Drothiker
29.

There was darkness everywhere.

She did not know who she was, did not know where life commenced and concluded. Somedays she was a child, other days she was an old woman, but all the days she was itinerant in this endless dark.

She did not have a body, did not have a will. She was just … there, like night air, only she was not wanted. Not known by anyone.

Something far in this void waited for her, a monster calling to her, to approach and give in, to approach and accept it. It tortured her every drifting second, only so she would walk over to it. Each instinct in these remaining shards of herself told her not to.

No, she told herself. Just a bit longer. Someone will come, you will be out.

But eternity seemed to have passed, only this dark persisted. Her body ached to walk over to that monster, and surrender—all shall end, if only she willed to approach.

It was ancient, and cruel, and sickening, that monster, she could feel it all the way over here to herself. Could feel its hunger for her, a crave for this shard of her soul that had remained hers.

There is a world outside, she’d been consoling herself all this time, you’ve seen it, you just don’t remember it. There is a world of stars and moon and sun, a world where light never terminates. The monster laughed at her, called her absurd to hope for light.

She unheeded it.

She might not own her body, might be entombed in this grotesque form that bore a sword as spine, but this shard of her soul was still hers.

And the monster wanted it.

Someone will come, she told herself over and over and over, someone will free her from this curse.

She remembered a faerie, her beautiful wings blazing like a sun. Her friend. That Tiny Moon will come, she had faith. If not her, then her mother will come, or her prime.

The body she was ensnared in was feeding on someone—she could control it, and yet not, could not restrain this … this hunger—she could feel the ghastly taste on her tongue, could feel the repulsive chewing with her own teeth. For so long, she had been ravenous. For so long, she had been in store for someone to venture here.

A sorceress sent food for her, practically shoved the man right into her maw.

She’d known the man—those tree-green eyes and tanned-golden skin. She’d known him, but hadn’t recognized him. She’d known him, and felt nothing as she tore him apart, and fed on his body. Not only known him—that man had been precious to her, one of those very few she had entrusted with her whole heart.

Syrene, he’d called before she had disemboweled him, Syrene, I’m Lucran.

She hadn’t recognized him, his tone had suggested she’d meant to.

Come, the monster waiting in the darkness called. Come to me.

No, she didn’t know whether it heard her, whether her voice made it out.

Then, she felt it approaching. Fine, then I’ll come to you. This has been going on for too long.

She began shouting, terror gripped her gut with a crushing strength. She was thrashing, and shouting, and protesting.

But the thing only laughed and approached. This all belongs to me, it said, including you.

NO! she cried.

But her beseeching went unanswered.

Her cries ceased when the monster’s face came into view, terror chewed at her gut.

In the darkness, she perceived its face, the horror of it threatened to crumple her.

For it was no one but herself. Her own face—a stranger.

The monster’s hand came to choke her.

➣

She was falling and screaming.

It was an abyss where the darkness was alive, rousing.

There was no end and no beginning.

There was no life, no death.

Maybe this was death. Was she dying? But this darkness was familiar, like the kind she had been living in for past thirty-five years, the one that had befriended her long ago.

This was life—the only life she’d known. Not death. This darkness was home, even as it felt like a Saqa. She was used to it.

She had been falling in this abyss for thirty-five years. It won’t kill her.

➣

The abyss shifted and rippled.

A gate opened and she was shoved into it.

She was in a different dark now, identified this one and dreaded it. Because this dark was no home to her—she’d been here only in her nightmares.

Voices soon began echoing all around her, faces began displaying.

There was Kessian in far dark, fury and hatred on his face. Do Ianov a favor and kill yourself. Return to that cliff, I promise I won’t stop you this time.

There was his twin, Lucran was kneeling, tears spilling from his eyes. All I ever did was love you, Rene, is this the punishment I deserved? You tore me to bone!

Distantly, a feminine laugh echoed, and Deisn stepped forward. Oh, how many people will have to die for you, my sweet Rene? You know nothing but blood, you illiterate scum.

Then there emerged Azryle.

He said nothing.

There was hurt on his face, blood running down his wounded back—splits from whips. Horror coiled her throat. He spoke then. I might be a mirror to your monster, but I’ve never run.

➣

“Alpenstride.”

She opened her eyes, only for more dark to greet her. She was hardened to it now—the dark—it was like a harmony to her. She loathed light, was terrified of it.

Her arms were held up, shackled in walls with dresteen. She was naked in a damp, dull cell, sentries from outside gawked and sneered. A few licked their lips, but none averted their eyes, their despicable gaze. Her vision was swimming, her body cold, her back was in agony, burning and itching ferociously from being whipped earlier. She’d fainted at the unforgiving pain, she remembered—for how long?

The overseer was behind her, his fingers roving over the fresh wounds on her bare back. Disgust and dread and horror ached her throat. His whip whispered to the stones as he stepped close enough that his body linked with her naked back—burned the gashes. They’d stopped bleeding. His stench sneaked into her nostrils.

She could not move, could not hiss at the pain.

His lips touched her ear as he whispered, “You spat on me earlier, did you think you would go unpunished?”

His broad, callused hand came for her waist, ascended to her midriff. His thumb traced the rim of her breast.

That hand withdrew a few moments later, and he stepped back, she was not thankful. She was not relieved. For she knew what was to come for the sixth time today.

A silent scream tore past her throat as the skin of her back split with the first strike of his whip.

Her pleas didn’t go ignored.

They were sneered at.