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"We have come here for you, and we're coming in peace
Mothership will take you on higher, higher
This world you live in is not a place for someone like you
Come on, let us take you home
It's time to go, you are infected
Come as you are, don't be scared of us, you'll be protected
(Protected, protected)
I guess you are a different kind of human
There is a flaw in man-made matters
But you are pure, and we have to get you out of here"
─ Aurora, 'A Different Kind of Human'
"The father could not bear to lose the daughter he loved so much to the same terrible sickness which took his wife. And thus, he and the other villagers carried their ailing loved ones to the church atop the hill, with all the strength the dying hope in their hearts could provide.”
She turns the page.
The book is in Romanian, he is supposed to read along while listening to her first saying a sentence in Romanian, then repeating it in English. Ethan has been learning well enough. But today he barely listens. The story passes him by like a boat on a slowly flowing river, never spared more than a fleeting glance once in a while. He only pays enough attention for her not to notice.
“—then Mother Miranda raised her hands to the sky and proclaimed: ‘Fear not, for your suffering has ended! No more will you be hounded by disease and death, for I have received Dumnezeul Negru’s divine blessing!’”
The castle reminds him of Alice in Wonderland. When she drinks the shrinking potion. All the furniture is three times as big as normal. Even if he managed to slip off her lap, the chair is so tall he’d probably break a bone jumping down.
Did she eat the growing cake? Is that why she is that way?
“Here’s a little quiz for you, Ethan – who is Dumnezeul Negru?”
“The Black God.”
“Good boy,” she kisses his cheek, ruffles his hair.
Every night Ethan dreams about the day he met her. How her claws cut off his real mother’s head in one swift motion, how his father’s guts spilled when he tried to wretch him from her arms.
(Red. Red. Red. She was red. She was red and she told him he’s finally home. Home where he belongs. Home with her.)
He is deeply afraid of her. But she treats him kindly, so sometimes he fools himself into pretending she is his mother, when he falls asleep in her embrace or lets her bathe him.
(Ethan likes being bathed. Likes it when she dries him with a towel. Being cradled in her arms when she lifts him out of the tub. When she takes off his clothes. When her hands caress his body while she washes him. When she touches him in a place no one else has.)
She takes his little hand in hers, making his finger follow the text as she speaks,
“The daughter screamed at the godless horror before her. The man who was once her father had turned into a horrible beast, with ashen skin and dull, soulless eyes. Its mouth was painted red and when she looked down she discovered that the abomination had dug up the grave and feasted on the carcass. The carcass of her late mother.”
Ethan recognizes the monster. Maybe he would have been afraid of the drawing, back then. But now he feels nothing. They look much scarier in person.
“The beast grunted and before the daughter could even turn heel, it jumped her. She desperately cried out ‘Papa!’, hoping to appeal to whatever humanity might still have resided within the monstrous creature – but her plea fell on deaf ears. The father who had once so strenuously fought to save his daughter’s life quenched it with his very hands.”
The next illustration shows the same monster again, chewing at a severed arm with the daughter’s mangled body lying at its feet.
“Not a very happy story, isn’t it? Most of the stories of this village aren’t very happy ones.”
She gently removes the book from his hands and rests it on the side table.
“Do you know why the father turned into a beast?”
Ethan shakes his head.
“The book says because he held onto his false god instead of worshipping Mother Miranda. But I will tell you a secret – the truth is, his will wasn’t strong enough.”
To Ethan it just seemed like what the villagers were given wasn’t actually a cure.
“Everyone can be devout. The other lords all have their shortcomings – because they lack the will to truly control themselves. They give in and that turns their strength into weakness. In the end it’s the will to survive which drives all living creatures. If you truly, truly want to live, nothing will stand in your way.”
She pauses.
“But I admit I have a weakness, too. My love. For you and your sisters. That is why I will always keep you safe.”
*
„How come you’re calling yourself the kid’s mother. Aren’t the lords supposed to be siblings?” Uncle Karl sniffs derisively.
“Finders keepers,” she says. “Wasn’t I the one who brought Ethan home where he belongs? Besides, Mother Miranda is much too busy finding new vessels and I hardly think you or any of the others are fit to be a parent.”
“Oh yes, because you’ve done such a great job raising those psycho bitches.”
“Language!” she hisses between gritted teeth, barely containing her anger. Ethan can feel her nails sharpening against his back.
“I can talk however I fucking please, Schwesterherz. I know you’re a giant and all but can you stop holding him like that for once. The boy’s not a baby or a damn puppet, you’re creeping me more out than Donna.”
Her grip on him tightens even more and Ethan shuts his eyes. He’d love for her to let him go so he could hide somewhere. Listening to them scares him. Everything about this place scares him.
“You should hold your tongue, Heisenberg, or I’ll cut it out. Remember, I was more of a mother than a sister to you when you were a child. But you’ve always been terribly ungrateful. You could learn a thing or two from little Ethan here.”
