His Heart.

I am awakened by loud bangs of thunder as lightning flashes across the window and finds the remainder of its glow on my face. The thump of my heart seconds the music of the skies, and sweat slides from my temples to the bone of my neck. The pitch of my breathing is high, and, as if in sync, I quickly feel a salty tinge well up in my eyes. I try to swallow the tears away, but their ambush is instant—they have already coupled up to form an inundation on my face. That face, in my dreams, it is nearby.

It was such a long time ago. I never talk about it, the daunting loss and repercussions thereafter, but the memories come like ghosts in the night—vivid and alive. And that’s why a scream doesn’t fall far behind, because today, unlike the many times before, the loud swoosh of rain shall devour my cries.

---

“Such a paragon of ethereal beauty—I am blessed to lay my mortal eyes upon,” he’d said immeasurable moons ago. And I had given him my hand to kiss, my eyes to penetrate, and my smile to feed on.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” I can still imagine the virile husk of his voice—powerful and enchanting. I had rolled onto the dance floor with my unnamed prince, stared into the lush green of his eyes, and laughed at his meek jokes.

Faces watched us, words were exchanged between guests, and thoughts locked deep within the bounds of each heart. But all the while, I had traveled into different layers of the universe where the music was made by angels, and nothing else existed. I remember thinking—foolishly, fondly—that it was the first time I had tasted the essence of joy.

“Dare I say the moon looks lovely tonight?” he’d whispered, glancing briefly skyward. “But I pay it little mind, for it only exists to crown your features—your sculpted nose, your toned cheekbones, and with such glow, that Cupid’s bow.” He smiled then, and as though it were contagious, I felt my eyes crinkle as my lips stretched into a foolish grin.

I had never known what it meant to be content, but that night beneath the full moon’s gaze, sitting on the foliage, holding his hand, and feeling soft gusts of wind in my hair—I felt a peace so pure I wished to trap it in a jar and bury it deep, where time could not touch it.

But dawn always comes. And with it, truth.

---

“Evelyn.” A voice stirs me now, sounding deep in my subconscious. “Evelyn.” It comes again, far and dreamy. I try to attach it to my trance, but the third call—sharp and fierce like a bell struck too close—evokes my senses into tangible reality.

I jolt, but instantly manage to free my mind from the possession of the past and register my surroundings: the tiny cabin room in the middle of nowhere, the soft ticking of the mantle clock, the dim grey light of evening - with no hope the weather shall shed its overcast veil. The fire’s embers have cooled. Rain still sighs gently on the rooftop, and a faint chill creeps through the door—ajar from Alex’s entrance.

She hands me coffee. The aroma hits my nose, and the steam warms my face. It is hot, bitter—and I let it scald the back of my throat. It hurts. I deserve it.

“Are you alright?” she asks. “Was it a bad dream? I always advise against afternoon naps.” She sighs, placing herself beside me. Her touch on my arm is almost tender, and her eyes warm and welcoming. I nod. Of course I nod, with a smile. Women like Alex always ask questions, and they deserve sweet answers.

“Here. Wipe your face,” she says tightly. “Now breathe in. As I always say, identify your emotions and walk me through them so we can unravel them, together.” Her touch graduates to a caress on my back and a hopeful smile curves on her lips. I swallow a lump in my throat and decide to offer her the only truth I’ve ever been brave enough to say aloud.

“I yearned for nothing but his heart.”

---

It was the 31st of December, 1902. I’d walked up the estate's stairs to be met by the scent of crushed petals and gardenia. I could taste the thickness of laughter in the atmosphere and the silent moans of a time so quickly gone by. Families of our shape had gathered, friends reunited. Music drifted from the pianoforte to every room, and as expected in every ball, velvet dresses swept across the polished floors and feet curled up into tiny dances as they walked. Conversations had wrapped themselves into ounces of rhythm and melody, and not a pin in the world could pop this balloon. Yet I, Evelyn Deveraux, virgin of the house, darling of the family, felt none of it. The day had arrived. The anticipation had been met. And, no, not the New Year. Something older, something sacred.

They spun around me like a waltz, and like a good girl, I spun with them, offering smiles where cordial. But, inside, I was studying, observing, taking notes. Inside, I was counting – hours, breaths, heartbeats.

It was a family tradition, they said. A story as old as our blood. Every seventh full moon of the turning century, a tribute must be made to commemorate Evelyn the First — the matriarch who defied mortality, who traded one life for her eternal youth. The ritual was quieted in public, but behind our doors, it was celebrated. And I, namesake and heir, had been chosen this turn. I had to find my perfect prince to lead along this way of life, love and eternity, and as though my ancestors could read the lines on my heart, fate brought him to me. In flesh, and in blood.

---

“His name was Prince Edwin of Hessengrad.” I blow my nose, and adjust my sitting position on the couch. Alex makes a successful attempt to draw a shawl on my back before going on to throw another log into the fire. The room feels warm and homey –something it has never been – with a rising smell of liver pate and pancakes that tickle my throat in anticipation. “We had danced. Laughed. Kissed." I smile at her, despite the pain of the chain that is feeding off my legs. "And I had led him, hand in hand, through the frost-laced gardens and into the forest.” I say, lost in thought.

---

“The moon is so full tonight.” He’d whispered.

“Isn’t it perfect?” I’d said, desire roaring beneath my ribcage.

