THE MORBID REQUIEM - A FAIRY TALE BY MICHAEL SORBELLO

The lively village of Ronzal was bustling as loud as ever. The enormous landscape of beautiful green waves that rippled in the wind were complimented by the bountiful sunlight that wrapped the vast fields of desolate nature in a coat of gentle warmth. In an endless wasteland of misery and death, the village of Ronzal was like a diamond that sparkled within an ocean of shadows. The village was so oddly serene and untouched by the boundless malice of the world that its beauty was almost sinister.

Ronzal was a village that never slept. Festivals and feasts every morning, music and dance all night long. In a world ravaged by darkness, Ronzal was a spectacle of hope. It offered a reason to appreciate and celebrate the few good things that life had left to offer.

Do to the hustle and bustle of everyday affairs, tourists from foreign lands were drawn to the village like moths to a flame. Ronzal was a beacon of light for the abused commoners that have lost the will to live; a sliver of joy hidden within the maddening lives of those lost in despair.

There were many wonderful things about Ronzal that brought people together. The main attraction however, was a single woman. This woman was an alluring diva by the name of Rebecca. Some say that Rebecca's voice was so magnificent that it kept the demons of night at bay, enveloping the lively little village in a barrier of angelic light.

"Gather one and all around the exquisite stage!" the mayor of Ronzal shouted over the roar of the crowd. "Never again will your ears be touched by something so sublime!"

The enchanting songs that emanated from Rebecca's lips rekindled the flames of hope that had burnt out from the hearts of millions. Troubled townsfolk enslaved by tyrants fled from the horrors of their respective homelands just for the opportunity to hear Rebecca sing before they were taken by the darkness.

People from all across the world gathered around the opera stage at the center of Ronzal. Thousands of others were brutally slaughtered before they ever even had the opportunity to step foot in Ronzal to experience its many captivating wonders. Thousands were willing to throw their lives away for the small chance of witnessing Rebecca's magical performance on stage before they were met with an untimely demise. By watching Rebecca perform, the people hoped to gain the strength and enlightenment they needed to endure one more week, month or year of agony at the hands of their cruel enslavers.

Rebecca's words were like witchcraft. She weaved a hypnotizing spell over those that were graced with the angelic majesty of her voice. Men and women of all ages were lulled into the diva's web of song. Once they were caught in the serenity of her voice, they never wanted her to let them go. If only they could remain in the dream for all eternity.

"Absolutely marvelous!" a motherly woman shouted from the continuously expanding crowd.

"Unbelievable. Never in all my years have I seen a woman reach such glorious notes," an elderly man with a crippled leg shed a tear.

"I swear, Rebecca must be an angel from above or a demon from below to possess a voice that's so entirely out of this world!" a little girl cried in disbelief at the beauty that dazzled and delighted her ears.

One by one, the chattering of bewildered spectators harmonized with Rebecca's song. The voices of the spectators were slowly drowned out by the majestic nature of the diva's beautiful music. It was certainly a magical and unforgettable experience. If only for a moment, the spectators were able to forget about the harsh reality they had spent their entire lives trapped within and escaped to an ephemeral world of bliss.

Allow me to drive all your fears away with my voice, Rebecca thought, embrace the magic and share my illusion of a better world for a while longer.

***

This is quite exhausting, Rebecca thought while in the middle of an especially difficult performance. My lungs are on the verge of bursting, but I must not give in. I will endure anything for the sake of my lovely admirers! I'm the only one they can depend on in their time of need!

Every night, the spectators returned to the stage in hopes of hearing Rebecca sing one last time. She was always more than thrilled to put on a dazzling performance for her audience, but over time, her voice began to disagree with the things her heart wanted. Rebecca's passion for the stage never wilted, but her voice began to revolt against her as it grew tired from such grievously long and frequent performances.

I must press on! Rebecca convinced herself, refusing to put her talent to rest.

With each year that passed her by, Rebecca's voice lost a fraction of its former beauty. As her body began to wilt and lose its magnificent radiance, her voice also suffered the same fate. Nowadays, her voice closer resembled the heinous croak of a dying toad more so than it did a benevolent young woman. After pushing her vocal cords to the very limit every single day and night for decades on end, they had finally met their match.

