A Month of Midnights

Night had fallen. The air was frigid, and my thin clothing created a layer of ice on my skin. I couldn’t feel the cold though. In fact, I was warm. I could feel a subtle river of heat winding its way through my body. I knew it was my magic. My magic. This morning, the thought of having my own magic would have thrilled me beyond words. Having something supernatural and powerful be apart of me would have made me the luckiest girl in the world. With my own magic, I’m sure I would have forgotten all the reasons I resented Istoria.

Instead, I hated my magic. I wanted nothing more than to get it out of me. It was an intruder. It was poisoning my future, and I wished more than ever to get it out. I pulled my knees up to my chest. When we had returned home, I had walked straight into my room, changed into my nightgown, and sat down on the floor. I had been in the same spot ever since. I looked over at my broken bed frame. I suppose I could still lay on the bedding, I thought. The heat inside me surged, and I winced. No, I think I’ll just stay here. I put my face in my hands. Why did this have to happen to me? Everyone knew that those who were chosen to become villains were already naturally bad themselves. Did thinking about the state of our world make me bad? I made one mistake, and now I must be punished for a lifetime? Tears crawled down my face as I quietly sobbed. I held up my palm and turned it back and forth. I clenched it into a fist. This hand is evil now, I told myself bitterly, your magic has made you evil.

I could suddenly hear a knock on our front door. I heard the sound of Mother’s feet as she shuffled out of bed. Mother hadn’t said a word to me since she found out. I could see in her face that her heart was torn. Her daughter actually made it to Istoria, but she was doomed to a wretched death. How would any mother be able to handle that news?

I heard the front door slowly open.

“We’re not interested in whatever you have to sell!” my mother said harshly. “And what in heaven’s name are you doing out here so late at night?” A whisper replied.

“Yeah, right. You don’t fool me for one second,’’ said Mother. I heard the sound of the door beginning to close.

“Wait, please! I am telling the truth!” said the stranger finally loud enough for me to hear. There was a pause. I heard more sounds of multiple feet walking into the house. The steps came closer to my room.

“Come in,” I said solemnly before they had even reached the door. A few seconds later, it opened slightly. I saw my mother in her nightgown, holding a dim candle for light. She opened the door wider to reveal the person who was with her. I was only shocked for a moment before I glared at the Storyteller. Taking my mother’s candle gratefully, the Storyteller approached me. The magic inside me burned more with my angry emotions. The Storyteller came to me timidly, well aware that I was now armed with evil magic that she herself had given me. She sat down on the floor with me and set the candle between us. Watching the baby flame flicker calmed me, and I finally addressed her.

“Why are you here?” I plainly asked.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you having to live as Maleficent. I just don’t understand why the Writer chose someone as decent as you to become someone as cruel as her!” The Storyteller immediately exclaimed. Mother’s expression furrowed. She was still unaware of the Writer’s existence.

“It’s because of my bad thoughts. The Writer is punishing me,” I said numbly.

“It can’t be! The Writer created the role assignments almost three years ago, long before your thoughts ever became directed at Istoria specifically,” she insisted.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said. “I already have the magic.” The Storyteller abruptly grabbed my wrist.

“That’s where you’re wrong!” she said excitedly. Despite her enthusiasm, her voice was no louder than the wind slipping through a field of summer wheat. “The magic is in you, yes, but it isn’t permanent yet.” I looked up at Mother, but she seemed just as bewildered as I was.

“What do you mean?” I asked. The Storyteller leaned in, her necklaces dangling inches away from the candle flame.

“Storytellers aren’t perfect, and, well, sometimes we make mistakes. The Writer gave us instructions should something go wrong,” she said.

“What would go wrong?” Mother asked from the doorway. The Storyteller turned her to face her.

“Especially with older Storytellers, sometimes the magic just sort of...glitches. It isn’t as strong as the magic young Storytellers bestow. And when the magic glitches..well, the receiver is affected. Symptoms can occur that need to be corrected, and in order to do that, they must travel to see the Writer, and he can fix it,” explained the Storyteller.

“So I have a glitch?” I asked still not understanding.

