Amrite’s pulse quickened and his throat dried as the figures drew closer, their forms solidifying into sharp relief against the backdrop of shadowed trees. These were no phantoms or figments of his mind. They were real; solid, breathing, and moving with the deliberate confidence of people who knew exactly where they belonged.

  The group of six was a mix of ages but shared a ruggedness that seemed carved from the land itself. Broad shoulders, calloused hands, and thick, unkempt beards framed the men’s faces. Their clothes, simple and earthy, bore signs of wear with many patches sewn over old tears. One of the men, his face lined with age and worry, stepped forward, his eyes scanning Amrite with concern.

  “Maya, are you alright? Why did you run off like that?” His voice was deep but kind, carrying a weight of familiarity that Amrite did not share.

  Amrite froze, caught between his mounting desperation for answers and the realisation that he had none of the tools to ask the questions. The man’s words made sense, each syllable ringing clear and distinct in his mind, but they came wrapped in an alien cadence, a language he knew he had never heard.

  “I…” he began, his voice trembling. The single sound that escaped him was wrong - alien in his own ears. He tried again, stringing together syllables in what he hoped would form coherence, but the result was garbled and broken, a mockery of communication.

  “Maya?” The man’s concern deepened, his brows knitting together.

  “She looks as if she’s possessed by a follower of Ra,” one of the younger men sneered, his tone dripping with derision. He was leaner than the others, his sharp features and unkind eyes suggesting a penchant for cruelty.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the elder snapped, though his voice lacked the steel to cut through the tension. “She’s had too much to drink. That’s all.”

  The others murmured in agreement, their voices a low rumble of speculation and dismissal. Amrite’s mind raced, grasping at the implications. They think I’m drunk? Possessed? The absurdity of it might have been laughable if it weren’t for the deeper unease that crept in with their assumptions.

  He opened his mouth again, desperate to explain, to plead for understanding, but the words refused to come. They stuck in his throat like jagged stones, splintering under the weight of his frustration. Why can I understand them but not speak? The question echoed in his mind, gnawing at the edges of his sanity. The language was there, as though etched into the corners of his consciousness, yet every attempt to wield it felt like trying to hold a handful of sand with a clenched fist, the more that he tried, the more that it slipped away from him.

  Amrite stumbled back a step, his hands clenching and unclenching as if searching for something tangible to anchor himself. Was this some fragment of Maya’s memory, bleeding into his mind? Or was this world warping him, forcing its language into his thoughts while denying him the means to use it?

  The younger man sneered again, his voice cutting through Amrite’s.

  “All that running, the erratic behaviour... She’s been acting strange for weeks.” The young man’s voice oozed derision, each syllable honed to a blade’s edge, cutting deeper with the sneer etched into his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she started speaking in tongues, judging by that wild, unhinged look of hers.” He spat, the dark fleck sinking into the dirt like a poisoned seed, his cold, unyielding gaze locking onto Amrite’s.

  A bead of sweat traced its way down Amrite’s spine, an icy line of unease. The venom in the man’s stare made his skin crawl, his throat tightening with discomfort so foreign it was almost paralyzing, Amrite’s vulnerability came to the forefront as he realised that he had no way to protect himself if these men wanted to attack him.

  “Enough.” the elder barked, his tone firm now. “She’s coming with us. She’ll be fine once she’s had some time to rest. The upcoming cleansing dance has been hard on the girl and she’s not the only one who has too much to drink” the man said while eyeballing the younger man, daring him to say another word with his own pressing stare.

  After a long, tense moment, the younger man’s gaze faltered, his stare breaking from Maya as his eyes shifted to the ground.

  “Come.” the elder said at last, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of inevitability.

  “The cleansing dance is about to begin.”

  Amrite hesitated, his mind a storm of fractured thoughts. How am I supposed to get them to answer my questions when I can’t even speak? He looked down at his trembling hands—hands that didn’t feel like his own. I’m trapped in this body, in this strange village… and these people, who even are they? Fear clawed at his chest, sharp and unrelenting. I’m so fucking scared, but what can I do? Run? Run where?

