ynez's turning (original characters)(medium: 1,950 words)

The fever brought on by the Spanish Bishop overtook me and my resolve to put a stop to whatever he had done to Sidoine. I heard her in the other room screaming, and then silence, and then talking that I couldn’t rightly make out in a haze. The little energy I did have was used to grab the candelabra by my side, readying for whatever walked into the room. No one did after that long night however, and I slept the few hours of dusk. One of the sisters took the candelabra away from me, and another tried feeding me some soup. I tried to sound out words but the fever and overwhelming pain in my head lead me to slur my words into a mess. It was in that dusk that I only felt my consciousness slipping...

The heat of the sun locked me into a slumber only interrupted by occasional coughing fits. Whatever influenza the bishop had, was soon to take my life. The only heartbreaking thought on my mind was of Sidoine, and where she had gone.

My body was only growing weaker by each hour, it refused to contain any of the food I was eating and was severely dehydrated. The cracks on my lips began to sting, and my throat itched with every breath I took. Breathing took great attention, properly inhaling and exhaling to the point that I couldn't think of anything else.

The sisters gave up on me, and my eyes stared at Father Clarke as he read the last rites above me. At the end, these sisters left me alone with him, and the room felt smaller. His voice were a sweet comfort in the silence, none of the sisters did their usual banter outside, no one dared afterall, four of us will be gone from the parish.

The sun was beginning to set, and the room was filled with a bright orange hue that illuminated parts of the room I had once ignored. The spiderweb in the corner, a portrait of the Virgin Mary painted by Ignacio, and my boots covered in mud from all of my walking through the riverbed in the summer. It was a comfortable temperature though, and even Father Clarke's hand on my forehead felt like a refreshing breeze. Heavy, calloused, and cold. These hands once struck my face, reprimanded me for mistakes and disobedience, and how they comfort me now...

Tears fell, and I started to wonder how it all came to this. The potential that Father Clarke saw in me, and my mother who had wished a long life for me before she passed. I only wanted to live. I wanted so hard to push up against Father Clarkes hand, in an effort to show that I will live another 30 years, but my hands were weak. My body, in all my 24 years of living was finally giving up, and I couldn’t find any strength within me to keep trying.

Tears stopped, Father Clarke was silently praying for me, some miracle to save me.

“Does God love me, Father?” was all I could muster. I just wanted to hear the answer he had always given me, I wanted to feel the warmth of a being that has this in its plans. That I have lived a good life.

That my death was somehow necessary, but the pain in Father Clarke’s face reflected my own insecurities. His stern face now twisted into a sob. His tears for the first time in my life somehow it felt less than comforting to see him cry.

“I hope so, I want to believe he does my dear. And I trust you’ll find peace,” a calculated response to hide his own question of faith. There was no use trying to have hope for me now, not in the state I was in.

He shook his head as he cried even more, the sight was both unnerving and painful to see. The man was so broken. “I just wanted you to live a life far from here, study, become a woman of status,” he shook his head again, “I wish you had the life you deserved.” His face was half lit, the orange hit his tanned skin, years of living in Mexico, years of raising Ignacio, Amadeo and I. It was all evidence, his almost near similar shade of skin from the sun.

“Amadeo’s gone as well, I don’t know if he ran away or if he had been kidnapped,” Father clarke breathed in accepting it all, “Thirty years of living here and you three were my pride and joy no matter how hard I was. I knew at the time it was to keep you ready but now—“

I held his hand, the one that had rested on my stomach, and nodded. “I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I can’t do anything.” Father Clarke kissed my head, I could only whisper the words love and you as he was close. The room was dark, and he lit a candle before he left.

I immediately blew it out as an effort to forget the room I was in, the life I had lived.

I rested amongst the darkness ready to succumb to whatever kills me.

After only an hour, I awoke to a feeling of someone watching me. My eyes were heavy and I could not turn my head to inspect the room.

The room seemed empty but also infinite in the dark.

I reached out to whatever stood by me, to finally feel clothing.

I tugged, and the presence only sat where Father Clarke once sat, and I finally saw it.

The two bright eyes, foreign through color but familiar in shape and feel, my love.

Her eyes now bright and diamond like, glowing in the darkness illuminating her face and mine.

I reached out to her face, “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

She shook her head, “Ynez, a great danger will fall on all of us now.” Her eyes bore through my comfort, “Yes, we’re doomed now. Amadeo, Ignacio and I, but only you remain. Perhaps its best for all of us that you remain pure. That you remain on that path of heaven. Of God’s light, as you were always meant to be.”

