The Crimson Cup

OPHELIA

I hear their drums in the early hours of the morning. The beating drowns out the usual sound of birds chirping. Like a funeral procession, they parade through the streets of Fayvein on horseback.

This is not how I expected to spend my twenty-first birthday.

Each soldier is dressed in their blood-red military uniform. We all line the streets, watching them march by.

I am wearing my emerald green cloak. I’ve lined the inside with vervain and lavender, so that I can remain undetected.

Vervain is poisonous to vampires. If they touch it, it scorches their skin. If ingested, vervain can knock them unconscious for hours. Meanwhile, the lavender masks the familiar scent of vervain that vampires fear.

The morning sky dulls to gray as the soldiers make their way to their new residence, another repossessed local business.

The Melrose's wheat mill got the same notice from the palace two weeks before we did. Now, here they are, taking what’s theirs.

The Melroses watch from a distance. Trying to be stoic, I can see they are fighting back the tears welling up in their eyes. My heart aches for them.

It also aches for my own family; this could be our fate, soon, if I don’t act quickly.

My eyes fall on a recognizable face, right at the back of the fleet.

I almost didn’t realize it was him at first, but when he brushes his dark hair away from his eyes, I spot that distinct shade of ice-blue all the way from where I’m standing.

He notices me staring at him and smirks. His uniform is different; it’s adorned with silver and gold badges and tassels. He doesn’t break my gaze as he passes by.

“Do you know him?” my childhood best friend, Effie, whispers into my ear.

“Not really,” I say, my eyes still following him.

The procession stops outside the mill. The blue-eyed man makes his way to the front. He opens the door and inspects the area, instructing the soldiers around him.

They begin clearing the inside, tossing out the little that remains.

I can’t let this happen to the bookshop.

“I have to go,” I tell Effie, rushing away.

“Hey,”—she grabs my arm—“what’s going on?” She can always tell when something is wrong.

She is so concerned that she seems to barely realize her hand is burning from the vervain in my cloak.

When she does notice, she swears under her breath and inspects the burns. Luckily, Effie is a vampire, and the burn heals within seconds.

“Not here,” I mutter, looking at the crowd surrounding us. “Come with me.”

When I turned eighteen, I started to build a treehouse near my parents’ home. The oak tree I used to read under was the obvious choice.

It took me a year, but once it was done, I had a place I could call my own.

I climb up the ladder, Effie right at my heels.

“Can you, please, just tell me what’s going on?” Effie exclaims when we’re finally inside. “And for the love of all that’s good, take that cloak off, it’s making me dizzy.”

After locking the cloak in my cupboard, I pull Effie closer to me. “I’m leaving, Eff.”

“Leaving where?”

“I’m going to take part in the Crimson Cup.”

“Why would you do something like that?”

“I can’t let them take over the bookshop like they did with the mill. I can convince the king to change his mind.”

“Oh, Ophelia,” Effie says with a sigh as she sinks into the armchair, pressing her fingers against her temples, “you’ve always been such an optimist.”

I roll my eyes. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again. Sometimes, you’re too naive. There are people out there that could really hurt you. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I can take care of myself.” I dig under my bed and grab a bundle of muslin. I unwrap it to reveal a white oak dagger.

“Ophelia,”—Effie’s eyes are wide with fear—“is that what I think it is?”

I nod.

“But, how?”

One summer day, defying my parents, I ventured far beyond the border all the way to where the air felt different, almost lighter.

Deep in the forest, I stumbled upon an ancient white oak tree. It towered above me, immovable.

White oak stakes are one of the few known ways to kill a vampire.

Centuries ago, the royal palace ordered the destruction of all white oak trees throughout the kingdom. Soldiers combed the forests, uprooting trees that had been there long before them.

I’ve always known I would one day leave Fayvein; it has always felt inevitable, and the idea has long been nestled in the back of my mind. I knew that when this happened, the dangers of the world would reveal themselves to me and I needed to be prepared.

So, naturally, I’d snapped off a branch from the tree and tucked it in my cloak pocket.

Over the following months, I slowly chipped at the branch, day after day, sharpening it into a dagger capable of piercing any vampire’s heart.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, and there is nothing you can do to stop me,” I say definitively.

Before Effie can respond, my mother calls from down below. “Ophelia, dear, it’s time for your birthday luncheon!”

“Coming,” I reply, still looking at Effie, whose face is plastered with worry. We make our way down, one after another.

“Oh, Effie, dear,” my mother says, “I didn’t know you would be joining us.”

