The Moon's Curse

COATE STONE CIRCLE, JUNE 7th, 1857     It was a warm late spring evening. Everything was silent in the fields. Not even the crickets were singing their song. The quietness was almost eerie. The only thing that didn’t seem so dull and empty, was the full moon. But there, behind an invisible barrier, was a scene that could not be spotted by the blind eye.   It was a good thing that ordinary people could not see what was truly hiding in plain sight. They were lucky not to see the horrors happening right under their noses. Because if, by some strange coincidence, someone did uncover the truth, it would have been the last thing they did in their life.   Inside the barrier, the evening wasn’t quiet at all. In fact, there were about three dozen women arguing inside it, sitting on ancient stones that rose from the ground just for them. The Coate Stone Circle was once a sacred place. But they desecrated it, so there was nothing pure about it any longer. This was now the twisted scene of the terrors they inflicted. A cursed place.   The women all looked young and beautiful. But for many of them, their beauty was erased by the rage on their faces. They didn’t even pay attention to the scared cries of the poor deer, that was lying in the middle of the circle, its gentle legs tied together with a rough rope. But the women ignored it, no matter how loudly it cried. Their furious gazes were all directed at a woman, who seemed to be the newest member of the coven.   She was sitting on her stone calmly, seemingly unbothered by the openly expressed frustrations against her. But inside her, a storm was raging. Who were they to tell her how to live this life? She was betrayed and cast aside as an old ragdoll. She would have her vengeance and she would have her eternity. And she would get it on her own terms.   “Couldn’t you be reasonable?! I get that you were hurt! We all were, that is why we have started coming here in the first place, but you! You have risked our entire existence just to have it your own way!” one of the elderly witches openly yells at her. That’s when something clicks inside her mind, and she narrows her eyes at the coven.   “You bloody miscreants! How dare you tell me that you get it?! How dare you say that I was selfish, when you have all done the same thing to be sitting here! You are no better than me! You have sacrificed maidens to keep your pretty faces forever! Don’t tell me that I’m a hypocrite for doing exactly the same thing!” she rages, her mouth curling up in a snarl.   The witches watch her in stunned silence for a short moment. Even the deer stops its cries, but then chaos erupts again. The young woman crosses her arms against her chest, trying to chase the memories out of her head. The man she was falling in love with did not only mislead her. He raped her. He watched as he let other men rape her. And then he left her on the cold ground, bleeding and hurting, while he walked away with them, laughing.   She digs her nails deep into the flesh of her palms, soon feeling something warm and wet on the tips of her fingers. She did not fear blood anymore. Not since her first kill and the revelation of power inside her.   Her eyes meet with the woman who saved her that fateful night. The woman who showed her that she could be reborn. Without her, she probably wouldn’t even be alive. She sees her opening her mouth, her voice cutting through thirty other voices. They all quiet down as they hear her speak. She is the eldest witch in the coven. Everybody respects her.   “Morrigan,” she began gently, but sternly at the same time. “You were told to bring a maiden that can be used soon. You kidnapped a child, and a Princess by all means! How do you expect to control her until she is of age?” she wanted to know, her wise eyes glistening in the moonlight.   “She is not a Princess! She is an Archduchess … Or something of the sort,” Morrigan replied, hesitating for a moment. The elderly witch had a good point, but she was too excited when she got the chance to get her hands on the girl.   None of the other witches had sacrificed a royal maiden for their eternal youth, but she could! All she had to do was kidnap that little girl and she pulled it off perfectly. She brings herself back to the present, realising that she didn’t convince anyone. That makes her frown.   “I will have no trouble controlling her,” she assures them firmly. “She will grow up as my niece, so I will be able to keep an eye on her at all times. No man will be able to touch her. Not on my watch,” she continues, her eyes burning with determination.   The witches share a few looks, but they don’t respond to her words anymore. In a way, it seems like they fear her. She has already demonstrated how powerful her magic is, even before they first introduced drinking animal blood to her. They know she is not one to be messed around with.   Morrigan watches her fellow witches with newfound interest. And to have them look at her with a hint of fear in their eyes … She had never felt so powerful before.   “You better not let us down. No one has ever raised a maiden for slaughter before. Many things could go wrong,” the eldest witch spoke again, watching Morrigan with a hint of suspicion in her eyes.   “Nothing will go wrong. My little Archduchess will grow into the perfect sacrifice for my eternal life,” Morrigan assures her, a wicked smile appearing on her face. The elderly witch mimics her expression, letting her sinister nature shine through for the first time that evening.   She raises her hands towards the sky, soaking in the power of the full moon. The other witches do the same, closing their eyes to truly feel the moonlight running through their veins.   The elderly witch then rises, a dagger suddenly glistening inside her hand. She slowly approaches the deer, the poor animal crying even more loudly, as if knowing what is about to happen to it. But its cries are all in vain, for no one can hear it through the barrier.   Morrigan opens her eyes, watching as the blade flashes across the deer’s neck just as its eyes widen in panic. But it’s too late.   The eldest witch helps herself with magic, making chalices rise from the ground, where they keep them hidden. They are spotless until the moment she makes the deer’s blood fill them up.   “To eternity, sisters,” the witch declares as she raises her own chalice in the air, making the rest of them fly towards their owners.   “To eternity!” they all chanted in unison before pouring the warm blood down their throats.