They say a home should be a sanctuary. A place where you’re protected from the world outside.
But for Meher Arora, home had always been the heart of the storm.
As a child, she never understood why the walls whispered, why shadows crawled across her room at night, or why her mother would mutter incantations in front of a fire burning in black.
She only knew she wasn’t allowed to speak of what she saw. Not to friends. Not at school. Not even to her younger sister, Rashi.
But the darkness didn't care for silence. It wanted obedience. Blood. Devotion. And over time, the rituals turned crueler. The prayers turned hollow. And Meher’s soul—once curious and bright—grew numb.
Until that night.
---
She was fifteen.
A child had been brought in. Eight years old. Blindfolded. Drugged. Meher didn’t know his name—only that he was the target of her father’s next ritual.
They were to bind a demonic force onto the child’s soul to weaken a rival’s bloodline.
Meher was told to draw the sigil on his skin.
She trembled. The chalk slipped in her hand. Her mother hissed and corrected her grip.
But when the boy whimpered… something inside Meher snapped.
She dropped the chalk. Refused to finish. Her father slapped her. Her mother screamed. Her brother Rishi laughed.
And still, she didn’t move.
That night, the ritual failed. The boy survived—but his mind collapsed. He never spoke again.
Meher locked herself in the bathroom and vomited until her throat tore.
She didn’t sleep for three nights. Didn’t speak for five.
And on the sixth night—she ran.
---
It was winter. Midnight. Her feet bloodied from running barefoot. She remembered the old church near the forest edge—a place she’d passed once on a school trip.
It was said no demon could cross its threshold. That prayers lingered in the air like incense long after the candles died.
When she arrived, the massive wooden doors stood open. A sign? A warning? She stepped in anyway.
And that’s where she saw him.
---
Father Neil Gabriel Devraj.
His eyes were like old, stormy oceans. Silent. Watching. Knowing.
He said nothing for a long while.
And then, as if reading her soul:
> “You’ve touched the abyss… but haven’t fallen in. That is rare.”
Meher collapsed onto the cold stone floor and cried.
She told him everything. The rituals. The spirits. The boy. Her fear. Her guilt.
And when she finished, she begged him to help her escape.
But Neil only looked at her, heavy-hearted, and said:
> “Your chains are not around your wrists. They’re in your blood. You cannot escape what runs through you… unless you burn it out.”
She stared at him, stunned. “Burn it out? But how?”
He lit a candle. Silent again. Then pressed a small silver locket into her hand.
> “When you’re ready… bring your sister to me. Until then—protect her. Quietly. That is your penance.”
---
And she did.
For years, Meher remained the silent shadow behind Rashi.
She pretended to participate in rituals, but she twisted the chants ever so slightly.
She diluted oils, miswrote symbols, slipped dried basil under Rashi’s pillow during moon nights.
Once, when their mother tried feeding Rashi a potion, Meher "accidentally" spilled it.
No one noticed.
Because Meher had become a master of secrets.
---
Until recently.
Rashi had changed. She had begun leaving home for hours. Hiding texts. Smiling softly to herself. Whispering in her sleep.
And then, the tiffin incident.
The protection sigils.
The nights she left saying, “I’m going to meet Priya.”
But Priya had moved abroad last year.
That’s when Meher knew.
Rashi had found him.
Father Neil.
---
Now, as Meher stood outside the Arora home’s underground ritual room, she heard the low hum of a spell being cast.
Their parents and Rishi were attempting something again. A summoning this time.
She slipped downstairs, holding a bowl of blessed salt and a dry black rose given to her years ago by Neil.
As the chanting reached its climax, Meher moved silently behind the curtain and whispered a single Sanskrit phrase taught by Father Neil:
> “Shuddhi karoti tamasā – Cleanse the dark with light.”
She crushed the black rose and flung the salt into the fire pit.
The flames hissed. The symbols flickered.
Her father blinked. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” her mother said.
Meher stepped back into the dark, breath held.
The spell failed. Again.
Another silent victory.
---
Later that night, she stood at her window, watching the storm clouds gather above the city.
She clutched the silver locket around her neck and whispered:
> “I’m ready, Father Neil. My sister is with you now. I’ve done what I can… But it’s time.
Let the darkness come. We’ll meet it together.”
And far away, in the stone halls of Saint Raphael’s, Neil opened his eyes during prayer…
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