A wicked deed

Lydia stood apart from the other acolytes, as usual, during Morning Prayer. That day, she had tied her dress with a belt to give it a more delicate appearance, which earned her occasional disapproving glances from Elvera, though the abbess said nothing. Instead, the mother superior continued recounting yet another legend about Solara, the Goddess of Life and patron of all servants of the Monastery of Saint Heliopolis. But Lydia only half-listened, already knowing these stories by heart.

Despite the Harvest Season coming to an end, the weather was pleasant, and sunlight danced playfully through the monastery’s stained-glass windows. Lydia’s attention was drawn to a large bird with vibrant blue feathers shimmering under the light. The bird seemed just as curious about her, its beady, jewel-like eyes watching her from an open window on the Eastern Terrace. It hopped nervously along a bare branch as though trying to find the best angle to observe the little girl. Its movements, however, appeared odd.

Suddenly, Lydia felt a sharp prickling at the back of her neck, followed by a chill creeping down her spine as though someone was watching her. Indeed, when she tore her gaze away from the bird, her eyes locked onto Anara's pale blue stare. The girl, two years older than Lydia, seemed to be the only one who didn’t hide her curious glances. Sometimes Lydia found that curiosity harmless, but other times, it felt like hot coals burning into her. Nevertheless, Lydia always met Anara’s gaze head-on, trying to decipher whether it unsettled her more than it intrigued her. It felt as though Anara, like Lydia herself, was silently rebelling—rejecting the restrictive robes of the monastery or “forgetting” to tie her hair into a strict bun before prayer.

In the six years since Lydia had arrived at the monastery, she and Anara had never spoken. Lydia was a reserved child, though that didn’t stop her from regularly breaking monastery rules. Everything changed two years ago. “Chosen.” That was the word Lydia often heard whispered by both younger and older acolytes as they hurried past her in the corridors after her initiation. What was supposed to be a routine ceremony to induct her as a healer turned into something extraordinary: Solara herself had marked Lydia with the Sun’s emblem, a divine blessing not seen for centuries.

Even Mother Elvera began addressing Lydia as “the Chosen One” during morning prayers, reminding her she was now a model for other acolytes and healers. If Lydia had felt like a loner before, now she was truly isolated, as the younger servants of the monastery were forbidden from speaking to her. Yet, the rare glances she exchanged with Anara reminded her that she wasn’t entirely invisible.

Absorbed in her silent standoff with Anara, Lydia didn’t notice when Elvera concluded the service and dismissed the acolytes for their lessons. The blue-eyed girl blinked, seemingly returning to reality, and moved with the crowd toward the exit.

“Lydia,” came the mother superior’s voice, snapping her back to attention. The silver-haired woman stood over her, hands clasped in front of her. Lydia inclined her head slightly as a gesture of respect. “Child, where did you get that belt?” Elvera’s voice was soft, yet there was no mistaking the authority in it. Lydia remained silent, her head bowed. Elvera waited patiently, her gaze unwavering. Realizing no answer would come, she sighed and turned her attention toward the window, where the bird still perched, watching the Eastern Terrace.

“You must remember, Lydia, that you are Solara’s reflection on this earth. You are her Chosen—”

“I don’t want to be!” Lydia blurted out, clutching at the fabric of her dress. Her head remained lowered, her shoulders tense. “I don’t want to be her Chosen…” she whispered despairingly, though Elvera heard her. The abbess’s rough fingers seized Lydia’s chin, forcing the girl to meet her steely grey eyes. Lydia wanted to shrink away from the pain and take a step back, but instead, she held her ground, meeting the old woman’s gaze with defiance. Elvera’s expression hardened, her eyes darkening like storm clouds, hinting at something terrifying.

“No one cares about what you want, Lydia,” Elvera’s voice turned cold, barely above a whisper. “Just as no one cares about what I want. Our duty is to serve Solara. You have been granted the honour of bearing her power, so you will—” her grip tightened, leaving red marks on Lydia’s chin—“follow the rules.”

Elvera held her gaze for a moment longer before releasing her and stepping back, her hands folding neatly as before.

“You will recite the prayer for forgiveness three times and then attend your lessons,” she instructed, her voice returning to its usual calm. As she walked toward the terrace doors, she paused. “And take off that cursed belt,” she added over her shoulder, leaving Lydia alone.

Lydia stood frozen for several minutes, ensuring the woman had gone. The corridor was silent, and no one seemed to be heading toward the terrace. Trembling, she untied the belt that gave her dress some semblance of shape. Clenching her teeth, she threw it across the room with all her strength.

