Page 54 of Vervain

Saya Claymore

Wood groans and metal hinges creak as the door closes, and I sit in the enclosed box. Stale scents in here remind me of essential oils—cedarwood and rot from old oak trees.

Seated on the wooden bench, my hands run across the white fabric of my gown. Dirt-covered fingernails coil across the cotton, gripping tightly while I look out through the gaps in the wooden panelling. The statue of our Goddess of Light, which we pray to, is in the centre of the altar.

“Pir avacen,” a voice whispers in my ear, a tickle of something strange, but I shake it off. My fingernails dig through fabric and into flesh, and I rock back and forth, low hisses breathing in and out.

With it comes a sound, different from the whisper. Closing my eyes, I feel floral blooms bleed from my skin, a mix of purple and white, as they shroud me in their⁠—

The door beside mine clicks. My shoulders tense, and I open my eyes, looking to the mesh panelling beside me. The shadow of a man sits down with a bothered, exasperated sigh. I wait as patiently as I can while my sweaty palms run up and down my lap.

“Here again,” he grumbles. “Seems like a daily occurrence as of late.”

“I have a lot of sins to confess, I’m told,” I murmur.

“And today? What happened today?”

“It wasn’t today.” I clench my hands into fists, my pointed fingernails causing pain to flare. “Last night, I bit my Blessed when we were in the moonflower valley.”

He shuffles in his seat. “And why would you do such a thing?”

I blink slowly, detaching from the brutality of last night. “He tried to rape me.”

The Elder laughs, and my heart sinks. “It was the consummation of your bond. One must sow seed to bloom inside you to keep us thriving.”

“I don’t want his seed inside me.” I smooth down my gown and lean back with a sigh laced with anxiety. “I just want to be left alone to spend days with my brother. I’ve hardly seen him since the ceremony…”

“He will begin his own journey as a Blessed when he is old enough. Your duty is not as his carer. You are a carrier. Both journeys are different.”

“Right…”

The Elder leans closer to the mesh, his words gruff when he says, “Get to know your Blessed. It will make the consummation ceremony easier if you know him.”

“Sure…”

He doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t care to listen. To him, we are cattle to breed so more vegodians can be born. Nothing else matters. No one cares.

I wish this place would burn to the ground…

Devils can take many forms. A stranger down the street, the man in my bed while I pretended I was asleep, and the one whom those of the night worship. They might share a name, but they are very different.

I find more solace in the company of a nightwalker I was raised to hate. I was supposed to loathe him and love the one who thought of me as nothing but a doll to undress.

For the past few days, I’ve seen Serun in the room downstairs with the fireplace. We haven’t spoken since we kissed. He doesn’t initiate conversation, but I know he waits for me to bridge the distance I have put between us.

A sharp, irritated sigh escapes me, expelling my frustration with myself, and I make my way out of my room and past the painting, hesitating for a moment at the man watching the sunrise. My fingers curl inwards, and a tightness constricts my throat.

It would be so sad never to see the sun again.

From the top of the stairs, I can see shadows reaching out of the room with the fireplace. Creeping down until I am on the last step, I grip the railing as I lean to see who is inside.

Serun lounges back on a couch, arm along the back, while his other hand holds a book, flipping pages with his thumb. He is always reading.

I could just ask him. I’m sure he will tell me—but with these dreams mind-fucking me, I’m getting more in my head, doubting him. Lucifer says Serun is curious about me, but he hopes one day he will grow bored and get rid of me.

Am I a passing fixation?

His ear flicks, aware of my presence, but we keep pretending that he doesn’t know I am watching him, trying to understand him from afar. A smile curves across his face as he turns the page, still reading the book.