The Shadow Which Follows

In the city state of Ferox, a shadow loomed in the darkness, haunting the Opera House late at night…

∞

Moon Byulyi, a Maestro of the fine arts, flipped up the collar of her jacket, covering her cold chin. The city was smothered by layers and layers of swirling grey fog; it curled around Byulyi, wrapping around her legs and neck. The street lamps shone like blurred stars above her, a reminder that even Ferox can’t hide its dark little secret from the universe.

There were eyes everywhere Byulyi went, following her the way a mutt trails after its master: That was the burden of being born into one of the most revered noble families in Ferox. It was an irritating thorn in her side, one she couldn’t rip out.

So she let them follow her, let them see with their own eyes where she was going and what she was doing, suddenly they eyes began to hunt her, but Byulyi was far from a fickle or weak prey.

She was cunning like her mother, deceptive like her father.

The eyes chased after her from the shadows. Byulyi tried to think of a reason as to why they were suddenly so interested in her. Not much that went on in Byulyi’s life. She spent most of her days at the desk in her room, composing a new opera, she was working on the aria for the prima donna.

Byulyi had felt a sudden surge of inspiration these past months and would compose late into the afternoon, until dinner arrived. After dinner she left home for a short trip to the Opera House to rekindle her inspiration.

On occasion, Byulyi’s mother would have family friends over for lunch and Byulyi was then forced out of her room to make an appearance, otherwise her mother would deem Byulyi impolite. Other times, suitors (with less than sincere intentions) showed up on the doorstep of the Moon home. Byulyi always declined their advances. She had been promised to another and could not break that promise.

When she left for the Opera House after dinner or later at night, the eyes still followed her, curious and vicious, waiting for her to make a mistake; to stumble, to fall —there were many who wanted to see Byulyi’s family be unseated from the top of the pillar they were on.

Her family, revered as they were, was also greatly resented by many of the lesser noble families. But that didn’t matter. All the lesser families could do was watch as the Moon family climbed higher and higher, while they were left to rot at the bottom with the rats and leftover scraps.

The family names of the lesser houses would wither away with time, but the Moon family was powerful with strong ties to the Seat of Ferox.

That was the game of politics. Byulyi never had any interest in it. Her mother, however, was cunning and decisive. Perhaps those friends she kept inviting over weren’t really friends of the family. It was all a ploy, one that kept the lesser families on a tight leash.

Byulyi smiled, then looked over her shoulder. She had lost the eyes that had been following her, shaken them off her tail as she had hurriedly walked down the streets, knowing which turns to take and not to take, which alleyways to walk down and the ones to avoid. Byulyi knew Ferox like the back of her hand.

The wind let out a thin cry as it passed through the empty streets.

Before Byulyi crossed the fog-covered road, she looked left, then right. She took her chance and hurried to the other side where the city Opera House stood, grand and proud with windows framed in gold and arches carved by the most skilled craftsmen in all of Ferox.

The Opera House was built many years ago, sometime after the first Feroxian invasion of a neighbouring city state (that city state was now burnt down, gone, lost over time).

Byulyi pushed open the doors and stalked down the wide hallway, her jacket fluttered behind her, the red carpet felt soft beneath her black boots. The lights flickered above her, the bulbs would need to be changed again.

She came to a halt in front of two great wooden doors. Excitement bubbled in her stomach, she slowly pressed her ear to the doors, listening for the voice that always sung late at night. It reminded Byulyi of a cadenza, but the tone of the voice was ever so sad.

At first Byulyi thought she heard something, the thread of a melody, a small voice that perhaps didn’t want to be heard or disturbed. Then it all faded, and Byulyi could only hear her heart hammering in her chest.

Byulyi frowned. She slowly opened the doors and walked into the concert hall, the steel hinges creaked slightly.

There was a grand piano standing all alone on stage, a wooden chair stood next to it. A single stage light had been lit and was centred on the chair. A music stand had been knocked over, sheets of music laid spread out over the stage.

Byulyi sighed, then removed her coat, draping it over a chair in the audience. Someone must’ve forgotten to clean up before they left. She walked onto the stage and began the process of picking up the pages of music and rearranging them.

The stage light was warm on Byulyi’s skin. She never liked being on stage with the lights blaring in her face, or the heat that clung to her body. It always left her a bit sweaty and with a clammy feeling afterwards.

Byulyi went to pick up the last sheet of music when she spotted tiny red specks in the top right corner. She eyed it carefully, then speculated on her previous thoughts, wondering if perhaps the person before her hadn’t cleaned up, not because they simply didn’t care, but because they were in a hurry.

She looked back at the other sheets of music, and found more droplets of blood on them.

Byulyi stood. Her hands shook. She looked out into the audience, searching for someone.

In the dark she saw a figure sitting amongst the shadows in the audience. Byulyi walked to the edge of the stage, and as she got closer, the figure became less distorted. She saw a man who had been mauled to death. The skin on his neck hung loose and open, as if an animal had been feasting on him.

Byulyi could see the dead man’s cervical bones through the torn flesh, the blood ran down from his throat, soaking into his silk shirt. She spotted purple bruising around his wrists, as if someone had pinned him down while his throat was being torn apart.

The stage suddenly went dark. Wild laughter rang out, bouncing off the walls, filling the entire concert hall.

Byulyi clenched her teeth, not wanting to be toyed with.

«Maestro.»

Byulyi tensed. She knew that silky voice, had heard it sing sad tunes and melodies many times before. It was her muse, the fuel to her fire, the air which filled her lungs and body with desire. It was what had brought Byulyi to the concert hall this very night.

