Of course the night would be darker now that I was closer. I could feel the evil wafting from the depths of their habitat, the thick, putrid smell clogging my nostrils. Yet I trudged onward. I had not come all this way to be defeated by an odor.

The earth here was soft and muddy; my shoes sank into it with every step. No doubt they had cursed it, bewitched it in some way. They must’ve known someone would find them out soon enough, hidden as they were.

I was now within earshot of the foul place, and I felt something like a heavy blanket rest upon my shoulders and cause me to fall over—no doubt the evil concentrated there. I steadied myself easily enough and continued.

They had strange voices, but what more could I have expected from a people like theirs? Oddly high-pitched, sharp, shrill. I winced at the sound of it. The noises were like needles piercing my eardrums. And the words they spoke! Horrible, nasty, unintelligible things. My father would be pleased that I had managed to come so far without being averted by their traits.

I was now so close that I could see the whites in their eyes. Fools they were, bless them, not a single guard outside.

Of course, being this close was both an advantage and a disadvantage. I could perform the task with little effort in this vicinity—it was staying hidden that would be a challenge. Pressing my scarf to my nose to keep out the disgusting smell, I slipped through the gate.

The darkness seemed even more present in this inhabited place than it was outside the gate. And, unsurprisingly, not a single star was visible. A shiver ran up my spine. To be this close to them, I could hardly believe it. I was in awe but had never felt more hatred. And the fear. It was like a claw had grabbed hold of both my lungs and would not let go for the way I had to rasp for breath. The fear, it rested on my heart in layers, with one rolling smoothly out over the previous every time one of those horrendous excuses for human beings walked by. But, I thought with a simple smile, it was nothing to the fear they would soon experience.

I was surprised, I’ll admit, at how many were still out at this hour. Although, I later surmised, such darkness was probably preferred to perform the witchcraft I had heard many tales of.

Before I committed the act, I saw one, all by its lonesome, in the full. A child, I presume. Her face was set with such concern that I almost felt pity. And then—horrifically—her eyes found their way to mine.

The shriek that thing unleashed reverberated within my bones long after it had ended. Bloodcurdling. I wanted to plug my ears to block it out but I could not: I had to stay perfectly still lest the child actually believed a living form was here.

The scream turned but a few heads, and one of the creatures carried the child away, scolding her. When I knew they were well out of sight, I felt a grin take over my face. I had gotten away. Poor child, no one would believe her. All the better for me.

Yet, the child had weakened my resolve. I had to sit for my head was swimming and recount all the heinous acts they had committed, all the horrors my father had told me of. He had never hesitated to speak of these things, even when I was very young. My mother would tell me not to give them too much thought, but how could I not? The tales of murder and genocide, torture and brainwashing, all the things they did, all the things my father experienced because of them… And they were within arm’s reach! And with all the contents of my pockets I could avenge my father’s suffering as he had asked me to do! I rummaged around in my pack and found the ornate dagger hidden within it. The sound it made scraping the sheath as it was removed was music to my ears. I studied the artfully crafted hilt with care, and I found that I could see my reflection clearly in its polished blade.
I could almost taste their bitter blood on my lips.

As I tucked the dagger away, a new sense of rage washed over me. I was sure that my eyes were burning red. I began to creep out of the alleyway, ready to do what I had to when—a hand, on my shoulder! I turned to see her face and saw that she was more vile than any of the others I had ever seen—bulging, red eyes; thin, purplish lips encasing a harsh, evil grin; hair that roared as if made of flames—and I could not control my arms, they did only what they were trained to do—her mouth had become round as if she, too, would emit a terrible sound; I covered it just in time to muffle her screams—and then she fell, the hilt of my weapon protruding from her chest looking ironically comical, the exact image of a serpent.

I looked around wildly to make sure no one had seen the fate of the creature unfold. My hands shook violently as I removed the dagger from my victim’s body and tried to wipe it clean of the venomous blood. It slipped and pierced my own skin. I brought the wound quickly to my lips to suck on it—my victim’s poison might have tainted my own blood. Spitting out the liquid, I sheathed the dagger and, stepping over the body, left the alleyway.

I tried to prevent myself from turning around, but I could not resist. The lifeless form laying there suddenly transformed into my father—his eyes, not the creature’s, wide open in sightlessness.

It ought to have motivated me, to be honest. The first time I saw my father in this way, when it had really happened, I could not contain my anger. He had looked weak in a way that I had never seen him, and that had terrified me. Anger had coursed through my veins. I had had to be locked within my chambers to prevent harming the others, and the only consolation I could find was that my father was finally free of the horrors of the creatures that had haunted him day and night.

Instead, I felt tears sting behind my eyes. I wished to rush to the body’s side and weep over its bloody chest, as I had for my father. Emotion clogged my veins, and I could not help but picture some poor, concerned child in the same shoes I had worn so many years ago: mourning the loss of its mother, vowing to seek revenge upon the entirety of the people to whom her killer belonged. I was this little child—or rather, it would become me.

There I stood, in the entryway of the alley, either unwilling to move or unable to. My feet seemed glued to the ground, and yet I had no desire to remove them. I shed no tears, but showed my remorse through my vigil for the poor soul, for I stood there throughout the night. My father, who cluttered my thoughts constantly, had yet to enter them that night, and, for once, I saw the true consequences of my actions.

I realized perhaps what I had known all along yet pushed into the darkest corners of my mind for my father’s sake. I was not him. I could not do it.
I removed the dagger from its sheath with my quivering fingers and lifted it up to my eyes. Blood still stained the once illustrious metal of the blade, so that I could see no true reflection, just the light from the rising sun bouncing off in all directions.
I stood and turned back to where the body lay. A crowd had gathered around, their faces contorted into various forms of shock. They had not yet seen me.
I approached them, yet they did not acknowledge me. Tossing my hood back so my face was clearly visible, I raised the guilty dagger into the air and proclaimed, “It was I! I confess! The life of this woman was released by the very hand that wields this dagger!” I watched as their confusion turned to anger. Then, knowing what I had to do, I opened my mouth once more. “Forgive me.” Then, quieter, “Forgive me, Father.” I took the dagger with both hands and turned it toward myself. I looked up, closed my eyes, and let out a single breath before thrusting the blade into my own heart—