The first year after their departure was the hardest I'd ever been through, as I was just new to a life without my parents, a life without a family, a life where I was forced to survive on my own at a very young age. It was then I got to see the real world, and to experience in full sense, the horrors and torture it brought to the weak and vulnerable. Each day it got much worse, I had to struggle for my survival. Within the span of months, I lost so much weight that I could hardly recognize myself. Starvation got me exposed to a variety of illnesses, every waking was a nightmare, and life itself was like torture. I would eventually give up several times, try to take the easy way out, maybe; ending my own life, but it turned out unsuccessful at every attempt.
Henry was the only company I had, he was always there to stop me from making the most grave mistakes, and with time, he soon became like a brother to me. We lived together in his super-secret hideout; the desolated church building he had shown me that night, but now to us a humble sanctuary. We had each other's backs, and our bond grew so strong that we did almost everything together like very close siblings. Henry was the only family I had. Even through the darkest of times, he still wouldn't stop being Henry; kind and generous to a fault, always jovial and cheerful, always hopeful and positive that things would get better soon. He saw more than I could see; a future, and a bright one, in fact.
We both worked at a paper factory in town, where we were paid a single ration each at the end of each day's work. This meant we had to go hungry throughout the weekend till the next weekday. I soon found out that aside from the paper factory job, Henry had an additional side hustle he didn't tell me about. Henry was a street thief. During work breaks and weekends, he would steal chump change and petty items from roadside traders and local vendors, and sometimes, cash off the fat pockets of wealthy passersby. I tried talking him out of it, but he said he was saving up the money because he was planning on us leaving the city. I considered his excuse worthwhile, though I found his supposed plan of getting us out of the city to be a big fantasy, and I even got in a fight with him for not even thinking to involve me in a plan that, as he claimed, I was almost a major subject of. Shortly after my failed attempts to convince him, I found myself doing the exact same thing I was against; stealing. It got so bad it soon started to become a habit. I never imagined myself being a thief, not to mention being a street thief and pickpocket, someone who had to steal to survive, but I hadn't much of a choice. Within a very short period of time, my stealing spree had gotten really out of hand. Henry became worried I was drawing quite a lot of attention to myself, after having been reported a number of times to the authorities, and having gotten into numerous foot chases with local police officers, yet I couldn't just stop myself. However, around the second year- I was already twelve plus at the time, I unexpectedly chanced upon a printed poster at the factory, with my picture on it, and a bold lettered inscription that read; 'missing girl' with a telephone number to immediately alert the authorities if sighted, therefore we were forced to finally put an end to our stealing. It had just occurred to us that our acts had attracted the attention of the police, and possibly the killers as well. Not only had they found out that I was still alive, but it had also come to their knowledge that I was in fact still hiding somewhere within the borders of the city. This meant we both weren't safe any longer, especially me. We knew that sooner or later, I would get captured eventually, if something wasn't done quickly. In order not to get caught, there was only one thing I could possibly do, which was put on a whole new identity for the time being. This meant I had to cut my hair and even change into boy's clothing. I had already talked about the idea with Henry, and he didn't seem all that comfortable with it.
"Are you sure?" asked Henry, as I handed him the almost rusty pocket knife I had found on the factory kitchen counter a week prior.
"I have to do this, Henry, I don't have a choice," I replied.
He had a look of concern on his face. He knew how much I treasured my hair, and how hard it must be to make such a decision.
I was really nervous. My hair had never been touched by a razor ever since I was born, I couldn't imagine how I'd look without the beautiful long wavy golden brown hair other girls always seemed to admire, that fell down my back like a cascade of sun-kissed silk, with its loose waves effortlessly framing my face with a subtle glow. Mother always said it was perfectly in contrast with my freckles and my bright brown eyes, the latter she once described as shining like polished chestnuts in the sunlight. I wondered what my mother would say of it if she were there.
I sat by the window as Henry began to cut. My heart leapt as I saw the first lock of strands fall. I almost died. I was unconsciously holding my breath nearly the entire time, in an attempt to hold back my tears. After he was done, I applied the black hair dye myself, staring at my reflection in the window. My heart was throbbing faster, and right then I started to wish I hadn't cut my hair. I convinced myself again that it was worth it, for the greater good, maybe. I tried to force a smile, but a tear escaped my eyelid, instead. I dried it off before Henry could notice.
"How do I look?" I asked him.
"Different," he replied, "Black looks good on you."
I sighed.
"You're still pretty," he added reassuringly.
He handed me his extra pair of brown trousers, a faded white oversized long-sleeve shirt, and his paperboy hat.