  But hesitation wasn’t an option. The strangers were already turning, their backs receding into the dim light as they began to walk away. The thought of being left alone in the suffocating darkness, stranded with only his spiralling confusion, filled him with dread. Whatever waits ahead, he told himself, it has to be better than staying here. He swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move, and followed them into the unknown.

  His legs moved again, seemingly without his permission, each step clumsy and laden with reluctant acceptance. The air was cooling rapidly now as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, shivering shadows across the path. A faint wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the earthy scent of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. The mournful calls of birds echoed in the quiet, and for a fleeting moment, they tugged him back to childhood hikes with his father. He could almost feel the sturdy grip of his father’s hand and the comforting rustle of the forest around them, the light filtering through the trees like shards of gold. The memory stirred a flicker of warmth in his chest, a temporary balm against the relentless churn of fear and disorientation. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger there, in that simpler, safer time, before the weight of the present pulled him back.

  The group’s voices drifted around him, muffled and distant, as though he were submerged in water. Words floated in and out of focus, fragments that refused to piece together. The unfamiliar names and concepts twisted in his mind, meaningless yet strangely weighted, like relics of a life he’d never known.

  Amrite thought back to when one of them called him Possessed. The word lingered in his mind, a dark thread weaving through his scattered thoughts. If they truly believed he was possessed, what would they do to him?

  Ahead, the older man glanced back, his expression softening as their eyes met. He motioned for Amrite to keep pace, the gesture of familiarity although warm did nothing to ease the gnawing of dread that coiled in Amrite’s chest and dried his throat. He wondered who this man was to this girl, the questions continuing to pile up, one on top of the other without any sign of stopping.

  The path wound through the forest, the trees pressing close on either side like silent sentinels. Amrite focused on the sound of his footsteps, the soft crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his borrowed feet. His mind churned with questions he couldn’t ask, answers he couldn’t fathom.

  What was this world? Why was he here? And how much of Maya was still in this world? Had she disappeared, had they swapped places? Nothing made sense. More fragments of their conversation reached his ears, slipping past like stray arrows.

  “Aelira’s only fourteen. She won’t survive the pain of the cleanse,” one of the men exclaimed, his long braided beard trembling as he spoke. The words landed like a stone plunged into still water, sending ripples of unease through the group.

  “She’s strong,” another man replied, though the edge in his voice dulled under the weight of his own doubt.

  “But at that age… to have their claws buried so deep in her soul, not even these can pull her free. They’ll try, but it won’t be enough. Maybe it’s kinder to give her an easy death before the demon tears her apart.”

  “Enough,” the elder snapped, his voice sharp and cutting through the rising tension like a blade.

  “It’s not strength that matters,” he continued, his tone measured yet unyielding. “It’s survival. And you all know that.”

  No one answered. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, and laden with the weight of things no one dared say aloud.

  Amrite clenched his fists at his sides, the conversation swirling around him like smoke, thick and choking. The cleansing dance. Possession. Survival. The words pieced together fragments of a puzzle he couldn’t fully see, jagged edges tearing at his thoughts. Who was Aelira? Why did her name carve through the air with such weight, what was going to happen to this girl?

  His mind churned with darker questions: AeliraThe thought made his stomach twist.

  The elder’s voice cut through the fog of his spiralling thoughts, quieter this time as if speaking more to himself than to the others. “Let’s pray we don’t need more than the bards this time.”

  It wasn’t long before they reached their destination, a small, unassuming entrance that led into a dark room. The air shifted the moment Amrite stepped inside, growing heavier, almost suffocating, as though it carried a weight that pressed down on his chest. It was thick with the metallic tang of candle smoke, sharp and intrusive, mingling with something else - something unfamiliar, something foul, like the rancid stench of food long past its time.