“Well, no, not exactly. Your magic is just fine, I can guarantee that. I know I may look old, but ask any other Storyteller, and they’ll tell you-”

“Get to the point!” Mother snapped. The Storyteller smiled sheepishly.

“Blyss, I have a strong feeling that your name got mixed up somehow. There’s no way you could be Maleficent. I’ve been around long enough to know what type of people should be chosen, and despite what’s happened this past year, I don’t believe you to be a terrible person. If you go to the Writer and appeal your case, perhaps he’ll see his error and rewrite your fate!” squealed the Storyteller.

“Are-are you sure this will work?” I asked feeling hope for the first time.

“Well, you’ll have to travel through Istoria which is no easy task if you don’t know your way around. And I can’t guarantee the Writer will help.”

“But if he does? Will my new fate still be in Istoria?” I asked. The Storyteller paused. Her shoulders slumped down.

“No, most likely not. All the other roles have been assigned at this point. You would just return to Chorio,” the Storyteller said.

“So you want my daughter to travel to Istoria and ask for her magic to be written away with the good chance the Writer will still say no, or if he does say yes, she’ll just get to come back to Chorio and live the rest of her life in this miserable dump?” Mother asked. The Storyteller stood up.

“I know it is not ideal. I know Blyss wants nothing more than to live in Istoria. But to do that, she must let herself become Maleficent. If she does not want this, she now knows a potential way out. Yes, if she is successful in her quest, she will have to return to Chorio, but she at least won’t have to become a monster. It’s all up to Blyss,” said the Storyteller calmly. Mother frowned at me.

“Storyteller, if I choose to find the Writer, will you come with me?” I inquired though I knew Mother wanted her gone.

“No, all Storytellers must stay here to assist the new characters with their magic. What you’ll need to do is find the Holder of the Histories. You’ll find the Holder at Queen Golde’s castle. It’s right on the other side of the border. You can’t miss it,” answered the Storyteller .

“Thank you for your time, Storyteller, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to think about it,” said Mother gesturing to the door. The Storyteller, taking the hint, nodded and began to head to the door when suddenly she stopped. She turned around and looked at me firmly.

“Blyss, I should warn you. If you choose to seek out the Writer, you must know you have a limited time. The period of time between the Day of the Choosing and the day all chosen characters must report to the border is called the Month of Midnights. At midnight of every day, your magic will increase exponentially. If you don’t have your fate rewritten by midnight of the last day, your magic will become permanent, and you’ll have no choice but to become Maleficent,” she warned.

“Oh, um, alright,” I replied stupidly.

“Blyss, you must understand!” insisted the Storyteller. She took a step closer to me but stopped when she noticed Mother’s glare. “The Month of Midnights is unpredictable. Your magic will grow stronger and can cause you to do wild things if you’re in Istoria. That’s why the Writer declared that those chosen would spend the Month of Midnights still in Chorio, where magic can only be transferred from Storyteller to character but is useless and cannot harm anyone. If you go to Istoria, this will not be the case. You’ll constantly be in danger of your own self.” The Storyteller’s eyes were wide with fear. I knew she wanted me to go to Istoria, but she was terrified of some unforeseen danger that I was only beginning to understand.

Mother rudely ushered out the Storyteller before more could be said. I watched from my window as the dark figure scurried away back into the night. I rushed to Mother who was just closing the door.

“No,” she said before I could have a chance to speak, “you’re not going.”

“But, Mother! I wouldn’t have to be Maleficent anymore! Don’t you want that?” I reasoned desperately. Mother ignored me and walked to her room. “Mother, surely you don’t wish me to be a villain the rest of my life?”

“Blyss,” she said stopping, her back to me, “being Maleficent is a golden ticket to Istoria. That’s all I want for you, to get out of here and be somebody!”

“So you’d rather have me become an evil monster if it means I get to go to Istoria?” I asked. Mother did not answer and continued into her room. “Mother,” I persisted, “this is what I want. I don’t want to live in Istoria if I have to give up who I am.”

“And if your fate isn’t rewritten?” Mother asked, finally facing me. “Where will you be? Stuck in the middle of a dangerous realm on the verge of transforming completely. Is that what you want? Is that the risk you’re willing to take?”