"You don't have an extra hat," I told him, handing it back to him.
"No I want you to have it," he replied, "It'll help in the disguise."
"You should try them on," he suggested.
"Yeah, sure," I replied, "Do you mind?"
He immediately turned his face towards the window.
"Um…you might still see my reflection," I told him.
"I'm not going to look," he replied, "You're like a little sister to me."
"Little sister? You're just like two years older than me, and it's still hardly believable from the look of things," I teased, as we both laughed.
"You can turn around now," I declared as I was done putting on the clothes.
"What do you think? Do I look…boyish enough?" I asked jokingly.
"You look perfect," he replied.
I looked at my reflection in the window, the clothes were a bit oversized, but they served their purpose well at least.
Among other things, having a new identity also meant I had to stop coming to the factory in order not to arouse any sort of suspicious thoughts and questions among the workers. Without having my job, we were both set for the worst. Since I wasn't allowed to steal anymore, which I felt would have been a reasonable alternative, Henry had to share his daily rations with me. It was because of me we were in this plight, and I couldn't stand Henry passing through all that because of me, so I sought to find a job of my own to relieve him of the food shortage. After long days of searching, I finally got a job as an outdoor servant at a big mansion in the city. The owner of the house, Sir Mason Wade, a fine businessman bachelor, was said to have inherited the property from his late father; Sir Bruce Wade, a well-renowned figure all across the city, whose name I had always known for as long as I could remember, though that was all I seemed to have known of him.
Unlike my previous job where I got paid in daily rations, at the Wade's mansion, I was promised a monthly pay in cash, and additional feeding daily. I was nervous at first that someone might find out I was indeed a girl dressed up as a boy, considering the number of other workers I had to constantly interact with, including males and females. I was so aware of how big it was, the kind of risk I was taking, and what might happen to me if, unfortunately, I got caught, so I became extra cautious. I sounded a bit deeper with the intent of assuming a masculine tone. I made sure I always emptied my rectum and bladder of all the respective waste before coming to work, to avoid having to use the men's room, which would most definitely result in stumbling into an unholy sight, as well as exposing myself in the process; a possibility I most dreaded. I also made sure my chest was always bound with a roll of tightly wrapped cotton fabric to prevent being exposed by means of my early puberty symptoms.
Above all, I was more than pleased to work at the Wade's mansion. Not only had it finally solved our problem of feeding, but I could also keep up with our savings. For profit's sake, I soon made friends with the gardener; Mr Fritz, who would occasionally pick out fresh red apples and berries from the garden for me to take home. I also got close with the fair cheery cook from Scotland; Miss Penny Woodman, who would sometimes let me take home the half-empty leftover jar of milk from the kitchen. It was indeed a blessing to work at the Wade's mansion, the best time of my life since my family's deaths. I tried convincing Henry to quit the paper factory job and come join me at the Wade's, but he hesitantly declined, explaining how it kind of defiled the whole change of identity idea if the wrong people started seeing both of us together again. Without a doubt, I agreed ultimately with what he said. Henry was the main reason I had neither been found nor captured by those who sought to harm me, I knew if I were to bet my life on anything whatsoever, It was his wits.
I had just returned from work one evening. Henry was already there waiting for me, a bit worried, as I was usually back before him, but that wasn't the case that day. We had extended working hours of extensive cleaning and tidying of the entire house, in preparation for the master's arrival. I had exhausted my energy so much that I could hardly walk straight. I barely noticed Henry as I trudged past him through the back door. I was rushing to ease myself out of the torturous straps of cotton fabric that had been wrapped so tightly over my chest for close to eight whole hours. I could no longer endure the frustrating itchiness on both my nipples and the general discomfort I felt. My only thought at the moment was ripping off the fabric band and finally having my peace. I had just taken off the last strap of cloth and was just standing there shirtless, momentarily unaware of myself. At that very moment, I didn't realize when Henry suddenly barged into the room. He quickly shielded his eyes and turned his face elsewhere as soon as he caught sight of me with my upper body totally nude. I jolted in shock upon noticing his presence, crossing my lean arms over my bare chest the fastest I could.
"Hay!" I called out in subtle disgust, as a vividly quizzical expression displayed on my face.
"Sorry for barging in on you like that," he replied, "I didn't know you had no shirt on."
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked him.
"Not long enough," he replied.
"I promise I didn't see anything," he added.
"Yeah, just forget it," I muttered.
I knew it wasn't his fault. I usually came back before him, and I would have already done all I wanted to do before he returned, so he wasn't that used to being around while I changed my clothes.
