Walking to Sarah's lab, I pass the break room where two resistance members quickly look away, their conversation dying mid-sentence. The silence follows me down the hall, heavy with unasked questions and unspoken fears. It reminds me of another silence, long ago – but that one had been warm, reverent, filled with possibility rather than dread.
The memory rises unbidden, as sharp and clear as if it happened yesterday...
Fourteen Years Ago
The Temple's underground chapel always smelled of beeswax and hope. I sat in my usual place – third pew from the front, careful not to wrinkle my white ceremonial dress. At eleven, I was already used to being the center of attention during services, but this day felt different. Special.
"Are you nervous?" Sister Anne whispered, adjusting my circlet of silver leaves. She had been my caretaker since I was small, the closest thing to a mother I'd known. Her hands were always gentle, always warm.
"A little," I admitted. "What if I can't... what if it doesn't work?"
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "It will work. You were born for this, little one. The darkness behind your eye is a gift, not a burden."
Back then, I still believed her. Still believed all of them.
The chapel filled slowly as the congregation arrived for the evening service. Unlike the public ceremonies held upstairs for appearance's sake, these were the real rituals, attended only by the true faithful. I knew most of them by name – Brother Michael who sneaked me extra desserts, Sister Catherine who taught me mathematics, Brother Thomas who let me help tend the herb garden. They weren't just the Church; they were my family.
Mother Superior entered last, as always. But instead of taking her usual place at the pulpit, she came to sit beside me. The honor of it made my chest tight with pride.
"Are you ready, Vesper?" she asked, her voice carrying that melody that made everything feel sacred.
I nodded, trying to project confidence I didn't quite feel. This would be my first time leading part of the service, proving that the power they saw in me was real. That their faith in me wasn't misplaced.
The service began with the usual prayers – not to any god, but to the forces that existed between spaces, the entities that waited to guide humanity to its next evolution. I knew the words by heart, had been singing them since before I could read.
Then came my moment.
"Brothers and sisters," Mother Superior announced, "today we witness a milestone. Our beloved Vesper, touched by Their grace before birth, will demonstrate the gift she carries. Through her, we glimpse the reality that awaits us all."
She helped me to my feet, led me to the center of the chapel where an altar of black stone waited. Candles flickered in perfect symmetry, their flames unnaturally still in the underground air. The congregation watched in reverent silence as I took my place.
"Remember what we practiced," Mother Superior whispered. "Don't force it. Let it flow naturally."
I closed my eyes, focused on the familiar sensation of the darkness behind my left eye. Instead of fighting it, instead of holding it back, I let it expand. Let it reach.
The first touch was always the hardest – that moment of contact with something vast and alien and beautiful. But I had been practicing for months, learning to stay calm, to accept without trying to understand. The darkness spread like ink in water, and suddenly I could see.
A gasp rippled through the congregation. When I opened my eyes, reality had gained new dimensions. Colors that didn't exist in normal space played across the chapel walls. The candle flames bent in ways that should have been impossible, casting shadows that moved with purpose and grace.
And in the spaces between spaces, They watched. Not with malice or hunger, but with something like recognition. Like welcome.
"Good," Mother Superior breathed. "Now show them what else you can do."
Carefully, so carefully, I reached out with my gift. The air between my hands began to ripple, to fold. Reality became soft, malleable. I shaped it the way Sister Catherine had taught me to shape clay, forming it into geometric patterns that shouldn't have been possible in three dimensions.
The congregation's silence turned reverent. Someone started humming the harmony that always accompanied our deepest rituals. Others joined in, their voices creating harmonics that resonated with the patterns I was weaving.
I had never felt so perfect, so completely myself, as I did in that moment. This was what I was born for. This was my purpose, my destiny.
"Beautiful," Mother Superior said, and I heard tears in her voice. "Truly, you are blessed among us."
The patterns hung in the air like frozen music. In their reflection, I saw myself as they saw me – special, chosen, beloved. The darkness behind my eye pulsed with gentle warmth, so different from the hungry thing it would later become.
When the service ended, they didn't immediately disperse as usual. Instead, they came to embrace me one by one, welcoming me as a full participant in their mysteries. Sister Anne wept openly. Brother Michael promised extra desserts for a week.
"How do you feel?" Mother Superior asked later, as she helped me change out of my ceremonial dress.
"Complete," I said, and meant it. "Like... like I finally understand why I'm different."
She smiled, touching my face with that perfect gentleness she had back then. "You're not different, dear one. You're evolved. Advanced. The first of what humanity will become when They guide us to our next stage."
I believed her. God help me, I believed every word.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in my small but comfortable room, watching patterns of starlight through my window and dreaming of the future they had planned. I would be their bridge, their messenger, their proof that humanity could become something greater.
Sister Anne found me still awake at midnight. Instead of scolding, she sat on the edge of my bed and stroked my hair the way she had when I was small.
"I'm so proud of you," she said softly. "We all are. You're going to help so many people, show them such wonderful things."
"Did... did my real mother know?" I asked. "Did she know what I would become?"
A shadow crossed her face, there and gone. "Your mother loved you very much. She gave everything to ensure you would be born with this gift. That's all you need to know for now."
I accepted that, back then. Accepted everything.
The memory fades, leaving me in the sterile hallway outside Sarah's lab. The darkness behind my eye pulses, but it's different now – hungry where it once was gentle, demanding where it once invited. Or maybe that's just how I perceive it, colored by everything that came after.
I think about Sister Anne, about her gentle hands and loving smile. About how she helped hold me down when they took me to the Sanctuary. About Brother Michael, who brought me sweets and later helped break my fingers when I resisted their ceremonies. About Mother Superior, who loved me right up until the moment I became something she couldn't control.
The Church wasn't all bad, not at first. That's what makes it so dangerous – the way it wraps horror in love, the way it makes transcendence seem beautiful until you see the price. They gave me acceptance, purpose, family... and then they tried to use those gifts to break me.
A noise from Sarah's lab brings me back to the present. Time for more tests, more attempts to understand what I'm becoming. But as I reach for the door handle, I remember how it felt to be eleven and beloved, to believe that my power was a gift rather than a curse.
Maybe Marcus is right. Maybe understanding this power, working with it instead of fighting it, is the answer. Or maybe that's just another kind of seduction, another way to lose myself.
Only time will tell.
I enter the lab, ready to let Sarah measure how far I've strayed from human baseline. The darkness pulses, remembering candlelight and harmony, remembering when it felt like home.
Some loves are poisoned. Some families are knives.
I learned that the hard way.