The Shapeshifter - Part I

She was turned into another creature to avenge what she lost.

   The Shapeshifter

   By Miss Nile

   Part I

  “They were defeated at last,” her husband whispered softly in her ears, and her arms were wrapped tightly around him in the first embrace in a long time. “I won’t have to leave you again, Anjela...So don’t cry.”

 

   His arms held her closer, but he probably didn’t know that there were many reasons for her tears. Those were tears of happiness mixed with those of sadness, of loneliness and even those of fear...And only feeling those tears on her cheeks brought her even closer into his arms, as though his warmth were enough to chase those feelings away.

 

   He reached with his hands gently to cup her chin and gazed right through her eyes, his fingers moving at the same time to her cheeks to wipe her tears, as he continued to whisper softly, “The war is over. I am back now. There is no fear anymore, so I won’t forgive your tears unless they’re tears of happiness for my return.”

 

   Anjela could do nothing but give him a genuine smile that contained all the words she could ever speak. “Yes, you’re back, Dmitri. You’re back safe and sound...You’re back!”

 

   Although she had been holding him for a few minutes, she jumped at him in a refreshed, new hug that Dmitri couldn’t help but twirl her around as their laughter filled the room. Her fear of losing him, her prayers every night when he was away that he returned safely, the moments her heart would skip a beat every time they announced losses in their sides-those were all over, for her Dmitri was back to her, the war was over, and they had won.

 

   So, why did things have to end up like this?

 

    That was months ago.

 

  Now she was standing in the middle of the crowd, watching as her beloved husband was being humiliated in front of them all, as he walked slowly with his head low to Her Majesty, the queen. He looked so weak it tore her heart; he looked so sick she wanted to reach out to him, hold him and comfort him. But yet his eyes had a look of strength and pride in them that forced her to remain just as strong, to hold back her own tears and pretend she was a nonchalant passer-by, who watched the scene as if it weren’t their problem.

 

  The queen, a young girl who ascended the throne after her father, the previous king was killed in the war. Young in looks, her innocence and childlike appearance were nothing but misleading, for her heart was much older and harsher to the point that established her as “the Cruel Queen,” despite having ruled only some months. However, no one of her people has witnessed her ‘cruelness’ before their very eyes before that day.

 

  “Look at you: pathetic, humiliated, dishonored, disgraced and shamed...Your sight disgusts me,” were the first words uttered by Her Majesty as three chained soldiers made their way to her and then were forced to kneel, keeping their heads low. Anjela’s eyes only focused on her Dmitri, but her face didn’t betray any hidden feelings.

  “But then,” the queen continued, refusing to spare the doomed soldiers any sympathy or honor in their last moments, “Isn’t that what you deserve? Yes, the least you deserve for your horrible deed. To kill the king and queen of the devils’ world...To be a reason in the destruction of that world...Don’t you think that’s a horrible deed? Don’t you think it is people?!”

 

  The crowd that had been motionlessly beholding until then only stepped back in fear, but none uttered a single word. Yes, even that little girl could look frightening, but Anjela’s eyes only focused on her Dmitri.  She had known of his deed. He had told her on that very night when he made it back; that along with his comrades, he took the lives of King Forbesii of the devils’ world, and his queen. However, he also told her that he regretted it, that he didn’t want it, and that he didn’t approve of the whole war in the first place...But what could a mere soldier do but follow the orders?

 

  She cried so much that night.

 

   Before long, the queen was ready with her sword in hand to execute the soldiers by herself. It was over quickly-Anjela had watched as Her Majesty approached the love of her life and coldly stabbed him through the chest, right through his heart, killing him in an instant. His death was probably physically painless, but Anjela knew the pain wasn’t in the blade as much as it was in the humiliation, of being viewed by everyone as a criminal for a deed he didn’t commit willingly.

 

   His body dropped to the ground at Her Majesty’s feet, his blood staining her shoes, and she looked down at it with no sympathy in her eyes, only disgust. Then she raised her head, a proud, victorious look in her eyes as she eyed her frightened audience-Anjela imagined that she had looked at her for a moment.

 

  “Behold, people of mighty Cephiron!” The queen exclaimed, raising her now bloodstained sword high in the air, “And there, the soldiers responsible for the killings of the devils’ rulers gone!  And anyone else who dares to think of hurting another in this country or outside it would be punished the same, for we want peace and happiness, but we take no mercy on those who go outside it. And I, Lisianthus Ethan Fierswan, would punish those people myself if I had to, just like I have done now!”

 

  The crowd was silent, for fear and shock were the only feelings around. If she had turned to look around, Anjela would have seen those feelings clearly in their eyes, but her eyes only focused on the queen before her on the stage. Her own eyes-those gentle eyes that Dmitri had loved gazing into-only bore determination and strength. Her hands-those soft hands that he long caressed before-slowly moved to the belly large in front of her, bearing the last thing Dmitri had left her, caressing it as Dmitri would have if he were alive anymore. The only thing left alive from him-a baby girl growing slowly inside of her.

