The Gift

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom called Dragonia. From the massive corpse of a long-dead dragon it rose, and from the dragon’s corpse the kingdom thrived, along with the magic that its inhabitants learned to harness. But as the kingdom grew, so did its shadow. The rich grew richer, the ruling council tightened its grip, and if you were not one of them, you would suffer for it.

At the kingdom’s height, there lived a girl named Grace, who seemingly had everything. She was the sole daughter of a wealthy family, and the heiress of their fortune. Grace was a kind and considerate soul, helping those in need, not for any monetary gain, for money was nothing to her, but from a goodness in her heart. She was blessed with healing hands, and thus felt she must use them for others. Most that knew her loved her…a population which did not include her own kin.

Grace’s parents were cynical and bitter, born from old money and an era of Dragonia’s history that for a long time after, went unrecorded. They used their daughter’s power for themselves, as their bodies withered with time—they had an image to uphold, after all. They couldn’t understand why Grace, the girl whom they primed to go and join the ruling council, the girl who could mend any wound at the flick of a wrist—why she would waste her magic on those who did not deserve it. This infuriated them. Over time, their fury turned to malice, until what they believed to be love for their daughter was nothing more than that: a belief. 

Then, an idea caught the both of them by surprise. If Grace could not leave their manor, she would not be able to heal anyone else but them. It was cruel, but to them, she had stepped far out of line. Their perfect daughter was sullying her image, and it had to be cleaned. 

One day, as Grace returned home from her duties, she was stopped by her father. 

“Grace, Grace!” He cried, “You must come quick! Your mother has fallen ill!”

“Father,” Grace pleaded, “I would help in a heartbeat, but I am drained of energy! Is there not another way?”

“There is no time! Come along now!” 

With her only second thought being of how she would hate how tired another spell would make her, Grace obediently followed her father. They walked through the manor silently, until finally, they came upon a small wooden door, far into the estate, that Grace had never seen before. 

“Why would mother be in here, instead of her room?” Grace asked.

“She would not tell me.” Was all her father said, as he fiddled with a small set of silver keys. The knob twisted, the door creaked open, and her father motioned for her to enter first.

Grace stepped into the room tentatively, and only saw its bare wooden floor, off-white wallpaper, and single window, far from the ground. Her mother was not there, and it quickly dawned upon her that something was about to go very, very wrong.

Before she could do anything, though, her father closed the door behind her, a click ringing out. She raced to the doorknob and struggled with all her might, but it was no use. No matter which way she twisted and turned it, the door would not budge. 

She cried, “FATHER! FATHER! LET ME OUT!” But she heard no response. 

“MOTHER! YOU MUST BE THERE!” But she heard no response. 

She began to bang her fist against the door. 

“PLEASE! PLEASE, LET ME OUT!” But she heard no response. 

She slumped to the floor, the hand she used to beat the door red and throbbing. She did not cry, a numb shock having overtaken her. She sat, staring at her hands. They could only heal, nothing else. There was no magic she knew that could get her out. 

Grace did not notice the sun had set until she finally stood once more. Looking to the window, seeing the face of the moon, she realized how dire of a spot she now found herself in. She could not reach the sill of the window, not even standing on her toes. 

She collapsed again. Her shoulders began to shake, and her lips trembled as tears rolled down her face. It started a silent cry, then turned to a wailing sob. When she finally stopped, it was unclear how much time had passed—the sky outside was just as dark and cold as it had been when she started, and yet, she would give anything to feel its touch. 

“Why?” She croaked. “Why would they do this? I am their daughter, why would they trap me here like their prisoner?” 

A church’s bell rang in the distance. Bong, bong, bong. 

Grace raised her head. There was no church in the city, perhaps even all of Dragonia, that would hold a service this late. 

It rang again, louder this time. Bong, bong, bong. 

What in the world could it have been?

Bong, bong, bong.

She had to walk to a church outside of her neighborhood. There were none nearby. 

In the blink of an eye, Grace was no longer in the room with the wooden floor and off-white wallpaper. Instead, water sloshed at her feet, and nothing stood above her head. All saw was a void, which stretched on and on…despite this, she stood stock still. When had she stood?

The bell rang once more, the loudest it had ever been. Its ringing shook her skull and caused her to clutch her head. 

“Grace…” A bellowing voice called to her. 

She looked up, and was met by a wall of black. Further up she looked, until she could no longer crane her neck. The being before her stood taller than any building she’d seen, and then some. It was cloaked in black, a pale face just barely visible from its robes. Atop its back sat a church. 

“Grace…” It called again.

“Yes?” Her voice trembled. 

Silence. 

“Yes? What…where am I?” She asked.

“You are in my realm, between your own and the afterlife.” 

Her face paled. “But I have not…I haven’t died, have I?”

“No, not yet.” The being’s robes shuffled as it moved. “I am just fulfilling a favor for one who pities you.”

Before Grace could ask what it meant, from its robes came a long, bony hand. Between its index and thumb was something small and red. It dropped it, and Grace was puppeted to catch it, having not consciously moved. 

Cupped in her palms was a scale like that of a lizard, red as blood. It was warm, as though it had just been plucked from a spot in the sun.

“It is a gift from your God.” The being said. 

“...Are you he?” Grace asked.

“No.” It said, “Someday, yes. But not yet.” 

“What do I do with this?”

“You eat it.” 

“What?” 

Bong.

The ground shook. The wall of black that made up the being’s robe was suddenly halfway past Grace.

“Wait!” She cried.

Bong. Further from her it went.

“Don’t send me back there!” 

Bong. The being disappeared. Remembering how quickly she had arrived, Grace dreaded to think of how she might leave. Without another second to spare, she brought her mouth to the scale, and swallowed. 

Warmth spread through her throat, her chest, her head, and became an unbearable swelter. It hurt. It burned. She screamed, though no sound rang out. All at once, every instance of pain she had ever felt, all the anguish and hatred which she thought there was not much of, flooded her being. 

Someone would pay. 

She opened her eyes, and found herself back in that room. That damn room with the wooden floor, the off-white wallpaper, the too-high window. The dark night outside could not cool her now. That window would no longer suffice her escape. 

As she walked to the door, woodsmoke began to dance in the musty air. She placed a hand on the doorknob, and turned. Still locked, it clicked in place.

She turned the doorknob again, with more force than she had previously thought capable. It snapped off the door, leaving a hole in its wake.

The door creaked open. 

Yes, someone would pay. For now, her hands could do more than heal.