The trees had swallowed us in their silence. My breath fogged in the winter air. My gloved hand curled tighter around his. The walk had been glorious, for as long as the lights lit the path before us, because shortly, chasing the moon from the claws of the gigantic tree leaves and branches, the woods had stopped looking like they had emerged from a sketch in a fairy-tale or a pattern in poetry, but had twisted into knots and skeletal-arms-looking branches, outstretched in silent witness.

“Your guests must wonder where I took you at this hour.” His words had been followed by a crunch of our boots as they stepped on the hush earth. It was silent, eerie, as though the forest itself were holding its breath and the moon intentionally hiding its face away from us.

“They are quite alright. I feel rebellious tonight.” I smiled.

“Certain? I’d like to ask you out for a date properly, my lady.”

“Don’t you trust me?” I said, tilting my head, to which he just smiled.

We ventured deeper. A crow took wing above us, its cry sharp as a needle. The air thickened, fragrant with damp moss and a metallic undercurrent he couldn’t place — but I could. I knew it too well. We were close. The elders were just tiny miles away, and my heart was yelling, ‘It is time.’

“Will you marry me, my prince?” I held his hands at once, my face inches from his. I witnessed him exude a breath I assume he’d been holding all this while.

“Ahem.” He chuckled, and I saw a sense of unease escape his eyes.

"I knew from the moment I laid my eyes on you, I want to spend the rest of eternity with you, however it is measured. Let us share matrimony with the stars." my voice sounded bare, my breath cold. He was still staring at me, lost for words.

It was uncanny, and it did defy all the laws of nature and morality, but I had a womb to protect, a promise to fulfill.

“You are riddling me, Evelyn. We’ve just met.” He caught his breath, his gentlemanly smile not fading from his sleek face.

I stepped closer, close enough to hear his heartbeat and register that it was beating two times faster than it should on a normal day. “But, you said you’d give me your heart as we shared wine in the garden. Remember? Before our little walk?” I said, my lips dropping to highlight a turn of sadness.

“Yes. –" he searched for words. “But, not tonight. Tonight, let us gaze at the stars and await fireworks my dear, shall we?” he smiled, planting a kiss on my forehead.

But, still unapparent to him, we were the stars on presentation tonight.

A faint howl echoed in the distance. Not very far, but it was enough for Edwin to release my hand, turn his back on me and look around for the sound.

"It is probably a fox." I'd said, taking a step towards him as he scanned the woods. The trees had grown older here. Their trunks carved with symbols — not by man, but time. And, tonight, as the countdown echoes shyly, their roots shall know after centuries of new blood, and mother Evelyn, hail my queen, shall feast at this regal sacrifice.

"Edwin!" I unsheathed the ceremonial blade from my cloak. “You promised me your heart.”

“Evelyn –“he recoiled, frantically placing a hand on his side.

But the second howl of the wolf cut through the trees – not distant, not alone. Time was passing through my fingers.

He turned back to face me, his eyes widened, the full horror dawning.

A scream caught in his throat but never made it to the surface. I’d smiled thinly then, my hand rising once more to land a swirl on his perfect chest when retaliation spooked me out. He shoved my hands with frantic strength, his hands clutching painfully at my wrists, trying to wrest the dagger away. My breath tensed, and my jaw dropped at his strength amid the pain and bloodbath the snowy earth was beginning to be. We tumbled onto the earth, a violent tangle of limbs. Breath ragged in the cold air and survival was fought for.

"Evelyn, stop!" he cried out, fury and heartbreak split across his voice. He grabbed for the blade again. “Please. Why are you doing this?” His voice cracked further, but with resilience still grasping onto it.

“Let go!” I struggled, teeth gritted, the metal between us slick with blood and snow. In the scuffle, free from the bases of time or consciousness, the knife twisted — and with a flash, the edge glanced across his cheek.

He screamed. A passionate scream. Painful and deviant.

A vivid line bloomed across his face, from temple to jaw — a mark that would never fade.

His eyes blazed. Mine did too. And for a moment, I fell back. My eyes stared at him in horror, and a tear dropped. But, in that spilt moment of vulnerability, he jumped to his feet, turned to his left, crashing through the underbrush, branches whipping against his face. Blood spilled freely from the waist gash I'd carved — a crimson ribbon unspooling into the snow.

“Stop!” I screamed out. “You promised!”

I chased him. My feet dragging themselves on the leaves, and for one breathless, wicked moment, the pursuit filled me with something ancient — primal. I felt a strong sense of belonging, and even though I was late, I knew I had to keep going. My lungs burned, my soul anticipated the heart I had almost attained, and every heartbeat sang with the thrill of the hunt.

The forest echoed with his gasps, his stumbling steps, the crackle of leaves — until silence.

He was gone.

Vanished into the dark.

---

Back in the cabin, I sip the last of the cold coffee and pluck the blade from Alex’s chest. Her sad eyes look back at me—lifeless—but her soul lives inside me, betrayed. I was her psychological assignment following my release from prison —just a chain to observe—but from today onward, the lock has been placed on her soul. It had always been inevitable.

The fire crackles.

Somewhere in the woods, a wolf howls.

I close my eyes, holding the knife close to my heart, imagining the work of art the scar must have become—identifiable even under the veil of old age.

Finally, I smile. Earnestly.

Finally, I step outside. On a search.

Tonight, I will not miss.

Tonight, I will have his heart for dinner.