“So that’s why you’re pulling all this shit? Because he’s your favorite. I don’t get why we’re bothering with this kid at all, he’s not a vessel anyway. He’s just gonna grow up to be another minion the bitch’s gonna sacrifice.”
“As much as I respect Mother Miranda, I believe she severely misjudged Ethan’s worth. His abilities are already exceptional. Imagine the heights he couldt reach once he is old enough for Cadou treatment. He is much too precious to be wasted as a vessel.”
“So he’s your little side project. What would Mother Miranda say if she heard you talking about her like that?”
“I’m telling you this precisely because you hate her more than me or anyone else. Who knows, perhaps Ethan will fulfill your wish one day and kill her. You wouldn’t waste an opportunity like this, would you?”
“Fine, what the fuck do you want?”
“I want copies of Miranda’s research –everything we’re not allowed to see. Preferably samples of yours and the others’ DNA, too. And I’ll make you a list of all the equipment I’ll need for testing. Ethan is already on a good way to become like me, and he doesn’t have my genetic curse. He could become perfectly immortal.”
She runs her fingers through his hair.
“And get him some toys while you’re at it. You can make things like that at your factory, right? And nothing as faulty as your Soldats, please.”
“You fucking…”
“He’s your best chance at getting the revenge you so desire. So you better treat him as precious as he is. He’s your nephew, after all.”
*
“Let me look at you, child.”
She grabs him under the arms and turns him to face her.
Ethan doesn’t like the taste of her lipstick.
Her tongue is so large he has trouble breathing. It glides over his lower lip, traces the contours of his teeth before meeting the tip of his own.
There were times where her tongue went in too far, when she gripped him too tightly and left bruises. But she apologized and now she’s always careful.
Despite everything, it feels kind of nice and Ethan doesn’t understand why.
(She’s never scolded him and she always plays with him. She frightens him and he doesn’t want her or any of the nice things she does, except when he does. And it makes him feel guilty, because if she hadn’t killed his parents he might’ve wished to have a mother just like her.)
She grabs him by the hair, tilting Ethan’s head to bare his neck.
(He is still too young to have read a scary story, to know about vampires. Otherwise this would be a very frightening experience for him.)
Lips pitter-patter all over his throat, painting a trail of red kiss marks from his jaw down to his collar.
And then she cups the front of his pants.
“You are so sweet I could eat you up.”
He swallows. She tries to keep it secret, but he knows why the servants change so frequently, why they shake with fear every time they meet her.
(She’s careful to never shout when he’s nearby, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear her powerful voice echo through the castle. If a servant does even the tiniest mistake they are gone the next day. Her kindness is limited to him only and Ethan worries what might happen if he were to provoke her fickle temper.)
Her other hand slips under his shirt, the way she strokes his chest reminds Ethan of the dog he used to have. Back in his old life.
He rests his head against her chest. Something is poking him there.
The first time the feeling was so foreign all it took was for her to hold him.
Her palm starts to slowly rub him, up and down, up and down.
“Can you feel my boundless devotion, darling boy? Can your body read my declaration of love?”
Ethan shakily digs his fingers into her arms, holding on, because it’s so good she might break him apart.
His breath hitches and he bucks into her touch.
Then, suddenly, the feeling explodes behind his eyes and he arches his back with a silent scream.
She pats his back.
Ethan remembers the stories his real mother used to read him. Hänsel and Gretel. Snow White. Rapunzel. The new mother is like a monster from such a tale. She’s the witch in the gingerbread house, the wolf disguised as family.
He should be fighting.
But the love of a monster is all he has now.
She picks him up and carries him to her chambers.
He is bathed, dressed in nightwear.
When he first saw the night gown he thought it was for girls. It does look like a dress and it has those frills at the neck and sleeves. But she told him it belonged to one of her brothers when she was mortal. The gown has a strange stale smell – it must be older than Ethan and his parents together.
She makes him sleep in her bed and he knows her daughters are jealous of him.
They could take his place anytime for all he cares. Her bed is so big and so soft Ethan worries it might swallow him.
“You see, children are the most wonderful gifts you can receive. They give meaning to the lives of their parents and fill their souls with immortal love. They are the flame that warms them, the water that sustains them and the stars that guide them.”
This is not how fairy tales are supposed to be. Fairy tales are supposed to have happy endings. The villagers shouldn’t embrace the false cure of the Black God. The father shouldn’t kill his daughter. The boy shouldn’t start believing the witch when she says she loves him.
“Before I met Mother Miranda, I was very sick. All my sons and daughters died in childbed or during birth. But then she gave me new life; and your sisters. And I am forever grateful for that,” she explains. “But you I found by own. You’re all mine, mine only.”
She pulls him close, rocking him back and forth. Ethan almost drowns in the softness of her chest.
“Goodnight, micul meu cadou.”
