Say My Name

I found the girl’s bones in the church attic, tangled in a spider’s web. She hung suspended from threads of gold and silver gossamer, her skeleton illuminated by the rays of the setting sun.

I yanked her skull free, marveling at its contours as many-legged bugs danced in the sockets. I longed to brush them aside with my tongue.

Instead, I wept, cradling what remained of her head as though it were a child. I wept out of anger, jealousy, and, most of all, relief.

Relief because, despite the Goddess’s love—despite the careful way she tore apart the girl’s body, ripped out her spine, and cracked open her ribs, splaying them like the wings of an angel who had tried to fly—she had ultimately been discarded. The Goddess hadn’t chosen her; she had marked her with failure.

I wept because I knew I wouldn’t fail.

A bracelet lay on the floor among shards of bone, spider carcasses, and rat droppings.

“Allegra,” it read in elegant script. I knew her. I had known her. She was the fifth child to go missing this year, and no one held out hope that she’d be found alive. They spoke of her in hushed, reverent tones—she had become a figure of the past, to be feared, worshipped, and remembered.

I wanted to be spoken of like that. So, as the village searched for her, I did too. Call it fate, but I sought her out in the old church, where even the bravest hesitated to step.

They said it was haunted, but it wasn’t—it was infested. Spider webs clung to every surface, and the Goddess waited in the shadows. I could feel her watching me now; my body wouldn’t stop trembling.

Everyone knew of the church and the deity that didn’t breed successors but made them. The Goddess would grant any wish if you were willing. And I was.

I stroked Allegra’s bones, marveling at them.

“I’m so jealous of you,” I whispered. “But I know I’m better.”

My chest tightened when I heard breathing behind me. My heart pounded, and bile rose in my throat.

The Goddess’s breath came in harsh, rattling gasps. She smelled of blood and decay.

She reached over my shoulder, entwining a long, furry appendage around my neck.

I tried to turn and see her, but she held me in place, immobilizing me.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “What is there to rush when we possess infinite time? You are what I have sought from the beginning, are you not? You seek what I can give. But tell me, what is it you desire in exchange for your sweet flesh?”

Her words sent shivers down my spine; they stripped me of thoughts, leaving me only able to point with a trembling finger.

I pointed to Allegra, stripped to the bone, left to hang in a web she had not wanted and did not deserve. I did; it belonged to me.

“I want to fly,” I whispered. The pressure around my neck tightened—a warning. Speak boldly or not at all.

“I want to fly,” I repeated more firmly. “I want to touch the heavens and look down, laughing at those left behind to rot. They will see they are what they branded me as—nothing, loathsome—and they will love me for it.”

“I have always adored humanity,” the Goddess said, amused. “You are a fascinating, selfish species. Fun—I enjoy playing with you and making you scream. Allegra was so much fun. But you, my dear,” the Goddess removed her noose from my throat and wrapped it around my waist. She held me lovingly and crooned into my ear, “You, my dear, my sweet, loving beast, are what I have been waiting for. You are meant to fly.”

I don’t know the words to describe death; don’t ask me to try, as it would be a disservice. I implore you to find out for yourself.

But I can tell you how good it feels to be held by the universe, to have years of wishing and wanting come alive.

Looking into the Goddess’s eyes, I saw the happiness I had been denied since birth. She held me to her breast as she stripped away the confines of humanity.

“You can’t fly when you’re so heavy,” she smiled at me, her teeth smeared with blood. “I’ll hold these for you.”

I thank her because the flight would not have been possible without her. Unlike Allegra, I can fly. I am not shards of bone or tangles of hair caught in a monster’s web. I am of my own making; I have gone farther than anyone else.

It is my name, whispered and adored. I see them search for me, praying and sinking onto tired knees.

They look toward the old church but do not dare approach.

Come, I wish to tell them. Find me. Climb the stairs and see the deity’s creation. Bow before your new god; test my name on your lips. Trace the outline of my jagged wings and call me by what I have become, not what I once was.

For I am a legend, and be sure you never forget.