Winter's Light by Mj Hearle

let loose a howl of such brutal torment I almost went to her, almost took her in my arms. For a moment she was my sister again, and her misery wrenched at my heart. Only for a moment though, and then she glared at me balefully from beneath the grey tangles of her hair, and I saw murder in her eyes. I was her prison warden. Nothing more. An obstacle to be overcome. Or destroyed.
    Quickly I retraced the part of the holding circle that had been washed clean by the water, and sealed it with the words Val Muren had taught me. She watched me complete the process from the far edge of the circle, a chilling smile on her face, as if she knew something I didn’t. Even when I left the room, her smile remained with me, an uneasy companion in the dark.
    The storm had eased to a light drizzle as I collected the bodies of fallen cats and carried them to the backyard. I buried them with as much reverence as I could muster in my exhausted state while a conclave of cats watched on. They didn’t blame me for what happened, however that didn’t alleviate the guilt I felt, shovelling the wet soil down onto their cousins’ wasted forms. Smoothing down the earth over the graves I was gripped by an awful sense of premonition.
    Ellen, the girl I’d met at the grocery store who asked so many questions. Ellen, who somehow found out where I lived. Ellen, who just wanted to be my friend. To know me. Staring at the grave I thought of her. Claudette must have observed the girl’s first visit to the house, watching her through the boards I’d nailed up over the windows. Or perhaps she simply heard her voice as she spoke to me on the doorstep. In any case, I now know Ellen has been chosen.
    It’s my fault. I should never have ventured into town, there are other ways to obtain supplies, groceries. It was foolish of me. If it had been anyone else standing behind the register then perhaps I would have passed through the grocery aisles unnoticed. Ellen noticed me. She saw me as the others did and followed me here.
    Am I to live as a hermit, cut off from society for fear of bringing swift death down upon those I come in contact with? Perhaps I should disfigure myself horribly? Then those poor souls who find me so fascinating will no longer see the illusion of beauty. They’ll see the monster. The monster who greets me in every mirror’s reflection.
    The sun has nearly raised itself up fully from the shadows of the world and soon it will be safe for me to rest. Tomorrow I will begin the preparations for the move. We’ve lingered in this town long enough. Already I feel the hot breath of the Bane on the back of my neck, but this isn’t why we must go. That knowing smile of Claudette’s haunts me even now as I sit here writing. The longer we stay here the chances of my premonition coming to pass grow stronger. I won’t let another die. I mustn’t.

The Black Mirror

    The room smelt of death.
    A thick, cloying odour, which reminded Lamara of meat left in the sun too long. As she drew closer to her mother’s bed, the smell became stronger. The smoke from the hearth fire could not cover it. Three months was all it had taken for the illness to progress this far. Enoch, the village healer, had told Lamara her mother would not survive another three. Looking down at her mother’s wasted form, the grey patches on her cheeks, the thin, colourless lips, Lamara believed him.
    The gods had abandoned them.
    She had made the necessary sacrifices, fasted, spent hours in silent prayer, yet they did not answer. They would not answer. Outside she could hear Teodore’s hammer as he worked with the other acolytes, forcing the stones into place. Her mother hadn’t awoken in two days and she didn’t think the sound of hammering would succeed where her prayers had failed. The work needed to be done. They were so close to finishing.
    Lamara’s pulse quickened as she saw her mother stir, moaning softly. Perhaps the noise had roused her after all? One trembling hand crept