“Yes!” I cried.

“If you stay, Blyss, you can learn to adjust. I’m sure after a month, Maleficent won’t sound so bad. Then you’ll go to Istoria and make your father proud,” Mother said.

“He would’ve hated this, you know he would!” I wailed, not caring that Leo would be woken from his sleep. “This whole thing has been about pleasing you, Mother! And I’ve tried and tried, and I always fail! Don’t you see, Mother? I’m never going to be Sleeping Beauty. I’m never going to have the ‘happy ending’ you think I still can have. These thoughts I have, you know why I have them. You know I’m too much like him.” Mother’s eyes burned into mine. “So for once, please let me do this. I don’t want to leave without knowing you still love me and am proud of me, even if I don’t get the ending you dreamed for me,” I pleaded. Mother looked at me, pain pulling her emotions through a thunderstorm. She turned to her small dresser and set down her candle. She returned and pulled me into her arms. I let my tears flood her shoulder. It felt good to cry again after all these years.

“I will always love you, Blyss,” she murmured gently, “and I will always be proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I croaked softly. She pulled away and brushed my tangled hair behind my ears.

“But I can’t allow you to go,” she finished. “I won’t let my daughter give up the opportunity of the lifetime.”

“But this is my fate, Mother. I’m going to choose what to do with it, no matter-”

“You don’t control your fate, Blyss, haven’t you learned anything? The Writer and the Storytellers do. You are powerless,” Mother said, her words like daggers to my heart.

“Mother, I just want your support, that’s all I ask for!” She shook her head.

“No, Blyss. You don’t have it, and you never will,” she said coldly. “Now go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.” Mother opened the covers of her bed and climbed in. “Blow out the candle,” she ordered. Numbly, I walked over and with a single breath, the flame was extinguished. I stood there listening to her breathing became an even pattern. I turned stiffly to the door and walked back to my room. I changed into my warmest dress and cloak. I took my old basket and stocked it with enough provisions to see me through two weeks if I rationed. If I needed the entire Month of Midnights to find the Writer, I would eventually have to find food elsewhere. I slipped back into Mother’s room and grabbed the spare lantern she stored under her bed. I quickly rushed to the doorway but paused before I left. I turned back to watch her chest rise and fall under the thin blankets. My heart yearned to stay with her and Leo. I loved them more than any possession in the world. Though I was disobeying Mother’s orders, I still could not hate her, and I certainly wasn’t disobeying simply in spite of her. I just couldn’t imagine myself as a villain and being happy like Mother thought I could. I tiptoed to her beside and kissed her hair. She could not feel it, just as I intended. I slipped back to the doorway. I knew if I tried to say goodbye to Leo, he would surely hear me and awake. So I left.

I quietly opened our front door and stepped out into night. The stars shined above me, but their light felt like beams of ice. My breath created frosty clouds that dissipated behind me as I ran. When I was out of sight of the village, I ignited my lantern whose minuscule heat provided no comfort to me as I ventured further. I walked like for a while, unsure of exactly where I was going. All I knew at this point, and what I kept reminding myself of constantly, was that I needed to cross the border and find Queen Golde’s castle. There I would find the Holder of the Histories who could tell me where to find the Writer.

I walked for a good two hours with no luck. I had only been to the border once when I was ten. Mother was pregnant with Leo, and Father was still alive. In celebration that our family would soon have two children to take part in the Day of the Choosing, Father insisted on bringing Mother and me to see the border. Father had been a carpenter, a penniless one, but he had gone out into the forest many times for wood and knew exactly where to find the edge of Chorio. He had built us a wagon for the occasion, back when our only horse was still alive. Of course, finding the border now, in the dark and on foot, was a much harder task.

I stumbled through the blackness faster, afraid that if I didn’t make it across in time, someone would find me and bring me back. My heart pounded in my ears, and my eyes stung from the daggers of freezing wind. It was then I saw it in the distance. It was the perfect scenery that had never failed to slip my mind since the moment I first saw it eight years ago. It was the clearing.