As fate would have it, the people that once loved and admired Rebecca grew to resent her. The massive flocks of roaring crowds had become furious mobs that begged her to stop singing out of fear of their ears rupturing. But the ridicule of her former admirers never swayed Rebecca from the path to fame. She continued to sing with all her heart, and the support of her adoring fans continued to dwindle as a result.

There's nothing wrong with me, I'm just a little tired is all. They'll all be back in no time!

Before long, the once mythical diva was all on her own, singing broken songs atop an isolated stage in the clear view of an audience of empty seats and chirping crickets. The same people who once shouted her name with pride and joy had left her side to swarm the other attractions that Ronzal had to offer. While doing so, they willfully ignored the awful melody of Rebecca's broken songs in hopes that she would lose her passion for singing so they would never have to hear another unbearable sound be uttered from her lips.

Is this really what my kindness has amounted to? Is this how they pay me back for my many years of love and loyalty? Am I to be abandoned like some senile old crone on the side of the road?

In the people's time of greatest need, Rebecca was their saving grace. They praised her as a goddess one moment only to cast her into the same despair that she once saved them from the next. Rebecca was consumed by grief, a grief given to her by the ones she loved and protected so adamantly. It was then that she realized that humanity was selfish and cruel. Even the so-called victims could turn colder than ice when they lost their use for you. By protecting her admirers from the darkness of the world, she soon discovered the darkness lurking in their own hearts. They were no better than the ones that made their lives a living hell, as now they have done the same to the one that saved them.

"So that's how it is," Rebecca spat with venom. "So be it then. I can't expect a flock of mindless fools to understand the beauty of my art. I'm the only one that matters, I'm the only one that needs to understand. I don't need to sing for anyone but myself..."

Rebecca cursed her former admirers, convincing herself that she didn't need them anymore. Through the bile and anger that spewed from her lips, however, she was fighting back the urge to shed tears.

***

For many years to come, Rebecca sang broken songs every night to an audience consisting of absolutely no one. Her melodies grew tired and redundant, losing a shred of their vibrance with every note that emanated from her wrinkled lips. Rebecca refused to lose faith, however. She prayed that if she continued to devote her time and effort to refining her tune, it would only be a matter of time until she was back in form and her adoring admirers all came crawling back to her in apologetic droves.

Rebecca strived every day to return to her past glory. She would make her former admirers regret the day they ever decided to leave her side and make her feel all alone. She would win them back at any cost. She had no choice but to win them back, her sanity was counting on it.

Try as she may, however, they never returned. Rebecca's former admirers continued to treat her as if she didn't exist. She poured her heart and soul into every performance, yet it all amounted to nothing. The harder she tried, the more her former admirers grew to detest her. They placed her on a pedestal only to watch her fall when they grew tired of her.

Is this the curse of idolization? Rebecca thought bitterly. To be treated like a goddess only to be thrown away and forgotten like yesterday's garbage when the spotlight no longer shines on you? Is this what I spent my entire life striving for? What a cruel joke this is!

Rebecca practiced every day to refine her voice, yet it only continued to dwindle and drive others away from her. She was convinced that not a single person would ever attend another one of her performances ever again. That was until one day, she happened to notice a lone figure watching one of her performances from a seat that was in an isolated corner all the way in the back row.

The mysterious figure watching her performance with disturbingly precise attention was wrapped from head to toe in a robe that was blacker than the cosmic sea. Their identity was completely masked by the shadows of their ominous garments. On that particular night, the figure sat quietly and watched Rebecca's performance unfold from the break of dawn until the hour of midnight without moving or uttering a single word. When the moon glazed over the lonesome stage in full bloom, the figure stood from its seat and approached the diva while firmly grasping a ritual knife.

Surprisingly, Rebecca didn't give the slightest hint of fear at the advancing of the wicked figure. In fact, she was rather amused.

"Have you come here to finally put me out my misery?" Rebecca scoffed in a harsh and raspy tone. "By all means, go right ahead. No one would care if I died, they would probably praise you for finally sealing my mouth shut and putting me in my grave once and for all. Be my guest. Kill me and I'll never utter another note."

