Shifting Fates: Veil of the Forgotten

Ch. 1 

“Eccedentesiast”

I can hear the forest coming alive as the moon rises in the sky. Even with my eyes closed, my senses refuse to rest in this dangerous thicket. My delicate fingers rub the sleepiness that clings to me like a heavy fog. I stretch, the rough stone bites into the soles of my boots. I brush my black hair back, the soft waves tumble across my shoulders as I peer through the narrow opening of my nature-carved refuge, hidden deep within this forest’s uncertainties.

As my lavender-filled eyes blink open, they adjust to the moonlit scenery, shimmering like silver dust. I inhale the cool, earthy scent of the trees, and my heart races — not from fear, but from the intoxicating anticipation of freedom. I draw a deep breath, and as I exhale, I take a last glance at my human hands — small, pale, and scarred from rigorous training, with tattoos, bonds, peeking from the ends of my sleeves. The trembling of my fingers sends a surge of determination through me. It is time.

Time to start moving, to embrace the journey ahead.

With another swift breath, in and then out, I begin to shift, feeling the familiar yet potent sensation of bones cracking and transforming. My human form melts away, bending into something I have found comfort in. Wings unfurl where my shoulders once were, stretching wide. My ears migrate to sharp points atop my skull, heightening my restless senses. My eyes become more refined, crisper, yet the vibrant hue remains just like the purple that shines at the right angles of my blacken hair — a reminder of the girl I have always been and the beast that has always lurked just beneath the surface.

This form is the embodiment of freedom, a creature of the night who soars effortlessly across the sky, dancing on the winds in ways I could only dream of, until now. Their wings, wide and silent, seem to embrace the darkness and the unknown before them, gliding through the unseen world with a grace that rivals even the most elegant of avian creatures. Yet, beneath the awe lies a deep-rooted fear. Seen as strange, some don’t see the beauty in their movements. This form is a creature of shadows, after all, and for many, it represents not freedom, but danger — a mystery wrapped in the unknown, and feared for reasons long forgotten.

For me, I feel connected to these night-dwellers. The way they move through the dark, unseen and unnoticed, resonates with me, as it is something I strive for, although it rarely ever happens. Like me, they live in the spaces in between — eager yet misunderstood, feared yet majestic in their own right. When I take this form, I feel more at ease than I ever did at the castle, or even in my true mortal form. Their wings are an extension of my being, their flight reflects what I truly want.

Freedom.

As I finish shifting, the closed space around me uproars. A rustling sound swells, and suddenly, hundreds of bats erupt from the dark crevices behind me, flooding the small cave with their organized frenzy. The rush of air from their flight, hits me like a gust of wind, tugging at my form, ruffling my own wings. The beat of their movements is like the pulse of the night itself, rapid and rhythmic, each one brushing past me with a feather-like touch that sends a shiver down my spine. A whirlwind of energy and life that nearly knocks me off balance.

The smell of recent rainfall, fresh and earthy, blends with the rich aroma of damp soil. A strong, musky trace of bats clings to the air, carried on by the cool breeze that brushes against my skin, crisp and refreshing. My ears hum with the constant fluttering of wings, each beat a hum in the night. The high-pitched squeaks echo through the darkness, sharp yet distant now, weaving into the rhythm of the wilderness, a symphony of the untamed world surrounding me.

In the darkened sky, I can vanish with them, and that is exactly what I need. One of the few moments in my couple of decades where I can fully feel myself — weightless, untamed, and wild.

As the swarm of bat wings beat and echo through the cave, fading into the forest below, I can’t tell if it is truly my own will pulling me deeper in this journey or something else, something darker and older than I have ever known. My abilities, once so familiar and steady, now are combined with something foreign — ancient, as if they belong to something beyond me.

Shifting comes easily, it feels as natural as breathing. Yet, the power within me stirs with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. It thrums under the surface, a restless energy I can barely contain, reminding me that I am not just in the borrowing form of a creature that resides in the night currently, but I am something more dangerous — a truth I am learning to dread. It boils, just beneath the surface each time my body reforms, as if something has awoken within that I cannot yet understand. There is a tension, a war waging inside me, a struggle that makes even shifting feel like a battle of minds.

What I do know, about the now, is something beyond the trees, beyond the vast, untamed wilderness, calls to me. I don’t know what it is, but it pulls at the core of my being like a tether I couldn’t see, guiding me to something — that might help me find what I craved, or perhaps the danger I fear, but opens parts of me that I have long forgotten.

—

My stomach growls — sharp and insistent, a gnawing hunger beneath my copied form. I mask it with a practiced smile that even fools me at times. A moth flutters into view, a silent specter against the night sky. It darts ahead, its wings glimmering like the first leaves of spring, but the dark spots at the tips — hollow-like watchful eyes — track my every movement. I know those eyes too well. The same eyes that followed me through the halls of the castle, silent but marked, waiting for the moment I would lose control again. Always watching, judging. The weight of expectation I couldn’t meet, pressing in from all sides.

