Curse of the Night

 Vera tilted her head upward to the sky, or what she could make of it. A thick-rolling smog clouded the skies and blanketed this section of Clockwork City. Most of it came from different part-making factories, from airship parts to clockworks themselves. A shimmer of sunlight battled its way through the smoke, staring Vera back in the eye, making her squint.

"If that's the northern sun, that means it's around midday." The half-elven creature whispered to herself.

Usually, around this time, she was bustling with business around this hour. A whole line of customers waiting to hear their fortune from "Vera's Variables, daughter of the mystic arts." 

She always told them what they wanted to hear. In fact, the only thing she had never told anyone before was that she was a fraud, here for the tourists from The Great Forest and such, those who still believed in magik anyway. 

She didn't, she didn't believe in the gods who had made such magik to begin with, or if there had been any, they were long gone.

Maybe the people had finally figured her out. She doubted it, but she felt a sense of relief about not having to hide what she believed any longer. 

A bell that was attached to the long curtain inside her tent rang out briskly, jolting her away from her fantasy. It seemed that her fortune-telling days weren't quite over yet. 

 She put on a fake smile for the show of it and stood up, walking around to the front of her silky maroon tent.

A real smile replaced the fake one as she realized who had stopped in. 

He was an elderly half-orc who stopped in regularly, mistaking her for a new tea company at first. After Vera told him who she was, and what she did, he was so intrigued he decided to come back the following week, forgetting that she was not a tea company. 

Through their first encounter Vera learned that the elderly half-orc, Narfu was his name, had a son. The son had passed away only recently in the Crown Wars, but due to Narfu's forgetfulness every time he remembered it only caused him a new pain and misery.

Determined to be kind to this 'seanair' (grandfather), Vera had become the biggest fraud of them all. 

She never charged him, but always offered him tales of comfort, easing him into believing his son was still alive and well.

“I'm doing readings outside today, my dear Narfu," Vera called out cheerily, pulling out a chair for him to sit down on.

A cough racked through his body, making clear how frail he was becoming.

“Vera, my child. Tell me, why are you on this end of town today?” He croaked out, smiling a little.

“Telling people what they wish to see ‘seanair’.” Vera returned the smile, grabbing a teapot with some freshly boiled Moonshadow tea. 

It was a tradition now, that they would share tea as she told Narfu the whereabouts and 'whatabouts' of his son. 

Today she told him that their battalion had stopped moving for the day, and his son was now resting in a field of dandiligers.

He took it in with joy at first, and then a look of confusion crossed his face.

"Is something wrong Narfu?" A look of concernment dancing in Vera's eyes.

“Something isn't right, I got news yesterday, about the Mountain Homeland, about...my son.” He whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

Vera crouched next to him grabbing his hand with sincerity.

“Your son is alive and well ‘seanair’.” She stroked his arm, trying to soothe the orc, fear clouding in her mind.

She couldn't bear to see him remember, not again, not ever. It hurt her to see him in such ebbing, yet numbing pain.

“You lie.” His raspy voice ripped through her thoughts. He stood up, tearing away from her grasp.

"No Narfu! He is well, he is well!" Vera pleaded, falling to her knees. 

"My son is dead you witch, you feed me with lies, and I fall under your spell every time." He shouted hoarsely, it wasn't out of anger, or sadness, it sounded as though he was disappointed. 

And that hurt Vera the most. 

 Suddenly the room darkened around them, shadows getting swallowed up by a pit darker of that than the one that clouded Vera's soul. 

A gentle voice filled the air around them, and a piece of eerie music danced through it filling her head. 

“May you be cursed by the three moons, that come nighttime you only see visions of horrors to come.” 

“Seanair!” She called out, hardly able to hear her voice over the roar of the muse, but as the darkness, the voice, and the music faded away, Vera realized he was gone. 

Vera cursed under her breath, standing up and dusting herself off. 

"That was weird." She muttered as she kicked the dirt, sending a bit into her washbasin.

"Oh that's just lovely," She sighed, bending over to pick up the now cloudy water. 

She glanced down at the grains that swirled around in the washbasin, and what she saw made her screech, and drop the vessel faster than she thought possible. She had seen black beady eyes staring back at her, and her hair which was normally jet black had turned ghastly white. 

"What in the three moons," Vera whispered shakily, creeping back over to the bucket. 

But the creature she had seen vanished, leaving a dusty reflection of herself. Vera let out an unsteady breath, drawing her knees to her chest, attempting to calm down. 

"Oh do not fret dearie, for I am not you, and you are not me."

The eerie voice that she had heard earlier echoed back to her, sending a chill up her spine.

"Well, we are of the same mind, but what you see should not frighten you, dearie, for I am here to help."

"W-who are you?" She breathed in, her voice jittery and unsure. 

"I am what many beings call the nachtfluch. But I am not just a curse, I am only to be frightening at night, during the day I am here to aid you, whereas come night, you aid me!" It spiraled into a peal of shattering laughter that shook Vera to her core. 

"I do not want your aid," Vera said, standing up now. 

"I cannot escape you, and you cannot escape me." It cackled again, sending Vera to her knees. 

"Do not fight us."  It soothed. 

"F-fine," Vera replied, trying to rise again. 

Almost as if affirmation was what the voice needed, the pounding went away, and the scratchy voice of terror was replaced with a newfound voice of kindness.

"I am the one called Nacht, I am here to do your bidding." It sang out in a heavenly tone. 

"I want to know Narfu, the half-orc who I believe gave me this, I wish to know that he's okay, that re-learning his son's death is not his own undoing," Vera spoke wistfully, taking down her open sign.

She went inside, closing her drapes and doors. After she was done with that she set her kettle on her makeshift stove and threw herself onto her large hassock, finally relaxing a bit. 

"Helloooooo." The angelic voice called. 

"Oh yes, sorry. I'm listening now." Vera sighed heavily, resting her tanned face on her knuckles. 

"Do not fret, Narfu will forget all that has come to pass, including eventually completely forgetting his son's passing." It reassured. 

Relief washed over Vera like an airship sailing off into the sunset. 

"Good, good." She yawned, stretching out on the hassock, quickly falling asleep out of pure exhaustion.

And then she awoke to a black room, without any windows or doors. But it didn't quite feel as if she was awake, she felt drowsy, like none of her senses were working properly. 

A thought hit her so loud and hard she thought it might wake up the entirety of Clockwork City. 

"If you have this curse now, you can actually tell the future!" She pondered while she was in the air of the dark room now, floating. 

"But magik, it isn't real." Another thought intruded.

"To the land in between with that!" The voice from before shouted, not the soft voice, no. This one felt to Vera as if a feral animal was attacking her.

"Magik, both good and bad is real, you have ignored us while indulging yourself with the riches you so ignorantly steal."

"I do not steal!"

"Not anymore, not with the magik now enchanted within every bone of your body."  This time the voice sounded almost gentle, but with an icy sharp edge hiding underneath.

A vision danced before her, of a family together, and then torn apart by one of the siblings, how the magik weakened the earth now as it tried to live on through two beings, one full of hate, the other full of longing.

A king, on a throne, with a twisted crown. 

"I should introduce myself, should I not." The being said.

A pair of white eyes lit up the black room, revealing a mottled face of all different kinds of brown. Black and white hair draped over the being's shoulders in long braids. Circling down to a staff that it held with the utmost care. 

"My name, is Tariq, and I am here to show you the future. And how you fit into it."