Rebecca continued ranting and raving like a rabid animal as the figure in black listened without saying a word. The betrayal of her admirers had clearly wounded the diva deeply, although she couldn't seem to bring herself to admit it to herself. The hooded figure said nothing in return, it simply offered Rebecca the ritual knife by extending its invisible hand. Hesitating for a moment, the diva reluctantly took the knife in her wrinkled hand, a hand that was once beautiful.

"This is..." Rebecca suddenly felt a burst of malice building up in her icy chest. She rotated the knife in her palm, analyzing every inch of the sinister artifact with a demonic curiosity. She couldn't explain why, but she almost felt as if the blade was a living thing, something that was trying to communicate with her.

"The knife you hold in your hands has the power to steal a gift or talent that rightfully belongs to another human and claim it as your own," the figure in the black robe finally spoke up. "If you wish to reclaim the slumbering talent that is rightfully yours, use that knife against those that have burdened you with great sorrow. In exchange for their lives, your voice will blossom into something truly extraordinary. An eye for an eye, as the old saying goes. In this case, a sliced throat for a beautiful voice will suffice. I'm sure that you'll be more than pleased with the results. You wouldn't dare to deny such a magnificent offer, would you?"

"You take me for some kind of senile old woman?" Rebecca let out a haughty mouthful of laughter. "How could something like that even exist? Surely you jest, my dear fellow?"

"That knife contains the eldritch blessings of beings with far greater power than our own. You hold in your hands an artifact that was forged by the angels of darkness many millennia ago. Surely you felt its power flow through your veins the moment you touched it?"

Rebecca was intrigued. Though she could not see the mysterious figure's face through the black robe concealing it, somehow she knew with complete certainty that it was wearing a terrible grin.

"If you're willing to offer a proper sacrifice, I'm sure that the deities of old would be more than delighted to grace you with their divine blessing in return. All it takes is the blood of those that have afflicted you with unhealable scars on your heart. A fair trade, if I do say so myself."

It sounded far too good to be true. At this point however, Rebecca cared very little about potential consequences. She was willing to do anything to get her voice back, even throw away what little remained of her humanity. If there was even a sliver of a chance that the knife's legacy held any merit of truth, she was willing to put it to the test.

Rebecca grinned maliciously, holding the ritual knife up to her face. The longer she gazed upon it, the more it beckoned her with the allure of forbidden promises. Her withered features became shaped by a bottomless pit of hatred and desire that she never even knew she was capable of feeling. It was a brutal and unrelenting desire to bring harm to the ones that had abandoned her and left her to wilt away like a dying rose that had expired past its beauty. The mysterious knife whispered delightfully terrible things to the mad diva. The vivid visions of the blood of those that have betrayed her splashing against her skin made her spine tingle with macabre excitement.

"Absolutely marvelous. Where could you have possibly gotten your hands on such a wondrous kni--" when the diva turned to the figure to inquire them of the artifact's origins, it was already gone. Not a single trace of the figure was left behind. It was almost as if it were never even there to begin with. Could it have been nothing more than a frenzied vision in the diva's time of complete and utter devastation? No, that couldn't have possibly been the case. The sinister knife was still in the diva's hands, after all.

Regardless of what the truth may have been, Rebecca was alone once more and the quiet stillness of the night was ringing in her ears. All that remained was the diva and her forbidden weapon of redemption, a weapon that she was more than eager to put to good use.

Rebecca's thoughts reflected on her wretched former admirers. The suffering she would put them through for their selfish betrayal would be unimaginable. She would make them regret ever leaving her side. She would take back the fame she had lost all those years ago. She would leave the impudent bastards begging for mercy, begging for one more chance to see her perform on stage before she slit their throats wide open and watched their blood flow. Tonight was going to be the night that she would bring them all to their knees, groveling for forgiveness.

***

On that terrible night under the enchanting glow of the moon, the formerly glamourous diva named Rebecca had begun her murderous rampage. She stalked her prey from the shadows, dragging clueless children and intoxicated drunks into the dark alleyways of Ronzal. The clueless townsfolk never even had a chance to react before the ritual knife that the mysterious figure in the black robe had lent the diva plunged into their throats and sliced them open.