  The room was cramped, barely large enough for the fifty or so chairs arranged in tight rows, all facing a narrow stage at the far end. The only light came from candles scattered across the walls, their flames flickering in unnatural hues. Reds melted into blues, purples swirled into deep greens, the colours shifting and twisting like something alive. Shadows played along the faces of the gathered crowd, distorting their features into strange, unrecognisable shapes.

  At the centre of it all, at the very end of the stage, stood a young woman. Her head was bowed, her long, black, curly hair cascading over her face like a veil, obscuring her features. She looked young, her figure small, almost frail, but there was quiet defiance in the way she stood, her bare feet gripping the worn wooden floor as though she were rooted to it.

  She sat motionless, still as a statue, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room as they entered. Even in her stillness, there was an oppressive tension Amrite felt, as though she were a spring coiled too tightly, waiting for the moment it would snap.

  Her dress: the bodice a deep, blood-red crimson that poured into cascading layers of black ruffles. The fabric pooled around her feet in waves, catching the flickering light like the surface of a restless red sea.

  The elder moved with quiet purpose, his hand gripping Maya’s as he guided her to the front rows of the seats. His steps were deliberate, each one echoing faintly against the wooden floorboards. He stopped just before the stage, lifting Maya’s hand in his as though to anchor her in place.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Your sister is strong and today is different. Three cantaors were sent by the high court to expel this demon. They’re some of the best in the province and have dedicated their whole life to this sole purpose. “They will squeeze it out and it will be made to suffer, never to hurt anyone again”.

  Amrite swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he processed the elder’s words. He couldn’t look away from the girl on the stage, from the terrible stillness that seemed to radiate from her like an unspoken scream. He remembered from the conversation he heard earlier she was only fourteen and now another terrifying piece of the puzzle unravelled, it was Maya’s sister?

  The room sank into an uneasy silence as they took their seats, a stillness so profound it seemed to press against the walls. Every murmur, every shuffle of movement ceased as three figures clad in blacks and deep crimsons similar to the girl approached the stage. Their steps were deliberate, their heels striking the wooden floor with a weight that reverberated through the air and made Amrite’s heart shake. They moved with the kind of solemn purpose that left no room for doubt, no space for levity.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Amrite watched them, unease twisting in his chest. Is this The thought was absurd, almost laughable, if not for the suffocating heaviness that hung over the room.

  The first man carried an instrument that resembled a guitar, though its pale, bone-like surface gleamed unnaturally in the flickering candlelight, as if it had been carved from something living and ancient. He stepped to the left edge of the stage, his fingers hovering above the strings with an almost predatory precision, poised to summon the first notes into existence.

  The second bard moved to the opposite side, his face carved into a mask of intensity, his eyes fixed dead ahead, unwavering, as though he stared at something beyond the visible world.

  The third man lingered in the centre, directly in front of the unmoving girl. His eyes were closed, his expression serene and otherworldly, as though he were already a part of the ritual yet to begin. An unspoken gravity emanated from him, a presence that seemed to blur the boundaries between the physical and the ethereal as if he existed in two worlds at once.

  Without a word, the man on the right side of the stage began. His hands came together in a steady, deliberate clap, the sound sharp and rhythmic, reverberating through the room like an invocation. Each clap carried a weight that transfixed the audience, as though the very air leaned in to listen.

  Then, almost on cue, the guitarist moved. His fingers danced across the strings, and the first notes spilt forth - swift, sharp twangs that faded almost as quickly as they came, leaving behind a trail of clarity. The sound was alive, brighter and more vibrant than any ordinary guitar, each note bursting into the air before dissolving, as if reality itself couldn’t contain them for long. The music curled through the room like tendrils of smoke, delicate yet commanding, bending the atmosphere to its will.