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she noticed the bird again. It had moved closer, now perched on the windowsill, still watching her intently. That’s when she saw its left wing was bent unnaturally, clearly injured. As if confirming her suspicion, the bird chirped weakly and tried to spread its wings but failed. Losing balance, it tumbled to the stone floor with a dull thud. Lydia flinched as she watched the creature struggle near the wall, trying to right itself.

It made faint noises, almost as if pleading for help. Lydia glanced around to ensure no one was near the terrace before cautiously approaching the wounded bird. Its wing was indeed broken, and the fall had only worsened its condition. She noticed smears of blood beneath it. The girl crouched down, still clutching her arms tightly to herself, and watched the dying bird. She could have healed it with a single touch, but Lydia remained motionless. Her power was still weak, and she could manage only one healing per day before her life energy completely drained her, plunging her into an unshakable sleep. Elvera, of course, seemed oblivious to the toll magic took on Lydia, insisting that the child demonstrate miraculous healings for the monastery’s patients. Since news had spread of Solara’s Chosen appearing in the mortal world, dozens of the sick and ailing had travelled to the monastery from all corners of the realm. Even the King of Elves himself had sent a congratulatory message as if a great miracle had indeed occurred.

Lydia knew there were no scheduled healings today, yet she hesitated, remembering the unpleasant weakness that would follow. More than that, she was curious—curious about what would happen once the bird died. She had never seen death before. During the daily prayers, Elvera often spoke of how all souls moved to the next world after death, where they were granted new lives. Lydia had always wondered where exactly that place was and how one might reach it. She dreamed that, perhaps, if she found the way there, she could secure a new and different life for herself. Of course, Lydia did not want to die, though she didn’t fully understand what death meant.

And so, the girl simply continued to watch the bird, its glittering eyes still fixed on her, seemingly pleading for help. Perhaps it, too, was destined for a new life—one far better and free from pain, she thought. Yet, the bird clung stubbornly to this world, dragging itself closer to the girl and leaving behind a trail of blood. Lydia recoiled, her expression of curiosity shifting to mild disgust. She didn’t want to touch the creature, though its bright blue feathers were mesmerizing. But time was slipping away quickly, and she needed to head to her lessons.

She reached out, her trembling fingers brushing its feathers. The bird stilled, as if waiting for a miracle. Lydia hesitated; she didn’t want to heal the bird. Yet Elvera always emphasized that Lydia had been Chosen to save all living souls, to heal them, to help them. Lydia didn’t know what would happen if she simply allowed the bird to die. Still, a tiny ember of hope burned in her chest—the hope that the bird’s soul might show her the way to the new world she often dreamed of. If she could escape there, she wouldn’t have to be the Chosen One anymore. She wouldn’t have to be someone she didn’t feel like being and wouldn’t have to act in ways she didn’t want to.

She pictured the bird’s body relaxing, exhaling its final breath, and its soul slipping away like a thin wisp of smoke. Lydia didn’t even register what had happened at first when the bird’s body truly stopped moving, her fingers still brushing against its feathers. The bird’s black eyes gradually lost their sharpness, dulling until they resembled lifeless glass.

Lydia froze, barely breathing, her wide eyes fixed on the bird as though waiting for something to happen. But nothing came. She saw no sign of the bird’s soul leaving its body. “Maybe it’s not dead yet?” the thought flitted through her mind. Summoning her courage, she nudged the bird gently, but it remained still, showing no signs of life.

A chilling realization settled over her like frost—death was not what she had imagined. It wasn’t terrifying or repulsive; it was shocking in its simplicity. In a single moment, the bird stopped existing and breathing, yet its body still lay there on the cold stone floor of the Monastery.

“Maybe birds don’t have souls?” Lydia whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible as she stared at the lifeless creature.

“What have you done?” a voice startled her from behind. She turned to see Anara standing in the doorway, her wide blue eyes fixed on the dead bird.

“What are you doing here?” Lydia snapped, springing to her feet and stepping in front of the bird to block it from view.

“Mother Superior sent me to fetch you,” Anara replied, her gaze locked on the lifeless creature. “Did you kill it?” The accusation sent a shiver down Lydia’s spine. Had she killed it? She wasn’t sure. She had wanted it to die, and perhaps that was enough.

Before Lydia could answer, Anara raised her voice, her words ringing out like a bell through the monastery. “SHE KILLED IT! SHE’S A MURDERER!”

Lydia’s heart raced as she saw figures moving toward the terrace. Fear gripped her as Anara’s triumphant smirk sent a clear message: Lydia’s secret was about to unravel.

