4
T he sky hung low over the Central Sofia Cemetery, wrapping the gravestones in a grey fog. Amelia left the red roses on the bare rock in front of her feet. The gravestone had three names written on it, followed by a single word. Forever.
No right words exist to bid farewell to someone you are not yet ready to part with. Amelia hadn’t found them four years ago. She didn’t have them now either, and deep inside, she felt that this was her last chance to do it.
The January wind whistled through the graves and pulled a few stray locks out of her ponytail.
The bare skin on her face and hands shivered in response.
Underneath her thick coat, she wore an elegant black dress that had cost much more than she could afford.
But she would never disrespect her family’s grave by arriving in the worn-out clothes she owned.
Standing before the only thing that was left of her family, Amelia realised she wasn’t saying goodbye to them. This was a goodbye to herself. Because the old Amelia would never have agreed to do what she came here today for.
Pretend. Steal. Lie.
Amelia imagined her mother, father, and brother, wrapped in white light, smiling and happy together.
The greatest happiness is having someone whose pain you feel like your own.
Her mother had spoken those words in front of the mirror in her bedroom, as she was tying Amelia’s hair in a high bun she called a palm tree. Her mother would never have abandoned her, had she had the choice. Never betrayed her.
Suddenly, the dress began to tighten around Amelia. Her mother was gone, but if she could have seen her now, she would have been appalled by the absurdity of spending so much money on a dress like this.
Amelia was still adjusting to the recent changes in her body.
Her figure, once modest and slightly awkward, had become more defined and feminine in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
Her slim arms and legs now bore discreet muscles that enabled her to lift objects twice as heavy as before and run for miles without breaking a sweat.
She could endure days without food, and stay awake through the darkest nights.
She shifted with unease, experiencing the unsettling sensation of being watched.
Glancing over her shoulder, she felt a wave of relief when a small group of people dressed in black made their way down the nearby path.
Their solemn procession was led by a priest who began to read from a small Bible, his voice a soft murmur in the evening’s quiet.
The mourners, heads bowed, held candles that flickered against the relentless wind, struggling to stay alight.
The contrast between the sombre procession and her own discomfort seemed stark.
Amelia’s new strength, her body’s transformation, felt so incongruous with the muted grief surrounding her.
She was caught between two worlds – the weight of her new reality and the remnants of her past life, both pressing in on her with an intensity she hadn’t expected.
God, let Mikhail not show up…
Amelia kept her eyes fixed on the priest, fighting the urge to flee.
The Church’s rituals were a mystery to her.
After her family’s death, she had been too overwhelmed to absorb any details.
Her mother’s cousin had arrived from abroad to handle the funeral arrangements, while Amelia had been a passive observer, her senses numb and detached.
She barely recalled the rituals performed, only that they had been meticulously followed.
Now, she felt a strange compulsion to listen to the priest’s words while he sang of wrongdoings and forgiveness, impiety and faith, death and resurrection – concepts that seemed increasingly elusive the longer she lived on.
She listened intently until the end, her gaze lingering on the stranger’s grave, long after the relatives had left. A long time had passed, and there was no trace of Mikhail. Maybe he wouldn’t show.
How I hope he doesn’t show. That would at least save her from becoming a thief and liar.
She stared at that word forever, until her vision blurred.
This is it. Mikhail isn’t coming.
“Thank you for everything. I love you, Mum. I love you, Dad. I love you, Sammy. Forever.”
With a heavy heart, Amelia turned away from the grave, her eyes misting with tears. The weight of her loss and the uncertainty of her future pressed down on her, mingling with the chill of the evening air.
Amelia tightened the belt of her coat, her fingers digging into the fabric when she wrapped her arms around herself.
The chill of the evening deepened, and while she hurried along the path between graves, her intuition erupted in a flurry of warnings.
The surrounding atmosphere seemed to shift, weighing down on her with an eerie gravity.
Then she saw him. Mikhail stood under the stone arch at the entrance of the cemetery. The sight of him sent a jolt through her, her muscles tensing in instinctive alarm. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to turn and run, but Amelia pressed forward, determined to face whatever lay ahead.