  As the guitar’s lively rhythm took hold of the space, the man in the middle began slamming his feet down in precise, percussive movements, the sound crashing through the room like hammers striking anvils. The vibrations resonated deep, as though they reached the very bones of the audience, each strike forging the foundation of something immense and unstoppable.

  The singer began to move, weaving across the stage with quick, decisive steps, his feet tapping and stomping with a fiery intensity. The floor seemed to respond to him, amplifying the sound until it filled every corner of the room, each tap a declaration of power. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as his movements grew faster, and more intricate, the sound climbing in force until it became a storm of rhythm and energy.

  And then it began.

  The shift was sudden, a tangible ripple through the air as the man behind the girl finally opened his mouth. A melody poured forth, deep and resonant, a voice so rich and unearthly it seemed to rise from the earth itself. The sound was both a lament and a command, ancient and primal, gripping the room with an almost oppressive weight. The layers of music fell one on top of the other, each distinctive and standing out from the other beautifully, but there was something dark and deeply rooted in the music that transfixed Amrite as he couldn’t take his eyes off the performance, the sounds shaking his organs and mind.

  The girl, bound in stillness until this moment, moved. It was as if invisible chains had shattered, releasing her from their grasp. Amrite almost forgot she was there, the music up until this point completely having taken his attention and not allowing him to look at the woman.

  A smile had spread across her face - if it could even be called that. The corners of her mouth stretched impossibly high, carving an expression no human should be able to summon. Her teeth, unnaturally large and jagged, gleamed in the flickering light, each one too perfect, too sharp. The deadness in her eyes had been replaced, but not with life. What looked out now was something far worse: a manic, hollow joy, a grotesque happiness that didn’t belong in the oppressive darkness of this room. Was this the demon they had spoken of until now finally showing itself? Was it hypnotised into action through some sort of spell?

  Mechanically, she stepped forward, her movements stiff and deliberate, like a puppet pulled along by unseen strings. She stopped at the very edge of the stage, her shoes teetering just over the drop as if daring gravity to claim her.

  The music didn’t falter. The man on the right kept clapping, his rhythm relentless and unyielding, while the guitarist’s fingers danced over the strings, the notes rising and falling with a hypnotic urgency. The dancer, who had commanded the stage moments ago, stepped back into the shadows, his powerful presence dimming as he gave way to the girl’s grotesque transformation, although his mouth still moved ceaselessly, each note and sound flowing with flawless procession as if crafted by an instrument rather than human lips. He remained behind her, his haunting melody weaving through the room like a living thing, wrapping itself around the horror unfolding on the stage.

  Then the girl turned sharply, her movements had become unnervingly precise as she began weaving around the stage.

  The sounds came like a thunderclap. The heel of her bare foot struck the stage with a force that seemed to ripple through the air, louder and fiercer than anything that had come before. If the dancer’s earlier taps had been hammers, hers were fireworks exploding in rapid succession, each one crashing through the room with unrelenting ferocity. The rhythm, once commanded by the dancer, shifted entirely, folding itself to her movements as her relentless blows punished the floorboards, driving them into submission.

  Amrite’s breath caught as the men followed her lead, their movements and music bending to the rhythm she now set. It was as though she had seized the reins of the ritual, pulling the threads of sound and motion into her hands. Her fingers curled, wide and majestic, every gesture carving the air with newfound purpose. The stage, once dominated by the dancer’s commanding presence, now belonged entirely to her.

  The rhythms twisted and turned, bouncing between slow, deliberate beats and frantic, chaotic bursts. The music swelled, filling the space with an almost unbearable energy, each shift in tempo leaving the audience breathless. And still, her control was absolute.

  Amrite couldn’t look away. He was utterly transfixed, his eyes locked on her as though an invisible force held them in place.

  Then her face began changing, no. There was a better word for it… Morphing.