I pause, my gaze lingering on the moth, a subtle pang settling in my chest.

It is no different now, is it? Even here, where I should feel free, my old world lingers. They may not be here, but their eyes are. I can still feel them, waiting for me to stumble, to let the power within slip again. My voice echoes in my skull.

The moth flutters tantalizingly close, wings whispering against the air. My gaze locks onto it as if I am a street cat caught in a risky game with a mouse. My stomach growls — a deep, resonating sound from the depths of my being — or perhaps it isn’t hunger at all. Maybe it is something darker, lurking beneath my skin, also waiting for me to slip.

My stomach twists inside me. I have read about this form I seek comfort in. I studied in the quiet nights behind the wards. Practiced shifting until I got their wings just right. Even would perch on my bed frame to see how long I could hang upside down before getting too dizzy.

This form eats those things, right? I watch the moth with intrigue.

How many legs does that thing have? One, two, three… Six.

Oh, no.

The hunger grips me tighter, wrenching my stomach in knots. It is starting to get harder to tell if it is just the need for food, or something deeper — something agitated, clawing from inside — only caged by a wooden, beaten mental door. Maybe I could silence it all, squash those unsettling feelings with one snap of my jaws.

Maybe it would help — the moth.

Its wings flutter, the dark spheres resembling draining eyes, watch me, just like at the castle. Even out here, in the forest, I can’t shake the feeling. My stomach roars louder, but the reality pushes through, thankfully, six legs crunching in my teeth sound horrid.

Nope. Not happening.

My throat tightens, and my eyes blur as I try to swallow the nausea that is rising from my stomach. Teardrops spill into the void beneath me as I push forward into the autumn’s frosty grasp. There is bread in my satchel. Bread, not bugs. Please let it still be there. I will land soon and check for it.

My wings beat faster, a sudden gust spinning me upward. For a moment, I let myself fall, savoring the chill that snaps back into focus. I am in control. Not the moth, not the hunger, not the beast, not the eyes always watching me. No here, I am free.

I can’t help, but laugh at the absurdity of it all. After everything I have faced — creatures far deadlier than that moth — the idea of trembling because of it seems ridiculous. I could shift into anything lethal enough to tear through bones and flesh, but for the love of the Goddess Nyx herself, I refuse to fall to a bug. Let the hunger howl, let it gnaw. It’s easier to focus on that than the real reason I fled the castle. What is a moth compared to the weight of my powers, and the ones I can’t control? Or the scrutiny of the castle? Or even how boredom made my mind dull and craving? Compared to that — to all of it — the moth is nothing.

The autumn breeze glides beneath my wings, soft cold tendrils caressing the delicate membrane. Each flap sends whispers into the night, a rhythmic sound that steadies me, even if it is just for a moment. I push further into the night, desperate for a distraction — any release from the chaos just beneath my skin, slowly clawing its way to the surface. But, the harder I try to escape it, the more my thoughts spiral.

I thought I had a plan — weeks spent carefully crafting my fleeing, thinking of every detail. Yet, the moment I left the stone walls behind me, it all unraveled like smoke in the wind. Now, there is only the vast, changing landscape below and my aimless flight through it. No maps, no books, no familiar faces to guide me, just the disorienting freedom of being truly alone.

As I search the world outside, there is still a familiar weight — a subtle deviation behind the mental door I have kept sealed — most of the time. The beast inside stirs. I can feel him, a presence, his claws tapping from the other side, reminding me that I am never truly alone.

In this space, the one that rests heavily on my shoulders, the one I have barricaded for as long as I can remember unless told otherwise. The cold in my veins feels sharper than the autumn wind or any dagger I have wielded. It claws at me from within. I inhale deeply, grounding myself in the chill — I am free, outside.

Despite that, the beast hisses its reminder, no walls protect me here, no friends to pull me from the brink, and nothing can change what lingers inside.

But I need something — anything — to seize my attention, to pull me away from the castle’s suffocating stone, the memories that are trapped there, and from this crippling beast inside.

The castle. I knew every crack, every chip, etched into my mind like scars. I craved a distraction to shatter the monotony. So, I push deeper, pushing my wings with more force as the vastness of the world grows just beyond my imprisoned cage.

Leaving the castle, leaving Mother — none of it will change the truth buried deep within. I am breaking. Cracking apart, unless I can find something that can change that. The fear of what I am becoming, of what might happen if I can’t control it soon, haunts me like a second decaying skin. A shaky breath escapes me. You’re free now. Finally. But, freedom doesn’t silence the beast.

To shake off the beast’s incessant haunts, I draw my wings tightly around me and spin, the world blurring into a whirlwind of blackened colors. The wind rushes past, a roaring reminder that I am alive, that I am free — at least for now. In this dizzying motion, I feel the pressure of the air against my lungs.

But beneath the exhilaration, thoughts of Mother tug at my mind like a relentless tide. Typical. Her voice echoes through the years, woven with warning and expectations. I faintly remember the whispers in the halls, echoing doubts of disguised as praise. Mother’s was always there, a lingering presence, reminding me of every failure.

