with his brothers.
The hand still gripping the stick began to shake slightly.
«They rob you of your strength, they don’t give you. Forget them, «whispered her strange friend, leaning low to Blaise’s face as if for a kiss.
«I can’t,» the words escaped her lips with difficulty. She wasn’t surprised how he even knew about them. After all, he, like anyone else, could have followed her when she went to the crypt. Then it’s strange why the vagabonds haven’t made a shelter for themselves in it. If it’s so easy to get in, anyone can sleep there. However, falling asleep there, among the statues and graves, last night, Blaise somehow felt completely safe. Every time she came there, she knew that no one slept there anymore, did not even go there. The statues seemed to be guarding their space. But sleeping among them turned out to be a terrible test. If she had somewhere else to go, she would never have stayed there overnight. She was still scared.
They said that over time this feeling goes away. As a child, she and her brother even tried to spend the night there to check…
Blaise shook her head again. There is nothing to remember about the past. The tangled labyrinth of memories led her only to new pain, because all the paths in it led to the center – the evening when she was killed. They killed in the literal sense of the word, because after the experience she had ceased to be herself.
And no angels from the crypt intervened in all this. So is it worth believing in them? Or is it better to trust Damian? But he had never said that they were not there. He just said that it is better not to think about them. And these are different things.
Curiously, if you look into his eyes and ask him directly, does he have the courage to say they don’t exist?
«Learn to be invincible,» he whispered softly. «Do not think about anything that can provoke defeat. Just don’t think and that’s it. Close your mind to them.»
And his whisper seemed fiery again.
In this darkness, there was no one but the two of them. Rivals. Accomplices. Lovers? If he becomes her lover, will those seven in the crypt leave her?
The inner cold prevailed again. The thought of love and intimacy triggered a memory of abuse. About the knife that was brought to her face. He wanted what the attackers wanted from her yesterday, and Blaise involuntarily winced. How easy it is to cripple a person psychologically. Yesterday she knew what love is, today it was a feeling that locked in a cage and, in general, disgusting. She imagined how he felt and felt a slight contempt for him.
That’s all, marble closed around her. She is a statue herself. And if she becomes alive again, then she will die from the wounds inflicted on her. Therefore, it is better to remain stone, even if it offends someone. Life decided for her.
And the mind stubbornly returned to the gloomy crypt for help to them. Those who have already refused it. Damian was right. We must forget about them. Belief in them makes her weaker. But Blaise couldn’t. Childhood’s beliefs that they were there were still too strong. They cannot be eradicated. They are rooted in the soul along with family traditions. Angels must come to life for the descendants of one family. So why are they marble?
After all, she’s not a foundling. And not a changeling brought in by faeries to replace a stolen child. She is no stranger to her family. She’s definitely from Rosier. If she cannot inherit material wealth, then the bloody and accursed heritage in the crypt belongs only to her. No one else would dare to claim it. A curse is a curse. But it did not touch her. How did it happen?
Blaise was tormented by reflections. Damian still leaned towards her, as if this closeness helped him read her mind. And his expression turned grim.
Blaise tried to pull away.
«Is there a clock in this house?» She asked casually.
«Why do we need them?» He also moved slightly away.
Blaise looked down at her feet. The round floor, lined with lines and symbols, somehow reminded her of a dial. You need to count the columns, probably twelve. Before the fight. They moved in a circle like the hands of a clock, and there was something inexorable about it. Like time. Like fate.
«I want to know how much time is left before revenge.» In fact, she wanted to count how long the angels would be silent and sum up the crushing results.
«Then leave serifs in your mind,» he threw down the stick and wanted to go, but, having reached the columns at the exit, for some reason turned around.
«Do you know how many there are?»
Blaise shook her head.
«Thirteen.»
«In honor of the devil’s number?»
«No, in honor of twelve o’clock in the afternoon,» said Damian.
«Then why thirteen?» Her voice sounded in the empty dark space, like a faint golden echo.
«One of them symbolizes something that doesn’t seem to exist. The thirteenth hour, which is not taken into account by people, but which is in order to admit into this world those who are called from the other side by your desire to get to know them. Creatures like me. Pure thirteen is just right for us. The thirteenth hour, which is not there, but it is there for us to come. The thirteenth year in the calendar of signs would be the year of the demon or angel you call… that’s up to you. Which wings are better: light or black. Thirteenth day…»
He stood far away, but she felt the touch of his hand on her cheek, as if he were near. A teasing touch.
«This circle is for me…»
Damian laughed devilishly.
«Are you kidding? Or do you want to intimidate me?»
«What do you think yourself? He suddenly became serious.»
Blaise looked around. It no longer seemed to her that marble angels were hiding behind the columns. Such a feeling could only be an illusion.
«It’s too early to think,» she said suddenly and firmly. «I will think about it when you teach me everything you promised. Then the time will come to evaluate you.»
He nodded, acknowledging her conclusion. And he didn’t even repeat:
«Remember the contract.»
Revenge plans
Blaise stuck the knife into the map spread out on the table. She drew this map herself on paper from a torn package, which she found in the house. In its center, of course, the crypt was marked. The place from which the whole history of her family began. Although purely symbolic, this place always had to remain in the middle. Because the crypt is at the head of everything.
All paths lead to it. At least that’s what her family taught her. The family chronicles said so. Such a lesson was taught by heavenly or hellish forces to all generations of her family. And from the fact that in her own history there was a failure with this, nothing has changed yet.
Perhaps the time has simply not yet come. Maybe on her next birthday a miracle will finally happen. To do this,