  "It started with the smile—impossibly wide, her lips stretching so far it seemed her face might split apart. The grin flickered, twisting into something even more grotesque. Her jaw unhinged with a sickening crack, the sound of splintering bones reverberating through the air. Her skin pulled taut over her skull, sharpening every contour into something skeletal and otherworldly. A low, sinister laugh escaped her. It sank into Amrite’s chest, sending a shiver down his spine and locking him in place, paralysed by the fear of a predator sitting only meters away from him."

  The candles in the room seemed to pulse, shifting from pink to deep purple, then to an eerie red. It bathed her face in shifting hues, each one exaggerating the unnatural contortions of her features, making her appear less human with every passing second.

  She twirled, her dress a crimson blur as she picked up speed. The beat quickened, driving faster and faster until it seemed the music itself might break under the strain. The sound grew sharper, louder, filling every corner of the room until it felt as though the walls themselves vibrated with the force of it.

  And then it came - a scream, raw and primal, ripping through the air like a jagged blade. It was a sound that didn’t belong to the girl, nor any human throat. It was the scream of something other, something angry, a presence that had finally realised the threat that was approaching under a fake guise, although at this point it was too late.

  The audience froze, their faces pale and rigid, as though the weight of what they were witnessing had drained the very life from them. Now they were the unmoving ones, transfixed by the spectacle unfolding before them.

  All eyes remained locked on the girl as something began to shift. Her face contorted further, and then, impossibly, it began to project outward. A translucent shape sanguine and grotesque - pushed itself free, its edges writhing like smoke caught in an unnatural wind. The creature twisted, resisting its emergence, its jagged outline warping as though tethered to her still.

  At that critical moment, the musical exorcists sprang into motion. Their stillness shattered, each of them moving with a precision that seemed rehearsed yet entirely reactive.

  The guitarist’s fingers tore across the strings in a furious cascade of notes, the sounds even sharper and faster than before, each note seeming to strike the projection like a physical blow. The clapping bard quickened his rhythm, the sound rolling through the room like the crash of distant waves, each strike heavy with power made the creature scream.

  Translucent, blood-red claws unfurled from the girl, their jagged tips lunging toward the guitarist with lethal intent. But the dancer stepped forward, his movements swift and instinctive. Each stomp of his foot struck the stage with such force that the floor seemed to tremble, as though he sought to splinter the ground beneath them. With every strike, a shimmering barrier of light materialized, translucent and crackling with energy, intercepting the claws and halting their advance.

  The demon’s form was getting pulled further and further from the girl and its form flickered with every impact of sound. Its claws, half-formed and jagged, reached futilely for the girl she had previously inhabited, but its grip had loosened and now they were unable to reach its host as it was being pulled free.

  The singing bard behind her stepped forward at last, his haunting melody transforming into a single, guttural chant. His voice reverberated with an almost unnatural resonance, commanding the space with a force that bent it to its will. The words were unintelligible, but their power was unmistakable.

  A vessel appeared in his hands, a black, glasslike orb that seemed to drink in the light around it. With each note, each clap, each stomp, the projection was dragged closer to the orb, as though an invisible force were tethering it. The demon writhed violently, resisting, its form shuddering with fury and desperation.

  The audience could do nothing but watch, their breaths shallow, their gazes unblinking. The girl’s body jerked violently as the last strands of the demon were torn from her, the translucent form stretching impossibly thin before snapping free entirely. With a final, wrenching scream, the projection was dragged into the orb, its translucent form twisting and writhing as though resisting until the very last moment. The orb sealed itself with a sharp, resonant hum that reverberated through the room, leaving the air heavy with its finality. And then, as if the room itself held its breath, the bards fell silent, their task complete.

  A crushing stillness filled the room. For a moment, no one moved the weight of what had just transpired pinning them in place.

  Then, as if a spell had been broken, the crowd erupted. Chairs scraped harshly against the floor as people leapt to their feet, their faces awash with relief and triumph. They surged toward the stage, their cheers rising in waves that reverberated through the small, candlelit room.

