The Blood of Rosie

Chapter 1

As I opened my eyes this morning, the first rays of the light caressed my face and cast a warm, amber glow across our quaint little house. I raised my arms above my head, I became acutely aware of the floorboards' characteristic creaking beneath my feet. In spite of the broken and cracked window that framed my perspective, there was a sense of calmness present in this particular instant.

When I looked out of that window, I could see the world waking up and the town of Ordep coming to life just as the sun was beginning to fully emerge from its slumber. It was a realm where time was an unrelenting adversary, and every individual was forced to work hard in order to provide for themselves. The people that lived in the village were a diverse group, including humans like us, vampires, witches, and werewolves all coexisting in an uneasy peace. But this was a vast improvement over the dreadful Hasta, which was a place where people were sold at auction like livestock, a fate that I abhorred with every fiber of my being.

This was simply another day like any other in our remote community, where fighting for our very existence was a constant struggle. I slowly got up from my improvised bed, making sure not to startle my two younger sisters, Beth and Eliza, who were sleeping quietly next to me. Cornellia, our mother, continued to sleep deeply, temporarily forgetting her concerns as she drifted off to dreamland. I crept around them and entered our simple kitchen on tiptoe.

As I cooked breakfast for my family, I did so with experienced elegance and dexterity in my hands. I cracked two eggs, their shells a reminder of the morning offerings provided by my chickens, and I allowed the vibrant yellow yolks to sizzle in the pan. The beans that I had found growing wild were stir-fried with a little bit of salt, and the resulting scent filled the room with a delicious hint of food. Last but not least, I produced fresh orange juice from scratch, and the aroma of the citrus fruit was both energizing and revitalizing.

Beth, who was now 14 years old, and Eliza, who was only 10 years old, awoke when they got a whiff of food. They joined me in setting the aged wooden table, which involved putting mismatched dishes and chipped cups in various configurations. Although our household did not have much, we always made the most of the resources that we did possess.

"Are we heading to Lord Harmon's farm today, big sister?" Eliza spoke with a tone that was ripe with inquisitiveness as she made an effort with her tiny hand to clean the filth that was adhered to the wooden chair.

When I turned to gaze at her, the furrow that had formed between my brows became even deeper. In response, I expressed some level of anxiety and said, "Little one, you're not quite ready to go to Lord Harmon's farm." "Your muscles are still too small to handle the hard labor."

Beth, who is known for her perpetually upbeat attitude, chimed in as she methodically poured juice into each wooden mug. "Eliza, I want you to know that when you get to be as large as I am, you'll be able to run the whole farm by yourself. You will be given a large number of shining nickels by Lord Harmon, and then you will be able to purchase the dress that you have had your eye on from Shefa's Dress Shop!

I got closer to Eliza in the hopes of persuading her of the significance of not going on with the plan. "You should stay with Mom, little one," I suggested in a soft voice. "She needs you here, and we wouldn't want her to be sad when she misses you." My chest hurt whenever I gave thought to Eliza toiling away under the blazing heat of the sun and the relentless demands of Lord Harmon's land. I had the same wish for her as I had for Beth, which was that I could protect her from everything.

However, the circumstances had rendered us unable to select any other option. Both Beth and I were required to maintain employment in order to pay the bills. In the previous months, our mother had been diagnosed with a serious illness, and Beth had stepped in to take over her responsibilities at Harmon's farm. My younger sister had to carry a large load, and I wished there was some alternative solution to this problem.

As I turned my focus back to the frying pan in which the vegetables were being sautéed, I called out to everyone, "Get ready, everyone." The air was filled with the aroma that made your mouth water. "It's time to dig in."

Our mother Cornelia emerged from her room when she detected the aroma of breakfast reaching her, and her sleepy eyes lit up with joy when she saw the simple display that we had prepared. The room was filled with laughter and affection as we shared the limited food we had. During those times, it was simple to forget about the cruel world that lay beyond our own door.

But as it turned out, fate had other things in store for us that morning. Our attention was drawn to the disturbance that was occurring outside. Concern and anxiety could be seen engraved permanently on the peasants' faces as they huddled together in a compact group. It was obvious that something was wrong, and the realization sent shivers down my spine.

The town crier of the village rode into the middle of the gathering on a dark horse while sat atop the animal. The villagers who had gathered around went silent, and the tension that had been building up in the atmosphere could be felt by all. Eliza clutched to my hand, her eyes wide with terror, while Beth's hold on the cup that was dripping with fruit juice became increasingly firm.

The village crier started to unseal the scroll that had been sent by the Rundtri as his voice shook with fear as he did so. The crowd let out a series of collective gasps of fear as the parchment unrolled, exposing the ominous symbol of hasta, which depicted a winged creature that was entangled by vines and snakes. The image of that insignia alone sent shivers down my spine since it served as a jarring reminder of the terrible custom that continued to shadow our lives.

This cruel rite picked out people between the ages of 18 and 30, with a particular focus on those who were impoverished and held in s*****y. This practice was carried out every year without fail. They were selected as sacrificial offerings, with the intention of being sold at auction to a select coterie of vampires. These vampires craved our blood to keep the fragile calm in the district of Varona, which prevented them from hunting humans without discrimination and kept the district from falling into chaos. It was a dreadful obligation that was absolutely necessary, yet none of us liked it.

As the town crier began to announce the names of those who had been chosen to be sacrifices, his voice began to shake. Each word that he said through his shaking lips felt like a knife being thrust into my chest. Fear increased its hold on me, and in response, I squeezed the hands of my siblings even more tightly.

Eliza made a small whimpering sound as she looked up at me for reassurance while her eyes welled up with tears. I was unable to console her since the unpredictability of our future had me frozen in fear. I hoped I could provide her solace anyway. Beth, who is often quite upbeat and enthusiastic, appeared to be as shaken up as the rest of us, her previous exuberance having been replaced by a serious realization of the gravity of the situation.

The tension in the air increased steadily throughout the duration that the town crier proceeded to announce individuals by name. I sat there without breathing, my heart thumping furiously in my chest, and my thoughts racing over the various outcomes that could occur. Even though my name hadn't been called yet, the worry that it might continue to be kept looming like a dark cloud, casting a pall over our lives.

When he started talking about "the last sacrifice for this year's Hasta," the color left my mother's face. Beth and Eliza looked at one other with concerned looks. My chest felt like it was being pounded by a drum, and I whispered a prayer that our loved ones might be delivered from this horrible outcome.

However, after that, there was a little pause on the part of the crier, during which his eyes went back over the scroll once more. when he continued, there was a deafening hush when he mentioned Rosie as the final person.

My mouth opened in astonishment as I let out a gasp. Me? It is not possible. I had hoped that this year, by some miracle or favor of the gods, I might be able to avoid the hasta. My entire world appeared to be exploding into a million tiny pieces as the room began to spin around me, and I desperately clung to the edge of the table for support.