I had met Damsile before all of this occurred. There’s a reason why not killing that pissant manager was harder than anything I could’ve imagined. Damsile was my first. Now it felt like others needed to follow. She was my breaking point. But I was not a natural killer. Keeping the urge under control was my biggest battle.

My mother taught me righteousness and responsibility. “Killing another human being is the worst thing you can do in magic,” she had once said. “It opens you up to bad entities. Makes your spirit weak. You start falling for lies and you are easily influenced by negativity.” She also mentioned how It shifted your morality to favour the darker side of everything. I was feeling that right now. Dark, agitated, lusting for manufactured vengeance.

The whispers in my head are constant. “Don’t let him get away with it. Why would you let her do that? Are you serious about letting them walk?” My sanity is crawling further and further from me with each sunset. “You really don’t remember me?” the shadow entity asks me. The longer it hung around was the more I began to hear what IT was thinking. Or saying.

I’m still not sure if it’s in my head or out loud. It never talks when other people are around. I reply as though I were speaking to an actual person. So perhaps it’s not in my head. At this point of my insomnia I can’t tell. But I certainly wouldn’t want anyone walking in on me talking to a shadow in the corner of the room. Or worse yet somewhere in public. Its voice has a familiarity that I cannot grasp. “After all this time Leshuba. I should feel disappointed but then again, you have always been a disappointment. ‘I can never hold a candle to my father.’ ‘I try so hard but I mess up so much. I’m disappointing my family.’ Isn’t that what you used to tell me? Moping on my shoulder like a juvenile. Feeling sorry for yourself.” This is all sounding familiar but the back of my mind refuses to unlock the image. At the exact moment of revelation, everything blacks out. This has been happening for the longest time. Followed by frustration.

“Look at you. Is this what I was attracted to? You did not deserve a beauty like me.” The words “a beauty like me” echo in my head as my forehead folds. “Who are you please? It’s time you let me know. It’s been how long now? I want to know you,” I plead. “Ahh. History repeats itself. Using the same words you used on me all those years ago. That’s so sweet. Maybe this will jog your memory,” the shadow says. Peeling itself off the wall in a cloud of black smoke. Morphing into a female figure, the smoke lightening slightly to a muted shade of purple.

Then I see her. Just as I had known her in life. Her image as it was two years ago. Wide eyed, gaping mouth. That crooked tooth on the top row. It’s her. “Damsile,” I say. My voice shaky and gruff. “Yes handsome?” she says. Changing her appearance to match the condescending reply. “I thought I should return the favour seeing as were recycling words from the past now,” she says. Damsile was the first and only girl to call me handsome. I would pull that cheeky smile every time she said it. Besides that, she had a way of making me feel like a real man. Not that I didn’t feel that way already thanks to my mother and sisters. But her way was different. The Damsile way.

My mother was not too fond of her. I don’t think it had anything to do with the fact that she was not only married, but was cheating on her side piece toy-boy with me. The third piece? Or back piece? Some piece or other in the convoluted puzzle. I never told my mother all those parts for obvious reasons. In turn she never told me why she felt the way she did. They had never met each other so technically the negativity was unfounded. I was infatuated so I ignored my mothers concerns. At the time it felt like she needed a boyfriend so she could stay out of my business.

Maybe Damsile did manipulate me. Or I was just ignorant to the obvious. The warning signs were screaming in my face when I look back at everything. But I went along with it anyway. Maybe it was the promise of sex. Or the fact that she was into magic. It was the first time I had met someone interested in magic rather than badmouthing it. Magic is like leprosy in this part of the world. Anybody who is even suspected of it is likely to end up charred along with everything that belongs to them. Including children and infants. My mother’s protection spells have kept the animals at bay. The spineless scum who’s only strength is in numbers.

I use them too. The spells. Just as my mother taught me. Seprem Achem Diawa manesa. The angels on the four pillars of the earth. There is a recitation for each of them. All accompanied by hand gestures. Then a sniff of incense at the end of each verse. The incense is locked inside a miniature jar with a flip lid hanging from the necklace around my neck. If I feel discomfort at all, I flip the lid and sniff. Reminding me of the ceremony I would have already performed every morning. If things get out of hand I close my eyes and physically picture myself in that moment of prayer. Word for word, action for action. Then a transformative wave washes over me and I feel strong again.

This is a last resort as it takes time and can give you away to an enemy who is familiar with protection magic. Many people practice magic around here. They just don’t show it. The ignorant don’t know the signs so it’s easy to hide. I knew her version was dark but I followed her anyway. Prior to this the only woman who had ever led me was my mother. So I felt Damsile’s power as she took charge of me and it was impressive. She spoke to the dead. Taught me a thing or two about it. I learn so much in my life sometimes I cant keep up with reality and magic. Perhaps that’s why it’s taking so long to master these magic systems. Perhaps if I stayed home more I would learn at a better rate. My knowledge is fragmented over various systems and I get overloaded. Then I lose my mind temporarily. Like I did that day.