Evariste Malvoisin

Évariste Malvoisin saw her in the village: a girl with a red rose at her temple, as if in defiance of the gray world. Seized by obsession, he followed her up a deserted hill.

The air above the hill trembled, and shadows began to emerge from the shimmering haze. The girl threw off her cloak, and a strange joy flashed across her face. The Sabbath began without fire—with a hum, darker than silence. The shadows began a jagged dance.

"The moon thirsts for confessions, sisters!" came a hoarse cry.

"And we will give them to her!" the choir answered, and Evariste recognized the girl's silvery voice.

She stood in the center, the rose at her temple glowing with an ominous light. They sang of dark roots and freedom, bitterer than wormwood. Évariste felt his familiar world being torn apart. This was not a hellish parody, but an ancient, terrible truth, where there was no place for either his title or his God.

When the shadows took on flesh and the air hummed with inhuman power, he took a careless step. A dry branch snapped deafeningly.

All was silent. Nineteen pairs of eyes, blazing like those of nocturnal beasts, stared at him. The girl's gaze was not angry, but recognizing and almost pitiful.

In terror, Evariste ran down the hill. There was no pursuit. Only a solitary, high-pitched laugh overtook him in the forest, piercing him like an icy needle. That laughter and the dance of shadows would forever remain in his dreams.