  “She’s breathing!” someone cried, their voice cracking with emotion. “She’s alive! Thank Serelina the woman sobbed.”

  Amrite’s chest tightened as he watched them gather around the girl, a chaotic blur of joy and gratitude. Hands reached out to touch her, tentative at first as if confirming she was real, whole, saved.

  “Your sister will live, Maya!” the same woman exclaimed, turning back with tears streaking her face. “She made it. The demon is gone - finally exorcised!”

  “Maya, come here!” another shouted, beckoning him forward. “She’s safe now!”

  He didn’t move. He couldn’t. The relief washing over the room was palpable, contagious even, but it didn’t touch him. It couldn’t. His gaze lingered on the girl lying still on the stage, her chest rising and falling with shallow, laboured breaths. The memory of her grotesque smile, the inhuman teeth, the eyes hollowed out by something ancient and terrible burned in his mind.

  But it wasn’t her that terrified him now.

  It was the demon. The screams it had unleashed, the way its form had writhed and resisted as it was torn free, clawing at her soul like a cornered beast. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t of his world. It wasn’t of any world he wanted to understand.

  The voices around him blurred into indistinct noise. All Amrite could think about was the cold truth settling into his bones. The thought clawed at him, relentless. He couldn’t speak their language. He couldn’t mimic her movements, her presence. Even his hesitation earlier when he hadn’t followed their lead had drawn wary stares.

  They would know. Sooner or later, they would see him for the fraud that he was.

  He remained silent, his unease masked beneath the jubilant noise of the crowd’s celebration. The bards, their task completed, departed without a word, carrying the black orb that now imprisoned the demon. Time slipped by unnoticed, the fervour of the moment fading into a quiet lull. Unable to communicate, his silence was misinterpreted; the others soon drifted away, assuming his fear had stolen his voice and left him too shaken to speak.

  When they finally made it to their home, when the cheers and relief had faded into the stillness of night, Amrite made his decision.

  The idea of staying in this body, this world, filled him with an unspeakable dread. He couldn’t pretend to be her. He couldn’t endure their rituals, their scrutiny. Better to end it on his terms, here and now, before the truth clawed its way into the light

  In the dead of night, he moved with quiet purpose finding a tree not far from his newfound residence. He walked slowly, his bare feet crunching softly against the dew-covered grass. His hands trembled as he slipped off his clothes. The cool air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. Every movement felt detached, and mechanical, as though his body was acting on orders his mind couldn’t override. He took the dress and made the tightest knot that he could. Each action was practised again and again and before he knew it the knot was tied to the tree and he found his neck in between.

  Was this it? Was he really going to end everything just like this? He thought of his mother and his father, and how angry they would be at him that he threw his life away without even trying. He thought long and hard, but in the end, it didn’t matter. He grew up with pain his whole life, and if he learned one thing from it, he knew it could always get worse. When they found out he wasn’t Maya he knew a never-ending hell would wait for him. Better to end it now. Better to end it on his terms.

  With a last long breath, he dropped from the tree.

  And then, the pain came.

  Not from the noose, but from his joints - a familiar ache that bloomed suddenly and unexpectedly, and then spread through his limbs. It wasn’t the body he wore just a moment ago. It was his body. The real one.

  The world shifted around him, the room dissolving into a blur of light. He blinked, and when his eyes opened again, he was lying flat, staring up at the blinding lit up ceiling of the asylum.

  His lungs burned as he gasped for air. His hands, his real hand ached as he flexed them, the joints stiff and uncooperative. But the pain in the moment was a relief. It was real. Familiar.

  For a long moment, Amrite simply lay there, trembling, his mind reeling from what he had just endured. He was back. Somehow, impossibly, he was back.

  The cold ceiling stared back at him, unmoving and indifferent. But it was real. The ache in his joints and the shallow rhythm of his breath was familiar, grounding. Yet the screams, the music, the grotesque smile, they all clung to him, refusing to fade. He was back, but he wasn’t free.