The flame of Magdalena’s torch sent shadows dancing across the walls of the crypt.
She prowled toward my open sarcophagus on her nightly patrol, dressed like the other priestesses who supposedly communed with the dead: face obscured by the hood of a heavy wool cloak, feet snug in worn boots, a dagger sheathed at her waist.
She didn’t remember what I remembered, but her memory would return when I broke the cycle tonight.
When she came close enough, I sat up and grabbed her wrist. Her shrill scream ricocheted off the walls. As I pulled her to me, the lavender scent of her skin filled my nostrils. Once again.
“Don’t you remember me, mi querida Magda?” I loosened my grip and breathed in her familiar perfume, savoring every bit of it, before she managed to pull away.
I reached for her, tugged her close again, and bit her wrist gently to jog her memory. Taken aback, she peered into my pale face. Startled recognition flared in her dark eyes, and she gasped. “Ana!”
Even though our physical characteristics and temperaments diverged every time we reincarnated, we had an uncanny knack for finding each other. After each cycle ended, we didn’t remember anything that had happened to us before. At least, we weren’t supposed to.
Both of us had been apprentice witches a few lifetimes ago. We’d loved each other without bothering anyone. And then, after a ritual we cast together, Magdalena had become pregnant without male seed. The church elders condemned us for having engaged with what they considered dark and unnatural magic. Catch them and kill them! Their cries thundered through the vaults of the church.
They hanged Magdalena in the patio before my eyes and then burned me at the stake. I still remembered vividly how her body gave a last twitch before it sagged, how she expelled the dead fetus. I could still taste the sour smell of my singed flesh.
“What are you doing here?” Magdalena asked, blinking, confused.
“I sneaked down here a few days ago to wait for you,” I said. “I’m here to turn you undead, to break the cycle.” My rib bones crackled with joy, and I ran my cold fingers over the warm skin of her wrist. She shivered, but didn’t jerk away.
“What cycle?”
“Once I turn you, you won’t have to be reborn ever again. You’ll remember everything, and more importantly, we’ll stay together forever.” I smiled the best I could with my ruined face. “Don’t you trust me?”
She didn’t answer, and I watched as she paced the narrow confines of the aisle. The air around us increasingly became chilly and stale. Magdalena was always more cautious than I. She never would have risked the ire of the church, but I insisted on starting a family. She always thought through her actions, and after so many cycles, so did I.
“When did you turn?” she asked.
“A few months ago, when I got lost in the woods while gathering mushrooms; I was bitten by a wolf. My wound became horribly infected afterward, and I ran a high fever for days on end.” I glanced away as Magdalena’s eyes bloomed with pity. “My fever never broke. I died.”
I didn’t like talking about those days, but she needed to know. “Before my family could bury me, though, I opened my eyes. I had turned undead! And I remembered everything.”
“Are you saying the undead are all-knowing?”
“Sort of. We have infallible memories.”
Magdalena paused, doubtful, and my smile almost slipped, but I believed in my love. And I knew, somewhere deep inside, that she still believed in me.
Magdalena returned to where I waited, and she held my hands.
“Here’s to forever,” she said, lifting an invisible glass in a toast. “I’m ready whenever you are.” She leaned forward, perhaps, to demonstrate her eagerness. Maybe she didn’t want to make things more arduous for both of us than they had already been.
“You won’t mind joining me in my cursed existence?”
“No, Ana.” Magdalena shook her head as if to shoo away my doubt. “I’m more than happy to leave this sect behind.”
I reached for her and planted kisses on her cheeks.
As I sank my fangs into Magdalena’s neck, she writhed in pleasure. Savoring her sweet blood, I shivered in anticipation of what was to come. We would love one another for eternity.
Toshiya Kamei
(she/they) is an Asian writer who takes inspiration from fairy tales,
folklore, and mythology. Her short stories have appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Galaxy’s Edge, and elsewhere. Her piece “Hungry Moon” won Apex Magazine’s October 2022 Microfiction Contest.
1 comments:
This piece has so many layers. I think what really resonates with me is the twin feelings of tragedy and triumph in how these characters were forced to find an alternate route because of the ignorance and intolerance of the society around them. They suffered for it but still found their own brand of freedom, one that transcends the power of the society that condemned them.
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