A RED CIRCLE around the altar still marked the polished wooden floor—a remnant of the thirteen candles that had melted during the coven on the previous night. The fragrance of the essences mingled with the faint scent of burnt wax, and the air in the room seemed to preserve the echo of ancient voices, as though the ritual had never truly ended.
Beneath the dark blue cloak, the horned god rested motionless, his unseen gaze fixed upon his absent consort, awaiting the next union, like an entity sustained by desire and the endless repetition of cycles. The shadows cast by the light of the extinguished candles seemed to dance across the ceiling, forming figures that only Meggie could recognize.
After locking the front door and turning on the room's soft lighting, she let her body fall onto the couch before Cernunnos, surrendering to her own exhaustion. The sharp click of her heels echoed through the room, contrasting with the ambient music she started with a simple press of the remote control. The notes filled the silence, creating a soundtrack for the emptiness that consumed her.
— The night had promised to be so exciting... — she murmured ironically. — Looks like I'm grounded at home.
She remembered Saul, the way he had looked at her before saying goodbye—a kiss on the cheek, formal, distant, like a man trying to balance desire and duty. When she closed her eyes, Meggie saw him walking away, his elegant cane setting the rhythm of hurried footsteps, perhaps fleeing his own temptation, perhaps avoiding the gaze of the priest who accompanied them.
The way that priest was so worried, I don't think he'd even notice if we kissed inside the car... Meggie thought with a mischievous smile, though it carried no real joy.
Even so, as amusing as the idea seemed, she knew she would never invite him inside. There were limits she preferred to preserve, invisible boundaries erected around what she called "freedom." Nor would she agree to spend the night at Saul's house; she was not yet ready to cross that threshold. There were wounds in her past that still bled silently, memories that could not bear the presence of another body beside her.
MEGGIE CLOSED HER EYES, and the memory came like an ancient tide, sweeping everything away in its path.
Saul's face dissolved, replaced by another, distant one, belonging to a time when she still believed the world was a safe place. Her first boyfriend—or what she called a boyfriend in the innocence of her twelve-year-old mind—was an elegant poker player with a charming smile and gentle words. His name was Sammy. He used to tell her she was "the smartest girl in the house," and he often brought her chocolates, dolls, and little surprises that made her eyes sparkle. He was the only one of her father's friends who remembered her birthday, the only one who spoke to her as though she truly mattered.
One day, he arrived without warning. The mansion was quiet, the servants were busy with their duties, and the little girl was alone in the living room, drawing.
— Did you come to visit me? — she asked excitedly, unaware of what lay behind his smile.
— I came just to spend time with you — Sammy replied, handing her a bouquet of red roses. The gesture seemed romantic, yet something in the intensity of his gaze made her take half a step backward. — Today is a special day — he added.
— Special why? — Meggie asked, with the innocence of someone who still believed in birthdays and fairy tales.
— Because you're growing up, and today you'll stop being a child.
The sentence remained etched into her memory like a metallic whisper. In that moment, the pink bedroom, the golden fairies on the wallpaper, and the dollhouse with electric lights—a gift from an absent father—all seemed to transform into the setting of something she would never fully understand. Sammy spoke to her about "magic," about "secrets between adults," and his gestures took on a strange weight, a warmth she did not know how to name.
Then came the darkness, a blackout of memories, an empty space between the before and the after.
When she awoke, she was lying in her bed, her mother sitting beside her, wearing a worried expression while trying to smile.
— What happened, Mom? — she asked weakly.
— It's over, my daughter... everything will be all right now.
But it wasn't. They never spoke about it again. Sammy's name vanished from conversations, photographs, and visits. The little girl grew up, but part of her remained frozen in that bedroom—the part that learned to distrust love and to turn pain into control.
Since then, Meggie had learned to protect herself with sarcasm, to wear sensuality like armor, and to wield the power of seduction as an invisible weapon. Behind the confident woman lived the little girl who had once believed in promises and had been betrayed by tenderness. Cernunnos, motionless before her, seemed to watch her with an expression of cruel understanding, as though he too knew that desire could become an altar, and love, a sacrifice.
Meggie smiled once more, but the smile never reached her eyes. Deep down, she knew she would never surrender herself to Saul—not because she did not desire him, but because true love demanded trust. And trust was something she had learned, far too early, to distrust.