The moon hung low and red in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the village. A great bonfire blazed in the center of the gathering, its flames licking hungrily at the night sky, casting shadows that danced along with the people. The villagers moved in wild, rhythmic circles around the fire, whooping and howling with abandon. Their dreadlocks swung like whips in the firelight, and their feet pounded the earth in time with their chants. The head shaman strode among them, waving bundles of smoldering herbs in the air, the thick smoke spiraling upward as she sang in a guttural, ancient tongue.

  "I don't believe in all this nonsense," grumbled a warrior from within his hut, peeking out through the doorway. His voice was low and gruff, full of disdain for the ritual.

  Inside, his wife sat quietly on their woven bed, her belly round and taut with life. She smiled at him, knowing his thoughts without needing to hear them, loving him all the same. She rested her hands gently on her stomach, her mind filled with tender dreams of the child soon to come-boy or girl, it didn't matter. She already loved them with her whole heart.

  "Let's at least make an appearance," she said softly, her smile warm.

  He sighed and met her gaze. Their tribe lived far to the south, on a volcanic island, and they worshipped the Sun God-an entity radiant and powerful, known to love his people deeply. But like all gods, his love came with a cost. The price: the third-born child of every family.

  It was law, and none dared defy it.

  "Fine," the warrior said at last, nodding reluctantly. "But be careful."

  Suddenly, she gasped. "Oh no."

  Her water had broken.

  He turned to her, panic flashing in his eyes. Horror tightened his jaw as he realized what this meant. Tonight was the cursed night-the one time each year when they prayed to keep evil and darkness at bay, when no child was meant to be born. To give birth on this night was considered a grave omen.

  He rushed to her side, helping her lie down as the waves of labor overtook her. Hours passed. He held her hand, whispering prayers over and over, begging the Sun God for mercy, pleading that the child would wait. But their prayers went unanswered.

  "WAAAAAH! WAAAAAH!"

  The newborn's wail pierced the silence, loud and insistent. Dancing stopped, heads turned. The cries had drawn attention.

  "Do something-they're starting to notice!" the warrior whispered urgently, his shoulder pressed against the hut door, trying to keep it shut.

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  But it was too late.

  The shaman burst through the door, her eyes wide with horror. Villagers crowded behind her, whispering, muttering, fearful.

  "A child... born on the cursed night," she gasped. Her voice trembled.

  "My child is not a curse!" the warrior shouted, cradling the baby protectively.

  "Look at its eyes!" the shaman screeched. "They're purple! Those are not the eyes of a human-but of a demon of darkness!"

  She pointed, her hand shaking violently as she began chanting, her voice rising. "This child will bring ruin upon us! One day she will sow destruction!"

  From that moment, the village turned against them. Not just the baby-but her parents, too. For the next five years, the girl was never allowed to leave the hut. The villagers refused to name her, calling her only *Kitanya*, meaning "cursed child."

  When the day of sacrifice finally came, a different family had just given birth to their third child. But their first two children had died-frail and sickly, taken before their time.

  The mother screamed and wept. "This cannot count! I've already lost two-I shouldn't lose this one too! Why must I suffer while that cursed family is blessed again?"

  She glared toward the warrior's home, for his wife was with child again.

  The shaman considered her words.

  "We were wrong to let the cursed one live," she muttered. "The Sun God must be appeased. Let us offer *her* instead. Let us sacrifice the child born on the cursed night and beg the god's forgiveness for sparing her once. Perhaps then he will not take your only living child."

  The villagers, emboldened, gathered in a furious mob and stormed the small hut.

  The woman clutched her swollen belly as the warrior stood guard at the doorway. "What do you want?" he growled, his voice sharp with fury.

  "Give us the child," the shaman demanded. "Her time has come. Let us cleanse this island of her curse."

  He did not move.

  Then the other warriors forced their way in. They struck him down, beat him until he lay unconscious on the floor. The woman screamed, shielding her daughter with her body, but they tore the girl from her arms and shoved her to the ground.

  The child screamed, her small frame flailing, her short locks bouncing wildly, her deep brown skin glistening with sweat and fear. They dragged her up to the volcano's edge. The shaman chanted louder, invoking the god.

  A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the child as they held her above the chasm.

  Suddenly, she stopped in mid-air.

  A thunderous voice echoed from the heavens. The earth rumbled.

  "You begged me for blessings on the cursed night, and I gave you this child. Now you dare offer her to me, though she was meant to die? Fine. Then I shall mark her again-not as a blessing, but as a curse upon the world. She will scorch the earth with my fire, and I will feast on the scent of burning flesh."

  A radiant light engulfed the girl. Tribal markings unfurled across her skin, glowing in golden patterns, shimmering like molten lava. She floated downward, gently, to the ground before the shaman.

  The old woman reached out to touch her.

  The moment her hand brushed the child's skin, she burst into flames-screaming as she tumbled backward into the volcano's heart.

  The villagers shrieked and backed away.

  "She'll kill us all!" one cried.

  But they didn't understand. It wasn't the girl who had killed the shaman. It was the Sun God.

  Terrified, they escorted the child back to her hut. Her mother clutched her husband's broken body, wailing.

  "He's dead," she sobbed, her voice raw with grief.

  She turned toward the glowing child-her eyes wide with sorrow and fear. "No. Keep her away from me. Don't let me see that thing again."

  That night, the child slept alone, curled up outside her own home.

  The village elders gathered in secret council.

  "She is touched by the Sun God. No harm will come to her," one whispered. "But we must send her away before the prophecy becomes real. Put her on a boat. Take her to the mainland. Sell her if you must."

  And so they did.

  The small girl was taken away, placed on a narrow wooden boat, and delivered across the sea. On the other side, a broad, pale-skinned woman waited-dressed in a corseted gown with lace sleeves and calculating eyes.

  She looked over the girl, taking in her glowing tribal tattoos, the way they shimmered in the sunlight against her warm brown skin. Her violet eyes gleamed with flecks of gold in the light.

  "This," the woman murmured to herself, a cold smile curling her lips, "will be a very fun project."