As the blood trickled from their mouths and onto Rebecca's wrinkled hands, she felt an odd tingling sensation from the back of her own throat. It felt as if the cords that once gave birth to her beautiful music had not only been restored to their former glory, but they had evolved into something entirely above her own natural talent. It was hideously tantalizing, something beyond human capacity.

After engaging in the dangerous thrill of committing her first murder, Rebecca gazed into the bloody reflection of the eldritch knife. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The mysterious figure in black robe was telling her the truth after all.

What Rebecca saw was the reflection of a beautiful young woman smiling back at her. The eldritch knife had changed her. She was more gorgeous now than she had ever been in the prime of her youth. Elegant streams of ebony hair caressed the porcelain, bloodstained features of the voluptuous diva. Her skin glistened with graceful perfection. She was molded into the image of a beautiful goddess.

Rebecca was now fully convinced that the eldritch knife possessed far greater power than she could've ever imagined. It was only natural that she now sought to test the limits of these otherworldly powers. The dark angels of ages long past had given Rebecca their sinister blessing. Now certain of the knife's true potential, she happily continued to slaughter her former admirers.

Rebecca's first victim was a small girl who used to sit at the front row of her performances. The diva slaughtered the child without mercy, and just as the figure in the dark robe had promised, the lovely voice of the sweet young girl now belonged to her.

Rebecca killed many men, stealing their strength and endurance. She killed many women, stealing their beauty and charisma. She slaughtered many children, stealing their innocence and youthful charm. The more victims that fell to Rebecca's knife, the more her body and voice warped and evolved into something unfathomable.

When she attempted to weave a spellbinding song, Rebecca's words were uttered with the tone of a thousand hellish angels. The blasphemous union of voices in unbearable agony crafted a wicked orchestra of the dead. The diva was gifted with a voice that was worthy of the dark angels themselves. The wicked seraphim would gladly welcome her to sing demonic symphonies out of praise and otherworldly admiration for their unholy reign.

Even knowing this, it wasn't enough for Rebecca. The diva wanted more and she knew that she could have it if she simply continued to kill more of her wretched former admirers. She needed to kill even more. She wouldn't stop killing until her beauty and voice were absolutely perfect.

Rebecca killed without mercy, losing a shred of her humanity with every throat she slit. She kept killing and killing until not a single living soul remained in Ronzal. At this point, the diva's songs could no longer be described as mere music. It was something of an ethereal and utterly inhuman quality. Each note echoed with the terrifying shouts and bitter screams of her slaughtered admirers. Her music had become something demonic, evoking melodies riddled with fear, sadness and loathing.

"Why are you all crying?" Rebecca asked sadistically. "Isn't this what you wanted? For my voice to be absolutely perfect? All I'm doing is fulfilling your selfish demands! Now you'll be able to spend the rest of eternity trapped within my song just like you've always dreamed of!"

A soul shattering choir of the damned was echoing from the mouth of a single woman. No, the woman once known as Rebecca was no longer a mere human diva. The diva had become a siren, a demon of forbidden song. The repulsively dreadful allure of her morbid requiem was enough to drive a man mad the moment the melody so much as brushed against his ears.

The siren's morbid requiem molested the ears and raped the mind. Even to this very day, it is said that her songs still echo from the long-abandoned village of Ronzal, sending all who hear the dreadful music into a spiraling downfall of depravity and suicidal tendencies.

Even after all of its inhabitants were brutally slaughtered, the village of Ronzal never slept. The restless souls trapped within the village were kept alive in excruciating pain every time Rebecca began to sing. They cried out in agony with every note, their torment warping the music into something no living creature should ever have to hear. The sight of the warm sun basking over the bloodstained ruins of the infamous tourist attraction made the tragic melody all the more eerie.

Ronzal was immortalized by the morbid requiem of the tortured souls that were held captive by Rebecca's vengeful song. Rebecca never stopped singing, not even for a second. Her former admirers would be trapped in the web of her hellish orchestra for all eternity, and anyone that dared to venture to Ronzal seeking salvation would join them in their everlasting misery.

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Moral of the story?

Placing your happiness and self-worth in the hands of others can lead to self-destruction.