I deflate completely. My hopes break apart and fly away in the breeze. A cold sweat covers my body.
Maldita sea.I don’t wait for more signs—I run. I head to the trees as quickly as possible, trying to evade the attackers.
Just as I make it to the tree line, something hits me squarely inthe back, and I tumble to the ground with a shout. My face scrapes against the bunches of underbrush and needles, and I frantically try to turn around, not caring for the state of my dress, which is becoming increasingly tattered by the second.
When I see one of the men in dirty clothing standing over me, chest heaving and holding a bloody short sword that glints as thick liquid drips from the blade, I try to scramble away, only to have the rough bark of the tree meet my back.
I think of the times I’ve been in danger. How the person who lied to me looked when he protected me from others. From myself.
Do not act so pathetic,the voice inside me growls.
Relief floods my body at the full resurgence of my evil companion. Thank fuck.
Yes, I’m still here.
The voice is clearer than ever, less like listening to it from underwater, and more like a whisper. The voice is…female. The realization disarms me.
I know no other way to be,I retort.My strength came from when you possessed me.
Something inside of me shifts. A bit of power flows through my veins, and I find my body softening despite the fear. Everything in my vision darkens. Suddenly, I know what to do. How to hit, how to kill.
I blink against the revelation and stand.
“Prettyhuman. The prettiest I’ve seen in a while. Too bad the king will never see you,” the man begins.
When I’d traveled in the past, I’d had someone to champion me. Someone to be a hero for me.
Be your own damn hero now, woman. You are not as weak as you believe yourself.
If I weren’t in so much danger, perhaps I would’ve been more taken aback by the kindness in the cursed being’s tone. Instead, the ancient, feminine presence nudges my limbs, not fully in control, but more of a guide, and I push off the tree trunk and charge at the man. It’s an echo of what it once was when its bloodthirsty rage was guiding me to Arion’s palace, but it’s effective. My head and fist collide with his midsection, knocking him off-balance.
I’mshocked when his sword falls from his hand, but the guide in my body is still faster, not wanting to waste another minute that the man could hurt me. As soon as the sword is in my hand, my whole abdomen lurches. I want to drop the weapon, but the hesitation is flushed from my thoughts before my mind can fully make a decision. I lean over and plunge the sword into his chest while he is still prone.
I squeal at the feeling of skin giving way to cracking bone and fleshy organs. A flickering black substance dances over my hand for a second, like a dark flame. I drop the sword and step back, to the amusement of the guide inside of me.
You are lucky you weren’t fully awake for the others if this is how you react to a relatively tame killing.
I bite my tongue against any quips that rise up, instead remembering the horror of black flames. I turn my palms over, looking for burns, and find nothing.
Blood, however, fills the crevices around my nails.
I look at the dead body, and my eyes burn.
“This isn’t me,” I whisper, somewhat desperate, as if I could prove it. My mind wrestles to make sense of what I’ve done. And what it means for the kind of person I am becoming. Learning that I have the capacity to kill was devastating. But before, there was a buffer between me and the deaths. I was both responsible for them and not.
I was a tool, and it was my body that was used to commit the atrocity. It helped me to turn away from the pain, to put a cushion between myself and the sharp truth.
But staring at the grungy elf, I find no solace. It’s just as bad as the first time I realized what I’d done. I’ve killed again. Before, I was removed from the act, but today, I made the choice and took action, and now he is dead.
I stagger away from him, back to the tree trunk, and brace my forehead in the crook of my arm as it presses into the rough wood.
I stare at my hand, still shaking, but not fully out of fear. How could I kill again? Endless surges of adrenaline spike hot through my blood, causing my breath to come in short gasps that hardly bring enough air into my lungs.
Control yourself, woman. He was going to kill us, and I have no desire to go back. You love to gaze at the pretty nature—well, now is time for you to realize that nature does not exist merely to be pretty. Everything is fighting to live, and you are a part of that.
The words slide through me, and I can’t help but think of someone else who used to occupy my thoughts.
What would the man who lied to me say to all of this?