I had already worn my shirt by now, so I told him he could stop facing the wall.
"You came back really late today," he told me.
"They had us stay past the normal closing time," I explained, "I heard it's because the master would be in town shortly."
I offered him part of the leftover food I brought back; bread with stewed salmon.
"So, um, what's new at the factory?" I asked him.
"Nothing I can think of," he replied, "except for another fallen ceiling in section seven."
"Wait, another one?" I asked, as my brows furrowed with worry.
"Yes, but nobody got hurt, though," he replied, "the master had placed the entire section on temporal lockdown after the previous one, so luckily no one was there."
"And I almost forgot, Jaimie is back, and he kept asking about you," he added.
"I thought he wasn't coming back," I replied, "What did you tell him, anyway?"
"Same thing I told everyone," he answered, "that you had left for overseas?"
I sighed.
"Poor Jamie, I bet he must've remembered that quarter I owe him," I said.
"So I was checking out that pile of junk outside today for spare bolts to fix the broken window when I found something I think might be important to you lying among the rubbish," he said, as he brought out an oxblood-coloured medium-sized hardcover book.
"No way," I muttered in complete puzzlement and disbelief. Merely glancing at it, I already recognized the object. It was my father's journal, his whole life was in that one book, every moment, memory, history, all confined within its pages. I remember always seeing him writing on it. Seeing it again, however, got me in a rather thoughtful and confused state, as I never recalled having it with me or finding it in my bag upon my initial arrival at the church.
"It's my father's," I explained, "Though I can't tell how it's here."
"Maybe he put it in your bag," Henry suggested.
"Then why didn't I find it?" I wondered, though I knew that must've been the only way.
I immediately began to leaf through the pages of the journal, and as I read it, all the most cherishing moments I had shared with my family began to replay all over again, in full sensual detail. Every joy we ever felt, every crisis we went through together, the celebrations, Dominic's fourth birthday, dinner table laughter, father's round fire tales of the stars, chores with mother in the kitchen, Christmas presents, basically every shred of memory I could recall just kept flooding through my head at the same time. The more I thought of them, the more I couldn't stop thinking, and the more I so desperately wished to set my eyes on them once more. I was crying and laughing at the same time. I reckoned all those times I convinced myself I had moved on, I had only fallen for an illusion of my own creation, because deep down I knew I would give anything to have my family back. And yes, I know what my dear mother would say if she were there; 'But you must move on, Natasha,' 'Things would soon be better, dear,' 'Pray, have but a little hope, child,' she would say, but she wasn't there, and I was long past high hopes and reassurances.
Suddenly, as I was about to close the journal, a folded paper slipped out from in-between its pages and landed on my foot. I picked it up and casually unfolded it to see if it had any content, and what I saw got me so intrigued. It was a letter, and not only was it written in Father's handwriting, but it was, in fact, for me. The date it was written wasn't specified, but I reckon, based on the part of the book it was put, chronologically, it must've been written about a week or even a few days before the night they were all murdered. I took a deep breath, a bit curious about what message the letter contained. It read;
"Dear Natasha,
If you are reading this letter, my dear, it means there's a chance I'm no more, and you're old enough now to know certain things about our family history and about yourself as well, things your mother and I have kept secret before now in order to protect you, for knowledge itself also has its downsides and liabilities, which when exposed to a younger mind, could rupture and consume it. For over centuries, our family has been plagued with a curse, one that has constantly been passed on from one generation to the next. Soon, you too shall begin to see the manifestations of this curse. First, they would come as strange frightful signs and noticeable changes in and around your body, then you would be endowed with certain abilities. You would do things, things that would inevitably defile what you know now as nature and science, things you would describe now as impossible, fictional, or maybe paranormal. Humanity always trembles before the veil of the unknown, hence you must be careful and vigilant still, for many are they that shall seek to destroy you, and though we have done no wrong, they have passionately dedicated their whole lives to finally expunge the rest of us from the face of the earth. You shall travel a long and difficult road, filled with terror and sorrows, and on that right road that you must thread, though the storms might be raging, but fear not the obstacles in your path, for I will be with you every step of the way, closely watching over you. And whatever happens, never shut out your humanity, for it is our only redemption from the darkness. I pray this letter does find you, love, and that my inevitable fate might linger till then.
Your dear father, Victor J. Magus."
As I put down the paper, so many thoughts ran through my mind. Aside from the spasms of emotions and grief, I had just learned that one thing was certain; I was a witch. Still unable to process the meaning of the words I had read, I immediately had this strange conviction within me, that for the first time in a long while, my life had finally found purpose; revenge.