The basement was cold and damp, the air thick with the smell of wet concrete and something metallic, like rust. The walls were slick with moisture, and the only light came from a single red bulb swinging from the ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows. It felt like the room was alive, watching us, waiting. They unmasked us.
The men surrounding us wore crimson robes, their faces hidden behind masks carved with strange, symmetrical patterns. Their presence was overwhelming, like they were more than men like they were something *else*. One of them stepped forward, holding out plastic cups filled with cold water, condensation dripping down the sides.
"You may feel thirsty," he said, his voice deep and layered, like it came from more than one throat.
I hesitated but took the cup. The water felt heavier than it should, almost unnatural. I didn't drink. My hands were shaking too much to lift it to my lips. Goosebumps crawled over my skin as another man, his red mask gleaming in the dim light, stepped closer and sat beside me. He coughed softly, the sound echoing in the silence. His head tilted toward me, too close, his breath hot and sour against my ear.
"Don't be nervous, young man," he said, his voice smooth but unsettling.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry despite the water in my hands. "What have I done to be dragged here like this?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Why am I on this tightrope?" Before the man could answer, Tadala stood. Her cuffs were gone, but her hands trembled at her sides. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear and something else, something darker.
"We were fated not to have sex," she said, her voice shaking but steady enough to cut through the silence. "Since before we came alive."
I stared at her, my heart pounding. "What are you talking about?" She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto mine. "You saw my nakedness at the Mangochi beach, remember? Under the mosquito net. Every night, you watched me. You never entered. That was the pact."
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest. I did remember. Those nights in Mangochi, the soft glow of the moonlight on her skin, the way I had wanted to reach out but didn't. I thought I was being respectful. I thought I was doing the right thing.
Tadala's voice cracked as she continued. "But the night we fucked, you broke the pact. You awakened the spirits. They've been hunting me ever since, in my nightmares and you in the ledger." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"One of us has to pay."
I turned to Thocco, who had been silent this whole time. Her head was bowed,
her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Tadala's right," she said finally, her voice low and filled with guilt. "I knew. I knew about the pact, about the spirits. I thought… I thought I could rewrite it. I thought I could change the rules." Her words hung in the air, heavy and damning.
"So, what is the price to pay?" I asked, turning to the masked men. My fear was gone now, replaced by a cold, desperate determination. "What do you want from us?"
One of the men stepped forward, his crimson robes flowing like liquid around him.
"One of you must die," he said simply. "Today. Here. Now."
The words: "One of you must die", echoed in the basement, settling over us like a shroud. The men stepped back, forming a circle around us. Their masks seemed to glow faintly in the red light, their expressions unreadable. On a small wooden table in the center of the room, they placed three items: a red feather, delicate and soft, its edges shimmering like embers; a vial of dark red blood, thick and viscous, clinging to the glass; and a single bullet, silver and engraved with strange symbols.
"These are your choices," one of the men said, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather.
The man beside me leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck. "Choose wisely," he whispered.
I stared at the items, my mind racing. "What do they mean?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
The man gestured to the feather, "Choose this, and one of you will sacrifice pleasure, you will never feel it again, not once. Not ever."
He pointed to the vial of blood, "Choose this, and one of you will sacrifice memory, you will forget everything about Mangochi, the Veil and each other."
Finally, he picked up the bullet, holding it between his fingers. "Choose this, and one of you will sacrifice life, one dies and the other walks free."
Tadala let out a sharp, bitter laugh, "Sacrifice pleasure? Sacrifice memory? What's the point of either if one of us has to carry this curse alone?"
She turned to me, her eyes blazing, "You broke the pact, you made this mess, and you should be the one to pay."
Thocco stepped forward, her face pale but determined, "No," she said firmly. "This is on me, I knew the prophecy, I knew what would happen, and I ignored it. I thought I could fix it and I was wrong."
She reached for the feather, her hand trembling. "Let it be me," she said softly. "I'll take the curse. I'll give up pleasure, please Just let them live". She continuined.
The man in the crimson robe laughed, a deep, guttural sound that sent chills down my spine. "It's not that simple," he said. "The choice is not yours to make."
He turned to me, his dark eyes gleaming behind the mask. "The Witness must choose."
After some moments; the room seemed to close in around me, the air growing heavier with every passing second. I looked at Tadala, her face twisted in anger and fear. I looked at Thocco, her eyes wide and pleading. I looked at the three items on the table; the feather, the blood, and the bullet.
My hands shook as I reached for the bullet. It was cold and heavy, the engraved symbols glowing faintly in the red light. I turned it over in my hands, feeling its weight.
"I broke the pact," I said, my voice steady despite the tears streaming down my face. "I'll take the price. Let them live. Let the spirits take me."
Tadala screamed, lunging forward, but the masked men held her back. "No!" she cried. "Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare!"
Thocco fell to her knees, sobbing. "You don't have to do this," she whispered.
I ignored them. I pressed the bullet to my temple, my heart pounding so hard, I thought it would burst.
The men began to chant, their voices low and guttural, filling the room with a sound that seemed to come from the walls themselves. The red bulb flickered, casting wild shadows across the room. I closed my eyes. I pulled the trigger. The room fell silent. The chanting stopped. I opened my eyes, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
The man in the crimson robe laughed, a deep, echoing sound that filled the basement. "The bullet was never loaded," he said. "The Veil does not kill. It tests."
The table disappeared. The red feather and the vial of blood dissolved into mist, swirling around us before vanishing. The masked men stepped back, their forms blurring and fading into the shadows until only the man in red remained. He reached up and pulled off his mask.
He reached up and removed the mask. It was Nola Kates, clad in the flowing crimson robes that had disguised her as one of the men. I knew her instantly; she looked almost unchanged from the photograph on the cover of that long-ago published book, the one that had sparked both salvation and scandal. Time had touched her lightly, perhaps not at all. Her face remained calm, her eyes sharp and piercing, carrying the weight of years spent in shadow.
She smiled, a small, sad curve of the lips that held no triumph, only quiet sorrow. Her gaze settled on me, steady and knowing.
"You chose sacrifice," she said softly, her voice low and resonant, like wind through ancient leaves. "You passed."
Nola turned to Tadala and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The hunt is over," she murmured, voice soft as fading smoke. "The Veil passes to you now."
She leaned closer, her lips brushing Tadala's ear in a whisper meant only for her.
"You carry my seed. You are the queen of the crimson."
Tadala nodded, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her hands cradled the gentle swell of her belly as she breathed, almost too faint to hear:
"But the child…" The words hung in the air, fragile and heavy, like the first drop of rain before the storm. Nola stepped back, her form beginning to blur. "The child will decide. When the time comes." With that, she turned and walked into the shadows, her body dissolving into the darkness.
We stood there in silence, the weight of what had just happened settling over us. The basement began to shift and change, the walls melting into glass. Suddenly, we were back in the Glass House, standing on the balcony as the first rays of sunlight painted the lake in soft pinks and golds.