Diantha
Orfeo walks awayfrom me on that frigid January night and right out of my life.
The days that follow stretch on in a feverish blur of pain. My bones ache, my head pounds. I feel like I ran a marathon through quicksand. I call out of work and spend the next day suspended between sleep and wakefulness, life and death.
Evie comes over with a container of soup in one hand and a black kitten in the other. She gives me long, slow looks as she hands me a warm bowl of butternut squash bisque and plops the baby on my chest for a cuddle.
“Did he hurt you?” she asks quietly. Being serious has never been our forte.
“No…” I shake my head, even though the motion makes my eyes feel like they might explode out of my head. “This one’s partially my fault.”
“Well.” Evie sighs, settling her head on my shoulder. “I have a hard time believing that.”
I flash her a weak smile. “You always see the good in me.”
That night, my dreams become oppressive, chaotic. I find myself at the same kitchen table with my mother, but this time, we’re not alone. Around us, women swathed in black fabric withblack lace veils draped over their heads pace the length of the room. They surround us like flies, coming closer and closer, and just when I flinch, terrified they might make contact with my skin, they blink out of existence before flickering back into the Dream Place, across the room. Then, they start their circle again.
Around and around they go, eyes vacant. Lips moving in silent prayer.
“Have you gotten into the crypt?” Mom asks, red fingernails running up and down her rosary beads.
“Mom.” I sound so young, so scared. “Who are these people?”
She looks up at me and fear grips my heart. My mother’s eyes have taken on the same milky, unfocused gaze. “This is your family, Diantha. The worshippers of Asteria. We’re all here.”
“I never noticed them before…” My voice trembles. This space, this flimsy halfway between life and death, is shrinking. The midday light flickering through the window has become hostile. It’s orange and hot. It’s almost impossible to look right at my beautiful mother.
“There’s nowhere else for us. He’s pushed us as far as he can. He thinks it’s funny.”
“Who ishe, mom?”
She curls her lips over her teeth and shakes her head, lifting a hand to cover her face.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” I say, reaching for her. I feel like I have to shout; then I realize I do have to shout. A howling wind tears through the room, tossing around the lace curtains. “I’m going to get you out of here!”
Suddenly, the ceiling is gone. Above us, there’s nothing but an uninterrupted night sky, littered with stars and galaxies, blood-red planets and creatures made of stardust. They leap great distances, haunches expanding infinitely. Meteors follow behind them, big balls of blue flames tearing through the darkness.
“What’s happening?” I try to yell over the wind, but when I look back toward my mother, she’s gone. The entire kitchen is gone.
The women have formed a circle around me and are closing in, gnarled hands outstretched, mouths frozen in silent screams. Their eyes flicker and roll in their sunken sockets. Closer and closer they come. I try to run but my feet are frozen. My palms sweat. My throat seizes. I try to scream. Tears burn in my eyes as I choke on the wind.
And suddenly their hands are on me. Cold and wet and so strong. They grab at my clothes and reach for my face. They press on, closing in on me. They’re the blackened, beating heart of this realm. Now, their rattling breath is so close I feel it, surrounding me until I can no longer stay upright. My knees buckle. I feel the weight of their bodies collapsing onto me. I feel my final scream catch in my throat and I?—
I jolt awake.
Panting.
Covered in sweat.
Rolled up in my duvet like a damn burrito, my breath coming in quick, jagged pulls.
“Fuck,” I hiss, pushing aside my blankets and crawling across my bed toward my notebook. I grab my pen and scribble out the words:
Asteria
“He”
Days of class and work and avoiding Orfeo morph into weeks. I keep the aching memories of our fight at bay by spendingevery moment that I’m not busy with work and my dissertation researching my mother.
