ORIGINS OF THE
AMULET.

THE MOST ENCHANTING FRAGMENT OF WAYA SMITH WASN'T HER BEAUTY BUT RATHER HER STORYTELLING. She flowed in from the night like a gentle breeze, night gown billowing in an invisible wind, her raven hair like a blanket wrapped loosely around her back and cheeks. In her hand she clutched tightly a worn journal and in the other a flickering candle. On her face she dawned a smile.

At once her youngest daughter Gola jumped up from behind huddles of blankets and pillows, eagerly bouncing on her hands and knees. "Mama, you will tell us a story? What about the one with the girl buried in the woods?"

"No, that ones creepy!" Yona, the eldest protested peeking from beneath her blankets in distress. Truth be told she cared little for her mother's stories which were all either unbearably sad or skin-crawlingly eerie.

"Pleeeeeeease mama!" The youngest begged.

The other sister violently shook her head in silent protest.

Waya sighed as she settled at the foot of Yona's bed. Who crawled and cradled into her arms like a babe. Gola soon joined, content with resting her head on her mother's lap.

Outside a brutal thunderstorm raged. On the inside a war raged in a mother's heart.

"I think, my daughters, it is time to tell you about the dark man—" She paused for the burden of effect or in sincere hesitation, nuzzling her cheek against Yona's head and threading her fingers through Gola's hair.

They'd laid cuddled facing the window though Waya looked past it. Her eyes open but unseeing. Yona serenely watched the blues and grays paint the sky twisting into a sulky paradise. All while Gola faced a completely different direction. Her doe brown eyes trained firmly on the slightly ajar closet door.

"In this life you come to know many dark men, my daughters. But more often than not they are all monsters." Waya paused, a light chuckle erupts from her throat. A delicate song of the night.

"Though tonight we will not be discussing the wickedness of gods children, but the deadly lure of the goblin's sons.

Sons of the devil, Sons of the night, dark men, shadow men, shadow demons...they are called by many names. But they are all the same evil thing.

But before they were evil, before they were shadow demons, they were first human.

The birth of shadow demon comes when a dying boy is chosen by the goblin king to march in his army. To be his heir.

And not just any tragedy stricken boy.

He has to be brilliant. Distinguished in the arts and thoroughly educated. Charm is also essential but most of all these boys need to be broken.

Most of shadow princes were unbearably lonely in life. With their hearts clawed apart and souls devoured by desire.

And so darkness seeps from the goblins fingertips through the cracks of these broken boys. Bursting and blooming until what is left of their humanity is lost forever.

And they rise from the ashes anew. Consumed by a insatiable rage and a savage longing to be loved. Living shadows. Phantoms of music and madness. Monsters."

Waya is not surprised when she is interrupted. "Insanity, like death comes to us all eventually. Don't dawdle, Waya, we had a deal. Tell her."

Tormented. Tears form at her eyes, her mouth opens and closes yet again. 

But when she finally speaks, she does so fiercely. "A shadow prince keeps watch. But there is no need to be worry. Listen, obey your mother, heed me and those monsters cannot claim you. I will not tell you to submit. To lay down your life and love. No, no curse of mine shall befall you from my dying breath."

Yona nodded feverishly, hanging on to her every word, clinging to her mamas dress.

"And so death is the fate you have chosen, lovely Waya." The thing chuckled darkly.

"I have chosen for my daughter to live."

"Perhaps." The dark melody of the voice was closer now. A hum in her ear. "Perhaps, not."

By the time Waya's eyes snapped in the direction of her youngest daughter who lay deathly still. The child's dawned a scarlet amulet glowing violently against her chest and a blooming rose tucked in between her small hands.

"Elenora, will wear the amulet. In time she will come to me and die. We will share a bed and I will horde her heart forever. In return I will keep the other child alive."

Waya mourned with the sky. The ghostly whistle of a train passed by. The thorns at Gola's finger tips drew blood.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."