke coarsely to Reia.
She was forced to watch herself being dressed in the oval-shaped mirror of this small room that was her entire house. The Priestess’ gown disturbed all the hidden dust Reia hadn’t managed to find and clean away. The dust glittered in the morning sunshine that washed into the timber floored room, not giving any indication of how grisly the day was to truly be for her.
Instead, it looked beautiful, peaceful, warm – despite it being so early spring that not a single flower could blossom under the remaining snow.
In front of her was her body length mirror, while next to it was her single wooden-carved bed that held the most uncomfortable mattress known in creation. It should have been made of fluff, fur, and wool; instead, it was made of straw and hay.
On the other side of the room was a small stone kitchen hearth she had to light with a match to cook. The dining table and singular chair – since she never had visitors – was right next to the hearth in this cluttered home.