At her approach, her treacherous gaze roamed over his features.
His eyes, a complex blend of green, brown, and yellow, held her captive.
His light brown hair, longer than she remembered, framed his face in a way that accentuated his striking appearance.
The dark suit he wore was impeccably tailored, a stark contrast to his usual simple attire.
The elegance of his jacket only heightened her awareness of the distinction between him and any ordinary man.
Mikhail’s hooded eyes widened slightly when he smiled, a gesture that mingled charm with an unsettling intensity. “Hello, Amelia.”
The deep vibrations of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. He took a step closer, his eyes scrutinising her face with a penetrating gaze.
“I thought I’d find you at the graduation ceremony,” he said.
Amelia inhaled deeply, catching his familiar, intoxicating scent – something masculine with a fresh, almost enigmatic undertone.
His words penetrated the sudden haze in her mind, and she frowned, trying to mask the tremble in her voice. “Graduation ceremony?”
“The ceremony where you would have received your medical diploma was earlier today,” Mikhail said smoothly. “Had you attended.”
“I never graduated, Mikhail.” Her voice wavered.
His eyes gleamed. “Are you certain about that?”
“I didn’t go to my last exam.”
Mikhail’s smile widened. “You did. As far as I recall, you performed admirably in the OR. You’ve graduated, Amelia.”
His words struck her with a disorienting force. She had been so focused on her inner turmoil and the shadowy reality of her life that she had not considered that someone – especially someone like Mikhail – might have been keeping tabs on her progress.
She glanced over her shoulder towards the boulevard that passed by the cemetery. Those damned goosebumps along her body refused to go away. Was Mikhail’s effect on her senses this strong?
“The graduation is a little compensation of sorts, for the fact that I impeded your attendance at that exam. This no longer matters, because you did it. You are officially a doctor.”
“You mean you forced someone to give me a medical diploma?” she asked in a bitter voice.
He shrugged, no trace of remorse on his features. “You’ve earned it.”
Amelia couldn’t find the enthusiasm in herself that she always imagined she’d feel when she finished her education. “Why do I need a diploma if I can’t practice?”
“You could, but you have to change your workplace frequently, to avoid people noticing you don’t age. You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you came to the Hospital with me.”
Mikhail’s jaw tightened. Evidently, her answer intrigued him more than he wanted to show.
“Work there?” She remembered how she’d asked him once to join his surgical team and he’d refused, deeming her weak. If anything, his offer was more proof that he only wanted her for her Oracle abilities.
“If you wish. But I meant to come back to live at the Hospital.”
Of course. Amelia tried to make sense of the offer in silence.
“Where were you these past few weeks?” Mikhail asked.
She had no desire to share the unpleasant days she’d had after leaving the Hospital.
The only possessions she’d had to her name had been her personal ID, debit card, a few loose banknotes, a key for the apartment she would never set foot in again, her student ID, and a phone whose battery had long died.
Zacharia, Mikhail’s head of security, had given her a few debit cards along with the passcodes for each one – compensation, she supposed, for the hardships she’d endured with them.
Amelia had withdrawn the money instantly and had been surviving on it to this day, switching every few days between cheap hotels.
When moments had passed without her giving him an answer, Mikhail continued, “Amelia, let me help you. Before you deny me, you should know I’m not here because you are the Oracle.
I had begun to realise that you were in the process of transforming and intended to come to you, but you beat me to it when you appeared at the Council gathering. ”
Amelia inhaled a gust of the frigid air. She had known this meeting would eventually take place. Mikhail had spent years seeking the previous Oracle’s counsel, convinced she would reveal the truth behind the impaired regeneration. Now, he was going to ask the same of Amelia.
“I know it’s difficult to master your gift.
This is not the first time in history when the Oracle’s powers are transferred.
Every new Oracle suffers until they unlock the full potential of their abilities.
The process of mastering those skills is long and tiresome.
Your body still hasn’t fully completed its transformation into the immortal form.
You have yet to feel unusual sensations. Surely, you are quite confused.”