Even with the sun’s final rays peering through the window, Alluma’s reflection looked ashen, rich copper dulled to dusty earth.

“Mother,” she whispered, vocal cords like brittle straw. “I don’t want to.”

“Hush,” Kine replied, finishing the braids. “You’ve been chosen.” She gave her daughter two taps under her chin, reminding her to face her fate with honor.

Alluma dressed in the ceremonial outfit: a long cotton shift, white and modest, with a deliberate cross-slit above her heart. It framed the pure-red sacrificial X they’d marked her with.

In the feasts and folklore spread over the last several nights, the elders recanted stories of ancient terrors, a Beast in the forest that awoke when the moon’s face smiled twice the same month. How it loved to chase, to stalk. How their ancestors, through dying desperation, discovered that offering one soul—young, bright, vibrant—sated the Beast enough for it to leave the other villagers alone.

And so: an uneasy truce with the mythical.

Knowing what her sacrifice ensured didn’t mean much to Alluma at the moment. Why must it be her?

Three knocks.

“Mother!” Alluma’s fear spilled over. “Help me!”

Her mother snapped. “Enough. You have to. It’s one or all.”

Guards entered and arranged themselves into a hexagon, Alluma at the center. Protected. Contained.

Villagers lined the path to the gate and bowed when she passed. “Martyr, martyr,” they whispered, her name now legend.

The guards marched to the edge, where village safety turned to wild danger; the front of her escort spread out like a blooming flower, stamen reaching towards the forest’s shadows.

“Wait!” The reality of her immediate future was setting in. She dug in her heels but they ignored her, pressing, shoving her past the border. Alluma didn’t even get a final look at her village before the gates slammed shut.

Adrenaline-fueled, she started running down the trail, just as the Beast was surely running up. She reached the knotted tree when the clouds parted, revealing the traitorous moon.

The hunting light. Even with the leafy canopy, she was bathed in it.

A growl galloped on the wind, wrapping around her like a vise. Alluma heaved the bag she’d hidden out of the rotted trunk, hands shaking as she emptied its contents. One last shot.

She felt the heat of the Beast’s body, heard its unbroken snarl as it padded closer.

Saw its confusion as she stood and braced herself, sharpened knives in each hand.

“I choose my own fate,” she said.

#

The next morning, villagers cleaned the trail. Lakes of blood were diluted to pink streams; unidentified innards minced and mixed with loose gravel. Shredded fabric fluttered about, as well as patches of dangerously red fur, the color of molten lava.

“She put up a fight,” one said.

“Kine should be proud,” replied another.

They kept their eyes down, not looking for signs of bodily remains. Once the mess on the path had been scrubbed away, everyone returned inside. The cooks were preparing a final feast to celebrate the upcoming time of safety.

#

The village slept soundly, bellies full of mead and meat and relief, gates left open without fear.

It made it very easy for Alluma to return.

She went to her mother first. “Mother,” Alluma whispered, same as she had the evening before.

Kine woke, disoriented, daughter’s weight pinning her down. Alluma’s braids were destroyed, chunks of shoulder and one ear missing; what remained of the white dress was scarlet shadows, dark, dark, dark.

Alluma raised the bloodied knives. “I guess it’s all,” she snarled, sounding more Beast than human.