The Price of Plague

This story contains themes of death, disease and despair, including references to blood.

All around me, a dissonance of harsh voices barked orders, blending with the moans of those who saw their doom reflected in the crow's shadow. It prowled relentlessly through the street, its beaked mask dark and chilling, eager to claim what the plague had left in its wake.

I had already watched them toss the lifeless body of my father, the last of my family, onto their death carts. His spirit, once so strong, now haunted me—his skin a ghastly shade of blue, his hands slack and lifeless, falling against the corpse beneath him, drained to a deathly black. The thought of where he now lay, entombed among the cursed dead, gnawed at me, but I pressed it down, dulling the pain threatening to lance through my chest.

My fingers dug into the coarse fabric of my cloak, anchoring me to the present moment as I blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. The street behind me exuded a sinister vibe. Its foul breath felt like crooked fingers pulling me back into the decay. Yet at the church's threshold, a calm settled—unnaturally serene, as if the door warded off the darkness with a cold, soothing touch. The contrast is unsettling—the peace here is almost deliberate, like a veil hiding something far more precarious.

As much as it did outside, the sickness festered behind this door, yet the eerie calm lured me forward, feeding on a fragile hope that whispered of survival. I could almost feel its illusion, ready to shatter with the slightest breath, reuniting with the harsh world of the plague.

A sudden chill slipped into the marrow of my bones, recalling the cold winter night I had stood before this very door for the first time, driven by desperation and pleading for help. She was there, cloaked in shades, untouched by the plague. Her dark, piercing eyes resembled vast reservoirs of the deepest ink, exuding an ominous sense of knowing as they bore into mine with unyielding inevitability.

There was no offer of solace or antidote—only an ominous murmur, "Return when your choice mirrors your soul." The following day, my mother had been gasping, the sickness overtaking her. Her words reverberated through the frayed threads of my heart as I sat in my mother's waning breath.

Once again, I stood before the door, my knuckles hovering just shy of the wood, unable to knock. The clergy shuffled past, their once-sacred robes now stained and tattered, their eyes hollow, more like the thralls of death than servants of the divine. They moved with automated obedience, indifferent to my presence as if their humanity had wasted away, leaving only husks of men bound to grim duties.

Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestone path, like those who once attended mass in these halls. The air was always thick with incense and murmured prayers and seemed to pulse with a holy presence, a comforting awareness. 

I lingered before the door, unsure if it was the warm guiding energy I once felt here or the darkness I feared holding me in place. My hand trembled, yet it reached out, needing to know which called for me.

My hand fumbled against the door as I traced its surface, trying to steady my trembling fingers. Slowly, its calming presence bled into my skin, its surface cool and smooth, bringing a calm acceptance. 

Did others stand here as I did, facing the same offer, hesitating in the face of quiet dread? Were they able to find the force to move forward, or did they falter, seized by uncertainty? The wood softened by the whispers of prayers, and the weight of unspoken fears existed for my absolution, a saving grace from my misery and shame.

With a fortified resolve, the door yielded under my touch and with one final breath, it gave way, screeching open toward my only future.

The door opened to a room in solemn silence, its vaulted ceiling arching high above rows of narrow beds. Once a sanctuary, the stone walls emitted a hollowness, as if they craved the faded devotions that once encircled their shadows.

As I stepped through the threshold, I saw the patients lying on thin, spoiled mattresses, their heads resting on ratty pillows. The heavy air, devoid of the familiar scent of incense, carried a desolate stillness instead. The church succumbed to the plague alongside its people.

The dim light seeped through the tall, arched windows, casting an unsettling pallor over the wan faces arranged along the walls. Arms limply dangled over deep bleeding bowls, which sat below each bed, and the mattresses, placed irregularly, ensured the elevation of their feet.

The intense, metallic scent of iron was pervasive, almost suffocating, as it permeated the room. A prickling unease crept across my skin in silent warning. A shadowy figure stood looming over one of the beds, engrossed in their enigmatic task. Each step on the cold, unyielding stone floor echoed in the shrouded stillness of the room.

The figure's cloak hung heavily, the fabric spreading around them like wings bereft of comfort and draped in shadows. The feathered edges skimmed the floor, trailing like remnants of the once divine.

My heart pounded in the dense silence, each pulse a drum beat. Rooted in place, I waited as thin, colourless hair caught in an invisible breeze, sweeping out of the hood as her spine slowly undiluted. 

Within a blink, she was suddenly facing me, her vicious smile already in place—a smile sharp enough to hold even the clawing grasp of the plague at bay, widening as the memory of our last meeting bloomed. She glided closer as the muted light caught on the elongated, gleaming fangs that hung over her colourless lips. Leaning in, she spoke in a gentle, barely audible whisper, her words carrying the weight of solemnity. "Child, do you submit to the consequences of this decision?"

Her gaze held me captive, those endless dark pits pulling at something deep within. My breath faltered as the air seemed to thin. Each heartbeat slowed the world as it slipped just out of reach. 

The subtle, nostalgic touch of a fire's warmth played delicately against my skin, evoking poignant memories of my parents' reassuring touch. At that moment, a serene sense of belonging envelops me, gently easing the weight of tension from my body and melting the stiffness from my shoulders.

My mouth went bone dry, my tongue gritty and unyielding, making each syllable a struggle. Pulling the words out, they emerged with striking clarity, a dark bargain irrevocably sealed. 

"I do."

Her smile vanished as she brought her hands together with a crack. Beneath my feet, quakes billowed through the earth.