 

  She’ll raise the child.

 

  It was very quiet that night. Anjela was alone. It was very late. Her mother had stayed with her for the whole day after she had returned from the public execution, but Anjela pressed her to leave at night despite her mother’s protests. So in the end, she reluctantly left her daughter by herself, promising to return early in the morning.

 

   “You haven’t shed a tear since they took him away, darling,” her mother had worriedly told her, “It’s not right to lock your feelings inside like that. Cry, sweetie. There’s nothing wrong or shameful about crying. Cry your heart out; your mama is right here for you.”

 

   But Anjela didn’t cry. It wasn’t like she was holding back anything; in fact, she wished to cry. Perhaps it would ease her pain? But no tears came to her eyes. She was a strong woman, yes, calm and composed. But even she had to cry in such a situation. So why wasn’t she crying?

 

   She was sitting in bed, holding the belly in her arms as if she were cradling the baby inside. She had already decided on a name for her too-she had a lost sister; she was lost in the war and no one knew if she were alive or dead. She had never met her; they only shared the same father and her sister didn’t even know about her existence. Despite that, she had longed to meet her if only once, for her father had often spoken of her.

 

  The sounds of footsteps.

 

   In that quiet night, even soft footsteps could be heard. But those weren’t soft footsteps. They were rough, hurried footsteps just outside her home. They moved swiftly, and through the dark night, Anjela thought she could see torches from the window pass by. But by the time she reached it to look outside, she could see and hear nothing. Thinking it was just her imagination; she went back to the bed and lay down.

 

   Her memories shifted from her father and lost sister to her fallen husband. A soft smile escaped her lips inadvertently. How could she not smile when she remembered their first meeting? He wasn’t only a respected soldier in the gods’ army, but also the son of the head of the fire magic department in the Magic Academy. Like his father, he was a skilled fire sorcerer and also a talented swordsman. He was the dream knight of many girls who attended the academy; he was perfectly aware of that too.

 

  Anjela was a talented fire sorceress as well. She had had the natural aptitude for it since childhood and once her mother found that in her, she took care of her daughter’s talent and made sure she got the best education at a young age. Her father encouraged her as well, giving her all the support he could. But when she wanted to enroll as a student in the academy, she ran into the proud, snobby Dmitri, who used his position as the son of the head of the fire department to put a condition to her enrollment: to defeat him. Why did he do that? He was a proud one, Dmitri. So when she refused his advances during the few trips she made to the academy to present her papers for enrollment, his pride was hurt.

 

  And so the battle took place, and she defeated him. In front of hundreds of students, she defeated the prince of many girls’ hearts. But it was also the same moment she had engraved her name in Dmitri’s heart.

 

   “Burn down the traitors!”

 

  A scream suddenly echoed through her ears; brought her back to reality as she opened her eyes, only to witness a fire ball making its way through her bedroom’s window, setting the sofa on fire. By the time Anjela sat up, another fire ball had made its way through the same window and the curtains caught the flames mercilessly. Soon enough, the fireballs were more than Anjela could count.

 

   “By orders of the queen, die! Burn down the traitors!”

 

   Those screams echoed through the blazes cruelly as Anjela got up from the bed and tried desperately to reach for an exit. Thoughts ran through her head as she began collecting what was happening. ‘The queen’-she was the one behind this. She wasn’t satisfied enough with just killing her husband and had ordered her death as well? But why? What crime had Anjela committed to die? No, she didn’t care about herself. What was her baby’s fault?

 

   Clutching her belly, she frantically tried to reach the window, hoping she could climb outside, but the burning curtains were an obstacle in her way. She turned to the door and summoning every bit of strength she had in her, she broke it down. How ironic! She was a powerful fire sorceress, but she was running away desperately from fire for her and her baby’s lives.

 

  Outside the bedroom was worse. The living room was scorching more furiously than the bedroom, for every single piece of furniture had caught fire. The smoke was soon filling the whole house; even the strong, composed Anjela was breaking down. She wasn’t going to make it. She couldn’t find a way out. The fires were surrounding her everywhere, she was quite weak, and the smoke was hastily suffocating her. Why was this happening?

  

  And then it came down.

 

  As she searched frantically for a way out, the chandelier had given in to the flames and ruthlessly crumbled to the ground. Anjela could only move away in time for it not to fall over her head, but as she avoided getting crushed by the chandelier, she was in time only to have a small closet which was shaken by the chandelier’s fall tumble over and trap her. Fortunately, it didn’t hit her head, but the pain she felt in her belly was immeasurable, and the tears immediately rolled down her cheeks. This wasn’t happening. She had lost her husband only hours ago. She wasn’t losing her baby. She wasn’t losing her house, her life...It wasn’t happening.

 

  Too weak to even try to get up let alone push the closet over her, Anjela succumbed to her despair, letting the fires and smoke surround her further and drive her to her doom.

 

To be continued . . .