a blue black rose

It was night outside the old, poorly maintained wooden home. The moon lay flat and cheap through a hole in the ceiling. A ring of stones had been dragged into a circle and painted with something that smelled of iron and rain, with the strong taint of blood. Hooded people stood at the perimeter, their faces swallowed by shadow; only the crimson glow of their eyes showed through. In the center, a shallow pit smoked with a bundle of herbs drenched in a black, sticky liquid — the herb seemed to drown in it, as if the world itself were bleeding.The circle hummed. Hooded bodies rocked in a slow, patient tide and a bell far off kept time like a heart.Lanterns threw the watchers' faces into hard planes of shadow; the stones at their feet were painted with golden symbols. The figure at the head of the group shouted:"Why have you abandoned us, after we dedicated ourselves to you? We failed to bring you glory — grant us mercy: either freedom or silence. Just answer. Don't leave us."Something tore through reality like a scare, like a rent in cloth.She fell into the edge of it as if the night had spat her out.Rose hit the wooden floor on her knees and everything in her shouted. The world condensed into the hot, desperate throb at the base of her skull and the taste of copper in her mouth.The doll's threadbare seam was warm from having been gripped; its spiral button eye blurred with something that was not quite dirt. A black speck gleamed near the doll's shoulder like a coin caught in reflection.The hooded people took a step back. This wasn't how it should have gone, it seemed.She tried to stand and her legs betrayed her; they trembled, slack. The lamp-light made the night into a different skin, and she could not remember how she had come to be there — only the impression of running, of pushing through air that did not want her. She felt a strange relief that she could not quite name that whatever had been behind her was now gone; that part she was thankful she did not remember.Fear kept her honest. Her breath came in short, rattling pulls. She scanned the circle without meaning to: a lantern, a boot, a face turned and hidden. The doll against her ribs was the only anchor: the smell of dust, the thread caught under a fingernail. She said nothing; words seemed slippery and far away.Then confusion began like a stain spreading at the edge of paper. The bell's ring stretched and thinned. The smoke lagged as if someone had tugged on it. Colors muddied; the painted sigils swam at the edges of her vision. A scrap of memory — a beautiful girl with mesmerizing features, an eye like glowing crimson — brushed the back of her mind and slipped away. What…? Why…? Who did this…?"They answered — they did not abandon us," the hooded figure in charge cried, excitement showing in his veins and on his face.Her hands moved while her thoughts fell apart. A man at the circle's edge reached one gloved hand toward her — the movement slow and meant to help. A reflex answered faster than language. Her palm closed on the doll like a vise, then opened and closed again, a motion that began to feel like a remembered map. The doll scraped against another hand. The contact struck a chord in her chest: too close, too warm. A different scene flashed before her eyes — vague, splotched, like burned images — and she pushed them away.She made a sound that was not a word, half-bleat, half-cry. It made the nearest watcher flinch. The man stepped back and for a sharp, suspended heartbeat everything was still: breath, lantern smoke, the bell. Then the slow exhale of motion — a crate tipped, a foot stumbled — and someone hit the ground with a dull, final thud. Blood spattered on the wood. Something about her was wrong; she was not like this.As blood fell from his wound, something new overwhelmed Rose — a feeling she had never known before. It was sweet, too sweet. It happened like a dropped thing, like a switch flipping. People shouted. She rushed at him and bit him. The hooded cloth peeled back to reveal an ordinary man, his most striking feature a single, split eye — one blue. He tried to say something, to do something as black symbols manifested in his hand, but they faded to nothing before they formed fully.Regret and pure, physical revulsion flooded Rose at once. Her knees went weak and the doll slipped from her lap and lay on the bloodied wood, its black spot catching the lantern light. She tasted metal and apology in the same breath. She had not meant this; she did not understand how her hands had known what to do when her head did not.Voices rose, urgent and accusing. The hooded circle drew back like a tightened mouth. Dozens of weapons were drawn, forming a tight line. Now, where before they had seemed merely frenzied and fragile, their faces revealed the cold experience of people who had seen death — survivors of hell. Someone cried for them to hold steady, someone else for ropes.Rose pressed her palms to the wooden floor. Her eyes rolled and a moment later she collapsed onto it.A wave of anger and realization washed over the hooded figures; a spark of understanding lit their faces. They had different looks and shapes, but they were all humanoid. The orchard of the circle shifted, and moves were made — quick, coordinated, a net closing.She did not know who she had been a moment ago. She did not know who she would be when the dawn came.