She smiles. “I don’t think I am, but it is lovely to see you.”

Effie and I look at each other, silently saying goodbye. I embrace her tightly, knowing this might be the last time I see her. I fight back the tears as I don’t want my mother to get suspicious.

“Bye, then…,” Effie says one last time. The words get stuck in her throat and her voice cracks.

“Is she all right?” my mother asks as we watch her walk away.

“Yes, you know Effie, she’s always been soppy about birthdays.”

The back garden is decorated with ornaments and lanterns, and there is a table filled with sandwiches and cakes.

My father and I take a seat as my mother pours some tea. She has set up the fancy tea set, the one we only bring out for special occasions.

“It feels like it was only yesterday you were just a little baby,” my father says, starting his usual speech, always careful to stop short of mentioning my birth mother.

I have never bothered to press them, mostly because I do not want to upset them. But this year is different; I’m leaving tomorrow and I might never have another chance to find out.

“Who was my birth mother?” I ask.

My mother and father look at one another. They sigh like they already knew this was coming.

“I remember it was the middle of winter,” my mother begins. “It was a particularly brutal snowstorm.

“We heard a knocking at the door. When your father answered it, there she was, this poor woman, shivering in the cold. Her eyes were nearly frozen shut.”

“Obviously, we let her in,” my mother says, “put her by the fire, and gave her some tea.”

“She was so frozen, we barely recognized her human scent,” my father adds. “It’s almost like her blood was too cold to be detected.”

“When we realized she was human,” my mother explains, “we were in shock. We thought she might have been an escaped familiar.

“That’s when we saw her protruding belly. She must have been at least eight months along.

“We tried to ask her where she’d come from, but she kept trying to run away whenever we pried. She insisted she couldn’t say a word.”

“A month later,” my father says, “you came along.”

“What happened to her?” I ask.

“Well,” my mother carries on, more hesitantly, “a few months after you were born, something changed.

“A dark illness started to spread inside her. Her skin grayed, and her hair thinned. She could barely walk. She didn’t want you to remember her like that, all sick and weak, darkened by her pain.

“So, one night, while we all slept, she left. We never saw her again.”

“Did she leave anything? A letter?”

“She did leave you something,” my father says, “and a note explaining that we were to give it to you on your twenty-first birthday.” My eyes lighten up.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any,” my mother says, getting up before disappearing into the house.

When she comes back, she’s holding a large parcel. As she passes it to me, I see her hands shaking, almost as if she is afraid of it.

The parcel feels heavy on my lap. I hold it up, trying to gauge what might be concealed within the papers.

Carefully, I unwrap it. The paper is old and tattered, it nearly crumbles between my fingers. I try to preserve as much of it as possible; after all, it is one of the last things my birth mother touched.

Underneath the layers of paper is a large book bound with engraved leather. It’s shut with a golden clasp that has a red ruby right at the center of its lock.

“How do I unlock it?” I ask.

“The second thing your mother left you was that locket you’ve been wearing your whole life,” my father says. “That’s the key.”

My hand instinctively clutches the ruby locket by my chest.

I have worn it for as long as I can remember, never taking it off out of habit, not even to bathe. Despite not knowing about its history, I have always felt attached to the locket.

“In her letter,” my mother explains, “she insisted that the locket never leave your side. As a baby, we used to sew it into your clothes.”

“Why?” I barely manage to say.

“We don’t know how,” my mother replies, “but that locket holds an ancient type of magic. It’s supposed to protect you. So long as you wear that locket, its powers shield you from harm.”

“Do you mind if I open this on my own?” I ask, looking down at the book and locket.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” my mother says, tenderly placing her hand on my shoulder.

My father smiles timidly. “Take all the time you need.”

When I am back in my treehouse, alone, I place the book in the center of the room and kneel in front of it. I carefully latch the locket to the lock.

Suddenly, the book starts to vibrate. The trembling gradually spreads through the locket and, then, into my body. I feel like the whole world is pulsating.

A shimmery smog seeps out from the book, covering the ground around me. It smells intoxicating.

Suddenly, I hear a voice. It sings in a language I don’t recognize, hypnotizing me. My consciousness begins to leave my body, sinking downwards into the smoky abyss.

Right as I am about to give in to the darkness, I manage to snap the locket away, breaking the connection.

DECIDE YOUR DESTINY…

Should Ophelia bring the book with her on her journey or should she leave it behind?

Skip to the next chapter to vote.

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