The heavy thud of hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, growing louder with every second. Lydia clutched the bird’s lifeless body in trembling hands, her mind racing. Blood stained her fingers, still warm, and the metallic scent made her stomach churn. Her throat burned as bile rose, but she forced it back down. She couldn’t afford to break now.

Anara’s triumphant gaze drilled into her like a blade, her pale lips curving into a smug smirk. Lydia could almost hear her thoughts: You’re finished.

The Eastern Terrace was no longer her sanctuary. Within moments, it had turned into a courtroom, and she was the accused. The first of the healers arrived, their faces a mixture of concern and suspicion. More followed, their hushed whispers building into a murmuring tide.

“What’s going on here?” an older healer demanded as he stepped forward, his sharp eyes darting between the bloodied bird in Lydia’s hands and the victorious Anara.

“She killed it,” Anara accused again, her voice trembling with feigned grief. “I saw her with my own eyes. She didn’t try to heal it—she let it die. She’s no Chosen One; she’s a bringer of death!”

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, echoing with disbelief and horror. Lydia’s heart pounded so fiercely it felt as though it might shatter her ribs. She looked down at the bird in her hands. It was still, too still. Did I kill it? The thought churned in her mind, loud enough to drown out the noise around her.

“What’s going on here?” Mother Superior Elvera’s sharp voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The crowd parted instantly to let her through. Her stern gaze swept over the scene, lingering on the blood staining Lydia’s hands.

“She killed the bird,” Anara repeated, though her tone faltered slightly under the abbess’s scrutiny. “She’s not what you think. She’s dangerous.”

Elvera’s grey eyes narrowed, pinning Lydia in place. “Is this true?” Her voice was calm but carried the weight of judgment.

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her hands trembled, her mind blank except for one word: Run.

But then, something unexpected happened. A faint twitch ran through the bird’s body. Lydia froze, her wide eyes fixed on the creature. A moment later, it stirred again, its small chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd as the bird’s glossy black eyes slowly regained their light.

Lydia’s fingers loosened, and the bird shifted in her hands. Its broken wing, once bent unnaturally, now stretched outward, whole and healed. The creature gave a hesitant chirp, flapping its wings experimentally. Then, with a burst of energy, it leapt from her hands, soaring into the air and circling the terrace before flying out the window into the bright morning sky.

The crowd fell silent, their eyes glued to the space where the bird had disappeared.

“She lies,” Lydia’s voice finally came, trembling but firm. “I healed its wing. I didn’t kill it.” She met Elvera’s gaze head-on, the weight of the accusation heavy in her chest. “I cannot take life. You know this.”

Elvera studied her with a calculating expression, her lips pressed into a thin line. The silence stretched painfully long, broken only by the distant chirping of birds outside.

“Lydia is the Chosen of Solara,” Elvera declared at last, her voice loud and unyielding. “She cannot bring death. She embodies life itself.”

A collective exhale rippled through the gathered healers. Relief washed over Lydia, but it was short-lived. Her golden eyes flicked to Anara, whose pale face was streaked with silent tears. The girl’s lips trembled, her moment of victory crushed into bitter ashes.

“We do not tolerate lies in this monastery,” Elvera continued, her gaze shifting to Anara. “Ten lashes with the rod. No healing afterwards—only compresses.”

The crowd gasped, and Anara’s tear-filled eyes widened in horror. “But Mother Superior, I—”

“Enough,” Elvera snapped, silencing her. With a wave of her hand, two healers stepped forward, grabbing Anara by the arms. The girl struggled weakly but did not cry out as they dragged her from the terrace.

“Back to your duties,” Elvera ordered the remaining healers, her voice brooking no argument. One by one, they dispersed, though a few cast lingering glances at Lydia before leaving.

Now alone with Elvera, Lydia felt the weight of the abbess’s gaze settles on her like a physical burden. The older woman stepped closer, her eyes scanning Lydia’s bloodstained hands and the discarded belt still lying on the floor.

“Wash your hands and return to your lessons,” Elvera said coldly. Her voice lacked the warmth it once held, replaced by a frigid distance. Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode toward the main doors.

Lydia stood frozen for a moment, the sound of Anara’s cries and the crack of the rod echoing faintly in the distance. With shaking hands, she approached the stone basin at the terrace’s edge and dipped her fingers into the cool water. Swirls of crimson bloomed in the basin, twisting like smoke before dissolving.

She watched the blood wash away, her reflection staring back at her from the water’s surface. Her golden eyes burned with something new—something she couldn’t yet name.