CELESTE
Someone so worthless and powerless like me was never supposed to come here.
Yet, here I was.
At midnight. In the center of the dark swamp which was forbidden. Not only for me but for everyone.
Thunder crashed across the green land like a warning from the skies.
"Celeste, don't you dare!" the voice yelled behind me.
"No one has ever dared to go there. It's dangerous as hell. You are just a damn human, not any ghost hunter or celestial being. What are you even—"
I didn't stop. I kept walking through the wet, messy swamp, ignoring the warnings that echoed behind me. My wolf, Sierra refused to listen as well.
I twisted the little knob on my hurricane lamp and lowered the flame. It wasn't raining yet, but I could feel it coming. I had to leave before it did.
I groaned when my boot suddenly sank deep between tangled roots.
Seriously? Not now.
I pulled and pulled, but the boot wouldn't budge. I looked around, annoyed, and spotted something. Was it an old walking cane? It looked like so. It was half-buried in the mud beside a large tree. The water flowing around it was surprisingly clear, which didn't sit right with me. Still, I didn't have the luxury of caring. Midnight was closing in, and I had to leave.
I walked over and grabbed the cane. The moment I pulled it out, something weird happened inside me.
Like it offended her, a low, restless growl echoed through my chest. It was Sierra. My wolf. She stirred beneath my skin as a flickering light flashed. She sensed danger when I heard the sound.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
A loud, screeching sound, like someone was slamming a wooden door over and over.
I turned fast. About ten steps ahead, I saw a stilt house standing above the water. My heart pounded hard. Sweat dripped down my back even though it was freezing.
"What the heck…?" I whispered.
The door to the house was locked from the outside. But the banging sound… someone was trying to get out. Was someone locked inside?
I used the cane to test the ground and stepped closer. With every step I took toward the house, the banging sound grew quieter… until it stopped.
I walked up to the house, and just as I lifted my foot to step onto the stairs, I heard footsteps behind me.
Squish.
I froze. That sound. Wet boots stepping through the bog behind me.
My body stiffened and eyes went wide with fear. My wolf's senses spiked with warning. She pressed forward, ready to come out.
No werewolf would be here at this hour. Not in this forbidden swamp. So who… no, what was behind me?
My heart raced.
"Don't you dare come any closer." I warned in a shaky voice.
The footsteps stopped… but then, a hand touched my shoulder.
I panicked. Without thinking twice, I gripped the cane tight and spun around, swinging it hard.
Something fell.
A flash of light lit up the figure now lying in the mud. Still. Lifeless. It looked like a mannequin, soaked with swamp water and dead leaves.
I gasped. My wolf paced beneath my skin, fur bristling, torn between snarling and running. Did I… kill him?
I raised the lamp closer. He had a hood, so I couldn't see his face clearly, but I knew it was a man. And he wasn't moving.
But I didn't hit him that hard. There was no wound. No blood. I hadn't meant to hurt him. So why wasn't he getting up?
Just as I was deciding if I should run or not, something even stranger caught my eye.
The water around the body, which had been clear before, was now black… clear black… not bloody black and it smelled awful.
My wolf recoiled, the scent slamming into my senses like poison. Her instincts screamed wrong, though she didn't know why.
"Meow! Meow!"
At the sudden cry, I almost jumped. Resizing I knew this sound, I turned and saw a black cat watching me. Its hazel eyes glowed, bloodshot and eerie.
"W-what?" I stammered.
The cat's eyes widened and for a second, I thought it was scared. But then I remembered there was no point in trying to read their expressions. Whether they see a mouse or a murderer, their expression always stays the same.
I tried to focus again on the body.
But… it was gone.
What the heck. I dropped to my knees and started searching wildly.
My wolf's tension snapped tight. She didn't growl. She went deathly still.
Then, I spotted part of his coat, almost buried in the mud that hadn't been there seconds ago.
I thought he was dead? Then why the hell wasn't he here?
"Meow!"
The cat cried again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turned around.
"A-are you scared?" I asked softly, bending down to pet it.
Ignoring me, the cat just walked away like I didn't exist. It didn't care about me or anything in the world. But maybe it got lost in this land. And if I left it here, maybe it wouldn't survive.
I was in no position to help a cat right now. But something in me forced me to start following the cat.
It had run behind a tree. I sighed and walked towards it.
But halfway there, I stopped.
There, just ahead, on the opposite of this swampland, stood a man. His back faced me. He was tall… probably six feet or more. He had dark hair and wore a long black overcoat. He stood in a small clearing lit by the lamp on the grass. It looked like a fresh lawn with a stream flowing nearby.
A stream and lawn? In the middle of a swamp?
My stomach turned. My fists clenched until my nails dug into my palms. My wolf was silent now as if she didn't believe what she was seeing either.
He stood in front of an easel, holding a paint palette. His hand moved fast, like he was in a hurry. Or like his hand was moving on its own.
Who paints at midnight?
And what was there to paint here?
Thunder flashed, illuminating both the canvas and a scar that ran along his hand.
I staggered closer, trying to get a better view. My entire body trembled.
He was painting a girl.
Her hair was messy, tied in a loose bun, strands falling across her face. She wore a vintage corset over a short shift and lace-trimmed drawers. Tall boots wrapped up to her knees.
Her eyes… blue, but not just blue. Slate on the edges, teal in the middle, black at the center. They showed anger and warmth at the same time.
In her hand… was the cane.
And she was holding it over the head of a man, whose face was hidden.
Me… it was me.
He painted me.