VEIL OF SHADOWS

Rain came the way it usually did in Aramore, gently at first, a misty veil over the roofs, then thick enough to beat on windows like eager fingers. Most individuals found the constant rain depressing. Evelyn Kael found it reassuring. The sound was continuous, predictable, unlike the images she saw when she closed her eyes. Her loft apartment smelled strongly of turpentine and lavender. Canvases lay against every wall, some blank, some half-finished, some turned toward the wall so she wouldn’t have to look at them. She had painted since infancy, but the older she grew, the weirder her work became. Tonight’s painting was the worst yet. Evelyn stood barefoot on the paint-splattered floor, the hem of her oversized sweater caressing her thighs as she peered at the canvas like it could come out and bite her. Two silhouettes stood in the middle of a devastated street. A blazing city behind them. A sky divided by intense light. And wings vast, black wings unfolded against the flames. She hadn’t painted the wings. She was confident of it. But there they were anyhow, each feather etched with a detail she didn’t recall crafting. Her stomach twisted. “You’re losing it, Evie,” she muttered to herself. “You’re actually losing it.” She grabbed her brush to erase a stray drop of paint and froze. The dark figure’s head moved. Just a portion. Just enough. But it moved. The brush clattered on the floor. Evelyn lurched backwards, hand smacking the edge of the table behind her. “No. No, no, no… not again.” She pinched her eyes shut. Counted to five. I opened them. The figure was motionless now, but her pulse wasn’t. For weeks, her paintings had flickered hues leaking, shadows moving, like memories trapped in paint. She tried convincing herself she was anxious, overtired, and overworked. But deep down, she sensed something was wrong with her. Very incorrect. A buzz permeated the room. At first gentle, then louder, fuller like a bass note vibrating through her bones. The lights flickered once. Twice. Then I went out altogether. Her loft sank into darkness. Evelyn’s throat closed. She lurched for her phone, clutching the surface with shaking palms. Her fingertips grazed it, and she grabbed it up like a lifeline. The lock screen lit her face in an eerie blue glow. A message flashed. SELENE: Hey, please tell me you’re not painting tonight. The city feels odd. Like… magic odd. Evelyn let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. Leave it to Selene to say something totally ridiculous and yet make it soothing. She typed swiftly. EVELYN: Define ‘magic weird.’ You’re terrifying me. While waiting for a reply, she retrieved her music box from the ledge. It was ancient silver, beautiful, with little wings engraved onto the lid. She’d owned it since childhood, but had no recall of who handed it to her. Whenever terror clawed at her chest, she wound it. Click. Click. Whir. A sweet lullaby wafted across the room, familiar as her own pulse. And for a brief moment, the shaking ceased. Her phone buzzed. SELENE: Don’t panic out, but the moon vanished for like 10 seconds. Also, power’s cutting out everywhere. Evelyn blinked. The moon… disappeared? Before she could speak, a cool breath of air swept over the back of her neck. Her skin prickled. “Evelyn…” The voice was low. Male. Deep. It slithered into the darkness like fog. She turned around so quickly she nearly slipped. “Who’s there?” Silence. Only the rain. Only her hammering heart. Then slowly, gently, the canvas behind her started to sparkle. Her breath caught. The painting’s shadows increased, seeping outward like spilt ink. “No,” she muttered. “Stop. Stop it” The painted figure lifted its arm. Paint cracked. The canvas trembled. The shadow crept out of the picture. Evelyn shouted, staggering backwards into her easel. Her phone slid from her grasp and skidded across the floor. The chamber got colder, the air dense with something ancient and ravenous. The shadows coiled around her feet like fingers. And then a blast of glittering light surged through the loft. The shadows convulsed furiously, withdrawing as if burnt. The radiance was dazzling, clean, piercing, almost electric. Evelyn flung her arm over her eyes. When the light faded enough to see, someone stood in the middle of her loft. A man. Tall. Broad shoulders. The black coat was wet from the rain. Dark hair spilling water over the floor. And eyes that shone silver in the weak emergency light streaming through the window. Evelyn’s heart stumbled. She recognised those eyes. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know why. But she knew them the same way she knew her own name. He moved closer. Raindrops hanging from his coat lifted from the fabric, hovering in the air around him like gravity itself couldn’t decide what to do. He spoke her name like it was something precious. “Evelyn…” She backed backwards till her shoulders met the wall. “Who are you?” she asked, voice shaking. The guy paused. His countenance, piercing, magnificent, haunting, softened with something that appeared very near to remorse. “I shouldn’t have come,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I promised I wouldn’t.” She swallowed heavily. “Then leave.” “I can’t.” His jaw stiffened. “Not tonight.” The picture behind him broke like glass, the sound slashing through the quiet. Evelyn flinched. The guy lifted a hand, and light burst from his palm. Silver. Pure. Radiant. It fixed the fracture instantaneously, as if knitting the painting back together. Her eyes expanded. “That wasn’t possible.” He exhaled shakily. “It is for me.” Evelyn’s knees weakened. “What are you?” “Not your enemy,” he added gently. “Though I know how it looks.” He took a step toward her. Then another. She pushed harder against the wall. “Stay back,” she advised. The silver in his eyes flashed. “As you wish.” He halted a few feet away, near enough for her to see the faint signs of tiredness in his countenance, yet distant enough to give her room. He pulled something from his pocket, a little metal necklace fashioned like a snake eating its tail. It sparkled softly. “Your paintings,” he remarked, “have been waking things. Dangerous things.” Evelyn shook her head. “No. That’s impossible. They’re simply dreams. Just nightmares.” “They’re not,” he muttered. “You paint what you remember. Even if you don’t comprehend it yet.” Her pulse faltered. Under the dim silver glimmer, the figure seemed like something out of her dreams, out of her nightmares. And something deep within her recognised him. Like a recollection from a life she couldn’t remember. She said, “What’s your name?” He closed his eyes, just for a second. When he opened them, the weight in his look was terrible. “Lucien,” he whispered gently. “My name… is Lucien.” The room slanted. Lucien. The name from her art. The name that made her chest hurt with a grief she didn’t fathom. Evelyn muttered, “Why does your name hurt?” Lucien glanced at her the way someone looks at a wound they made themself. “Because,” he continued slowly, “you knew me once. Before this existence. And I failed you.” Her breath hitched. She wanted to label him a liar. I wanted to run. I wanted to shout. But something in her bones sensed the truth in his speech. She opened her lips to speak when a black figure moved across the ceiling. Lucien’s head snapped up. “Down!” he barked. He leapt just as a gigantic shadow slammed into the floor where Evelyn had been seconds before. The thing was a spindly, twisting mass of darkness snarled, its eyes flashing empty white. Evelyn shrieked as Lucien’s arm curled around her waist, dragging her behind him. The thing lunged. Lucien reached out his hand. Light burst bright, scorching. The shadow screamed and vanished into vapour. Silence. Only Evelyn’s raspy breathing. Only Lucien’s trembling exhale. He turned to her carefully. “You’re not safe here.” She shook her head. “What was that thing?” “A Veil Reaper,” he said. “A hunter from the other side. And it won’t be the last.” Her knees buckled. Lucien grabbed her gently. Evelyn glanced up at him, afraid, bewildered, pulled in despite everything. “What do you want from me?” she murmured. Lucien’s throat twitched as he swallowed hard. “Nothing.” He stroked a strand of hair from her face with painful care. “I want nothing from you, Evelyn. Not this time.” “Then why are you here?” His voice cracked. “To save you,” he gasped. “Before the others find you.” A beat of quiet. “Before your memories return.” Evelyn’s heart stuttered. “My… memories?” Lucien nodded once. And the grief in his eyes was nearly too much to look at. “You’re waking up,” he said. “And when you fully remember who you are… everything will change.” The shadows surrounding them shuddered. Lucien grabbed her hand. “Come with me. Please. Before the Veil snatches you.” And Evelyn, horrified but unable to remove her sight from him, felt her reality tilt, c***k, and transform into something she could never escape. Something she had been fleeing from her entire life without even recognising it.