As my wings beat in the air, I can almost hear Mother’s scolding, Stay close, Mihaela. Control your powers or they will consume you. The mantra that left scars deeper than any physical wound I received. Each word cut more than the last, but beneath her harsh commands, there was something else — something I never quite understood. Did she also fear me like everyone else? Is that why she controlled every aspect of my life?

I push through the faded memories as my wings expand, catching the breeze and stopping my momentum with a sophisticated grace. In Mother’s eyes, I was never enough. A vessel of disappointment shackled to her control. She can’t control me out here. I broke free from her chains. My past may linger like shadows, but I refuse to let it dictate my future.

I left, not looking back, and now I am soaring into the unknown. I craved the thrill of the unknown, and out here, everything is unknown to me. That is an invitation — wanting and open for my exploration.

The harsh, invigorating scent of pine drifts in the cool air, reminding me of the trees outside the castle, where Mother would have the handmaidens gather pinecones to roast in the hearths, their familiar aroma stirs a pang of nostalgia, mingling with the changes twisting at my insides, both locked in a dance with no end in sight.

Memories of the castle used to be sharp in my mind, but now, they seem distant, warped as if someone painted over them with dark smudges. Each time I try to grasp them, they slip through my fingers, and the emptiness that follows terrifies me almost as much as the beast’s claws.

Something, anything, please… shift my thoughts away from the castle, the confining wards, and Mother’s looming disapproval. My voice moves through my skull, quiet to hide from the beast, but pleading with the deities of destiny.

A gust sweeps across my wings, cold and ruthless, so I pull them tighter around me as if I could shield myself from the chill — but it’s already inside, festering. Awakening memories I’d rather forget. Another hint of pine moves with the breeze, twisting my thoughts back to the one person I am trying to escape the most.

Mother is probably furious, her denouncing gaze craving deeper lines into her brow with every mistake I make. It was always the same — each misstep, another cut, another scar, to remind me of how I never quite met her expectations. No matter how hard I tried, I am never enough. She always pushed me further, beyond the point of breaking, beyond pain, beyond stability, until my body was nothing, but bruises and scars. When I failed — when I was too slow, too weak, too uncontrollable — she would lock me away behind wards, hidden from the world, a tool to be sharpened in secret, but dulled on the inside. My powers were never my own. They were hers, to be bent and used, no matter the cost to me.

I can still hear her scolding voice bouncing in the small space of my skull, dripping with dissatisfaction, warning me of the dangers beyond the castle walls. She always doubted my strength, my wits, and my worth. I wonder if that is what she truly wants — to make sure I become her greatest disappointment of all.

A low growl, deep from the recesses of my mind, slices through my thoughts. The beast inside uproars, rattling the door I have kept locked for so long. But, no matter how tightly it was latched, it never stays that way for long. There are cracks now, even I can’t fix them. Mother’s demands, my emotions, my changing powers — the beast slips through, prying the door open when I least expect it. His presence, like Mother’s constant displeasure, both always lingering, waiting to break me completely. The beast's growls reverberate in my skull, vibrating with primal energy — distant, yet pressing against the wooden door with alarming force. Every mistake, every misstep, every buzzing of the wards, only fed the beast’s rage more.

This beast — this thing inside me — is why I had to leave. More the freedom I sought or the world I longed to explore — no, it’s the unknown within me. The beast moves frantically, more violently than ever before. Its rage feeds on something deeper, something I can’t control. My powers, my body — they’re changing again, and that terrifies me. I left everything I have ever known to protect them in return. My friends, the clan — they were never truly safe with me. Not with this thing inside me, growing, tearing at the edges of who I am.

And then there are the memories — or lack of them. The gaps. My past feels like a blur sometimes, pieces missing, and they shouldn’t be. I have convinced myself it is my power or the beast’s fault, distorting things, clouding my mind. I can’t remember the last time this happened — the last time I changed. But I know it did. I have flashes of it, just fragments.

I was young, crying behind the wards, terrified. There were men, strangers. They dragged me away, and the fear was so thick, I could barely breathe. Mother’s voice, Control your powers, Mihaela, or they will consume you, moves through my thoughts like my young hands once did when I forced them into a rosebush, desperate to feel something beautiful. The thorns cut deep, I can still remember the blood running down my fingers. Mother’s chant was a pain etched into my very being, and its origin flashed into my brain like it had always been there. The rest is just a mess, a fog that never clears.

I shake it off, blaming the power thrumming through my veins, the beast’s influence twisting my memories. I swallow hard and push it all down, letting the cold sweep over me.

And then I drop.

I fold my wings in tight, letting the wind rush past me, whipping against my skin, freezing the chaos within. It’s reckless, yes, but that is exactly what I need. I plummet, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and it is the moment, I feel it — the rush of freedom. My body embraces the fall, the cold bite of air as it claws my skin. Mother would hate this. But, right now, I don’t care. I fall, and I fall, feeling the pull of the earth below.

For once, I am not thinking about the beast, Mother, or the memories.

Just the fall.