“Of what he had always planned for you. You’ll die in a few hours, only a few to secure your soul. And maybe thats whats so lucky about all of this, this fever is your chance at heaven. “

I only breathed, continued to be silent as her voice was always a comfort despite what nonsense she was spewing. “I know I’m dying and you’re not.”

I laughed with the little strength I had to actually move. “I’m glad to hear those two are still alive, they’re really going to enjoy life without their big sister.”

I felt a pang of sadness within me as I thought of Amadeo, who never takes death well. “Tell them I’ll be watching them.”

Sidione only stared at me, “I don’t want to. Out of everything in my heart, I don’t want you to go.” Tears fell but they were blood like in color.

I wanted to cry all over again, but couldn’t. “I know, its okay.”

“I have a choice, out of everything thats happened I have choice to make and I can’t ever forgive myself for choosing either.” Sidione sobbed, a horrifying expression as she showed what looked like fangs, “I can’t do either Ynez, but I can’t simply do nothing. Not when you have so much left to witness.”

“Not only the truth but the life of the world past this church, past this country.” Her sobs were loud, “I want you.”

She kissed me into my pillow, and she felt so cold. I kissed back just as tenderly, as she slowly started kissing my neck. Then, a sudden thrill of pleasure consumed me, and she began kissing me again with lips covered in my blood. The fever made me only care to let Sidione use me however she pleased.

She finally got onto the bed after a few seconds, and bit her tongue hard enough for her blood to come through. She was feeding me her blood, and in an instant it felt like a nectar of iron and energy.

A certain energy thats felt in moments of love, and of life.

I felt myself become immediately better as I drank it. I felt her on me, kissing me. We carried on until I finally slept.

I dreamt of her, and only her in my arms.

When morning came, the world around me suggested nothing had happened, and I felt like I had dreamt the last few days if it weren’t for the bites around my neck.

The sisters came, shocked to see that I was so well that they cheered and cried. For the first time, I felt that love.

They weren’t nearly as convinced in believing that I was fully healed however, and let me rest the rest of the day on my own and forbid me from doing any of my own chores.

Father Clarke heard the news, and came over to see me and hug me. It was one of few times he had ever really shown any vulnerability towards me.

“You’re blessed Ynez!” He had said, smiling in both bewilderment and relief. “Father, Amadeo and Ignacio are both still alive, along with Sidoine.” He took a step back, his face confused. “Sidoine met me here last night, and told me.”

“She spoke to me, she was the one who healed me I think,” I sat up on my bed, “They’re all alive but I don’t know where they are.”

A dreadful feeling overtook me, suddenly a hint that something was missing.

I pushed it off, so as to not contradict what I had said and to comfort Father Clarke.

“That’s….” He looked so sure that they were gone. Nothing else was spoken, the room was silent and the only noise that could be heard was the chattering of the people outside, and birds chirping. Even the room, despite being fully light by the morning sun, felt cold. The old Father return suddenly, his harsh exterior and mean nature had come back.

“Impossible…” he had almost not said it at all, whispered like wind.

I tried my best to hold a face that didn’t show my confusion, nor any emotion that wasn’t relief. There was that feeling within me burning up.

An ignition of both hatred and betrayal mustered, but at the time I mistook it for an irrational anger fueled by being ignored.

“I’m glad you’ve healed,” he was fully back to that old self, “You can start your chores tomorrow morning.” He left afterwards without waiting for any response. I was finally left alone.

There was nothing else I had to do, so I read the books I abandoned after getting sick.

One of them was a philosophical fiction book by Voltaire written in the original French. I had a hard time with French as the language was much more complex than I was used to but I was able to push through.

I finished the within the same day, by midday during lunch time. My stomach however did not feel hungry, it was very full and I could only make myself take a bite into a piece of bread.

Sister Felicia, who was a friend of mine, offered some water in passing. She opened the door to the rest of our little home, I could see only a few other sisters enjoying their lunch on the porch, while the summer sun shined on the rest of our home. Sister Felicia was bathed in this very light, which made her look angelic. She moved in closer, a worried expression on her face. “Everyone has been talking about what you said to Father Clarke, about…”

“What have they been saying?”

“Lots of nonsense really, that you were visited by an angel, that it was just a fever dream,” she shook her head, “I believe you, Ignacio would have haunted all of us if he were truly dead.”

I laughed at her, it was true that Ignacio would have made it everyone’s problem, he was that type of person to have that sort of resilience.

“I want to look for them when everyone’s gone to bed.”