«How’d you know who I am?» Byulyi demanded, whipping around.

«How do I know who you are?» The voice slithered coolly around Byulyi like a snake. The shrewd laughter rang out again, sending shivers down her spine.

If Byulyi had not been prey earlier, then she was most definitely prey now.

«Of course I know who you are. You come here every night just to hear me sing.» The voice laughed again, darkly this time, as if it knew something Byulyi did not.

«Such a lovely pet. Coming when master calls. Isn’t that right, Maestro?»

Byulyi flinched at the words, knowing how obsessed she had truly become. Her days at her desk were spent thinking about the silky and honeyed voice. She had attempted to find notes and melodies that could replicate the voice, but nothing came close.

Her mind wouldn’t let go of the voice that haunted her soul, in a matter of days her mind had taken power over her heart.

Lust, love, want, desire — whatever one chose to call it; it would surely make the sanest person go mad.

Byulyi spun in circles, trying to figure out where the voice came from. It sounded like it was above her, then beside her, then behind. It didn’t make any sense.

The lights came on, blinding Byulyi. She was knocked onto her back by a great force. The breath left her lungs. Byulyi gasped and saw a woman staring down at her, her legs pinned Byulyi to the ground.

The woman’s hair was bright as the sun and her eyes glowed a dangerous red. She wore a short pale dress that looked more like a nightgown —Byulyi’s mother would describe it as scandalous. But all Byulyi could think of was the woman’s ruby red lips which inched closer and closer to her own. 

«You keep coming back to me, Maestro.» The woman snickered, her breath hot against Byulyi’s mouth. «Is there something you want? Something you desire ?»

The woman closed the distance, brushing her lips over Byulyi’s, tasting her. Byulyi gasped, in a deep breath. The woman pulled back slightly and hummed, her lips, having found fulfilment in a deliciously quick peck.

Byulyi could feel it; the fear coursing through her. It crept up her legs, she felt thorns pressing against her skin. It stung and made her wince.

The woman softly smiled down at Byulyi, pitying her. She gently brushed her hand over Byulyi’s cheek, her fingers were cold like ice and made Byulyi shiver.

«Such warmth. I’ve missed it.» The woman whispered to herself as she brought her hand closer to her face, gazing at her fingers, then she them one by one, and her smile grew.

Byulyi struggled beneath the woman. She was furious, feeling as if she had been tricked, fooled by a creature told in myths and legends. This was not the voice she had heard, not the one that had fuelled her fire.

It couldn’t be! Not her! Not this creature! Monster!

«Hush now. No need to struggle. It will soon be over.»

Byulyi, feigning bravery, said (what could’ve been) her last words.

«Siren.» She spat with spite.

The woman frowned, angered, and surged forwards, her eyes locked with Byulyi’s.

«What did you call me?» The woman hissed.

Byulyi steeled her gaze, meeting the woman’s in a deadly challenge.

There it was again. The fear. The thorns against her skin. The pain. But it felt good. It was an oddity —one Byulyi couldn’t begin to explain.

«I’m not a filthy little siren. They can rot in hell for all I care.» The woman seethed through her teeth, pressing Byulyi even further into the stage, the wooden floorboards creaked and groaned beneath them, about to give in.

Byulyi let out a cry as the floorboards suddenly came apart. She descended downwards. The woman fell with her. Byulyi landed with a thud on hard, stone cold floor.

She ached all over, there was a terrible pain in her chest. She could barely breathe. Her hands shook. It felt as if her life was being drained from her.

A foul stench filled the air and Byulyi felt her stomach clench.

Byulyi turned her head to the side, which was a strain in itself, and was met with a pile of dead bodies on the floor not far from her. Byulyi recognised some of them as musicians missing from the orchestra.

Their skin was dauntingly white in the pale light that shone down from the hole above them. They resembled ghosts with their frightened and hollow eyes. Their throats had been ripped out and their shirts were stained crimson with blood.

The woman crawled on top of her. Byulyi tried to push her away, but the woman easily caught her wrists. Her red eyes bore into Byulyi’s again. And Byulyi swore she could see the faces of the undead in them.

«Well then…» The woman hummed, then her eyes flickered down to the silver pin on Byulyi’s shirt. «This is interesting.» She said touching the pin. It was a crescent moon, Byulyi’s family crest.

«Here I have a Maestro squirming beneath my hands. And —oh! Not just any ordinary Maestro, but a Moon! Now that changes things…»

The woman leaned in closer and Byulyi could smell the blood like copper on her lips. But then the scent disappeared and Byulyi could only smell flowers —roses, which reminded Byulyi of her family’s garden back home.

«I don’t think I can give you the same fate as the others,» the woman muttered sadly, looking over at the pile of bodies, «but you’re a Moon, which means I can’t just let you go either.»

«What’ll you do?» Byulyi croaked. She slowly turned her head, looking at the pile of bodies as well.

The woman leaned in closer, her breath was hot against Byulyi’s skin. «I’ll tear you apart.» The woman whispered into Byulyi’s neck.

«It’ll feel like your whole body is on fire, blades cutting your limbs in half, knives in your heart,» she pressed her lips to Byulyi’s neck, giving her a fleeting lover’s kiss.

It made Byulyi squirm, she felt the faintest smile grazing her skin, marking her.

«It’ll make you want to die. You’ll squirm and wish for death.»

Byulyi closed her eyes as her chest heaved. With the little strength left in her, she tilted her head more to the side, giving the woman even more access to her neck.

A quick death, that was all Byulyi asked for.

The woman grinned.

«But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you afterwards, when it’s all over, I’ll make you feel good —I promise.»