It made a big gash mark all along the forest. The forest dipped down into an open meadow with a bubbling creek cutting through the middle. On the other side of stream, the meadow mirrored its Chorio sister, rising back up a small bluff and meeting the edge of a new forest. I stepped past the last tree and slowly trudged down through the tall, lofty grass. I closed my eyes for a second to protect them from the cold. When I opened them back up again, pure sunshine was raining down on the little meadow. A warm breeze blew through my hair and rippled through the grasses on its way down the meadow. Birds trilled arias that proclaimed joy and euphoria. I saw farther down by the stream a happy family of three, running through the grass trying to tickle one another. I walked closer to them, but they did not see me. The father and mother stopped for a moment. The father tucked the mother’s wild strands of hair behind her ear and looked at her lovingly. I looked past them and saw their young daughter run to the little shore of the stream. I went past the mother and father and stood beside the young girl. Still, she did not notice me.

The girl crouched down by the stream and ran her fingers through the cool water. She swirled the mushy dirt and squished the wet moss. Her head slowly rose up to see the other side of the stream. A plump toad plodded out of the water to rest in the comfy sunshine. The young girl’s eyes widened. She quickly stood up and walked into the water. A step away from unknowingly crossing into Istoria, the girl was suddenly scooped up in her father’s arms. He quickly carried her away and reminded her why she was prohibited from crossing. I watched the family walk up the bluff and back to their wagon and horse that waited for them at the edge of Chorio’s forest. I turned back to the stream. It was night again. My memory had vanished, and now I stood before the same stream eight years later. This time, however, Father wouldn’t be there to pull me away at the last second.

No one would.

I balled my fists tight and tugged my sleeves over my hands. I pulled up the of my dress and leaped over the tiny creek in one jump. My feet instantly began to sink in the mud. I looked around in awe. I was actually in Isoria, the realm of magic, the land of the heroic and the pure evil. I was in a place that most citizens of Chorio would never see in their entire lifetime. And it looked exactly the same.

Everything around me was identical to what Chorio looked like the past eighteen years. There was one difference though that I noticed soon after I crossed. It was the air. It was thick and sweet, almost intoxicating. Without magic, the air would surely burn my nose and choke my lungs. This is why no one from Chorio could cross without magic. They’d suffocate to death.

That being said, my magic was only a day old, and breathing was still a burdening task. I could feel the air cling to the roof of my mouth and on my tongue. It created a sticky layer in my throat like the jam Mother would make on the years we had fresh fruit to spare. Still, I forced myself to walk forward. I climbed up the bluff and approached the new forest. I let myself look back one last time at Chorio. It looked peaceful in the night, and I could feel it calling for me to come back. I denied the urge one last time and walked straight into Istoria.

Though this forest looked identical to Chorio’s, a new sensation almost leaped of the trees. It screamed one word: danger. I had no idea what creatures lived here or how to fight them off. I knew I had to find Queen Golde’s castle, but how? All the Storyteller had said was that it just past the border, but how would I find that in the dark? I began to think of stopping for the night; after all, I was safe from anyone in Chorio who wanted to bring me back. A sudden prick in the back of my neck interrupted my thoughts.

I first assumed it was the low hanging branch of some tree whose leaves had brushed against my neck, but when I turned around, there was nothing. I felt the prick again, and this time it felt hot. I circled around me, but nothing could have touched me. The prickling continued, and it spread from my neck down to my arms. I could feel the pain increase as it moved under my skin and throughout my body. The prickling sensation turned into a slow boiling in my blood. Suddenly, the shivery night could not combat against the blistering fever that raged throughout my body. I fell to my knees and doubled over in agony. The boiling had turned into a burning like a wildfire that was consuming my entire body.

At midnight of every day, your magic will increase exponentially.

The Storyteller’s haunting words became clear.

The Month of Midnights is unpredictable. Your magic will grow stronger and can cause you to do wild things if you’re in Istoria.

Nothing in the trees stirred as I screamed. I could feel the scorching magic crawl up my face, stinging my muscles and bones as it traveled.

You’ll constantly be in danger of your own self.

And it was my own self that was killing me slowly and painfully, burning me at the stake for disobeying Mother and daring to think I had a chance at changing my fate. I shut my eyes and waited for the magic to take away the last bit of life left in me.