I glared at my reflection in the tarnished cracked mirror. It was the only one left on the walls of my family’s crumbling manor. My mother had taken care to smash the others. News had come of the death of my father and brother, and the customary mourning period forbade even a passing vanity. 

I tugged at my mousy brown hair. It was curly and tousled and impossible to control. My skin was pale, sickly, like a porcelain doll. Blush dusted my high cheekbones, betraying my every emotion. My eyes were large, wide, showing off my eerie lavender irises. On anyone else they would have been beautiful. But on me, they were a reminder of who I was. The blood that flowed through the veins of my slender underfed body.

My family is cursed, marked. We are known as the Degeneraté. The disquieting hue of the lavender orbs adorning my face are the unfortunate symbol to others that We cannot love and be loved in return. 

How I wish I had a way to break this curse on my kin, and finally be accepted once again into society.  I yearn for a life like other girls, but instead I am sequestered to our dilapidated estate. They cannot risk myself or my sisters being seen in the off chance someone falls in love with our abhorrent features, or even worse, if we fall in love in return. 

A knock on the door ripped me from my spiraling thoughts.

“Oh little Archie! It’s your turn tonight.”

I scowled. I always hated my name and my older sister knew it, condescendingly reminding me whenever she could.

I kicked the door and took satisfaction in the startled squeal from the other side. My sister stomped after a raspy spiteful “BITCH!”

She was right though. Tonight was yet again another full moon, and it was my turn. Looking at my reflection one last time I tried to mask my own fear with indifference. 

“Let’s get this over with.”

—-

Andromeda was the oldest of us and she had the tits to prove it. With an edge of resentment my mother used to say she had leached up all of her own fragile beauty in the womb, leaving little for me when it was my turn to join this wretched world. 

I stalked down the withered hallway after Andromeda, firelight licking the door frame at its end. Another month, another goddamn Rite. My pale knuckles squeezed together at my side. They were callused and knobbly from constant training. 

Archery was my namesake, but it was also my birthright. I could lose myself for hours in it, just me and my heartwood bow, knocking arrow after arrow until I hit the target to my satisfaction. It was my father’s gift to me, and sometimes it was like I could feel his strong hand guiding my elbow to the right level before I let fly.

That night it was different. The autumn fog crept down the foothills obscuring the path to the forest. The moonlight licked the edges of the trees. After my father’s passing Andromeda and I were the only ones left to set firelight to the wheel of cauldrons every full moon. All I wanted was to run, but the townspeople would tear me to pieces. I just wish he was still here. 

Andromeda stayed on the threshold, jeering.

“Say hello to the wolves for me,” she said. I winced. She’s seemed so free ever since father died. 

I walked along the path, my skin bathed in the cold moonlight. During the day, this would be a beautiful walk, as we kept an assortment of beautiful flowers and trees. Birds of every breed sang songs that gave me the fondest memories when I looked back at my childhood. 

At night, however, nature cast ominous shadows as I shivered along my stroll. I looked as far as I could, keeping an eye out for anything that moved. I felt eyes on me. Something was following and I could hear soft crunches approaching me from behind. I turned around and saw his small silhouette. A dark grey cat with a black face. His fur was long and soft, comforting and warm. Silently he loved to be your presence, and helped calm me on nights that I awoke from that dream.

That horrible dream…surrounded by water… sinking…drowning. I would awake from it drenched in sweat staring into his warm and golden eyes.

I gazed into the darkness where the trees parted. Twelve cauldrons perched along a wooden wheel, somehow. 

I approached, wearily. My white dress was doing little to shield me from the cool moonlight. The wheel stood upright and was twice my height. Twelve wooden spokes radiated from the center, where my family crest was forged into the center cap. The image was of a wheel, also with twelve cauldrons. And in the center of that, was a smaller wheel, also also with twelve cauldrons. And in the center of that - my thoughts derailed as I saw a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. 

The wolves had arrived. I pretended to not notice them. They peered from the trees, their yellow eyes narrowing, their ivory fangs gnashing, hoping that I’d make a mistake and they could cross from the trees, into the circle of protection and devour my tender flesh. 

Before me the twelve empty cauldrons waited to be set alight. Behind the forest was a dark abyss.