4. Cephalagia Migranosa
Cephalagia Migranosa
Rumor Malefic
My spider was my constant and ever-present companion, always lurking below the surface of my skin.
When I didn’t drink enough water, when I worked spells or potions too long, when I stayed up all night with the coven every solstice to drain every moment of magic from the only night I was ever afforded to be a closer version of myself…
my spider was there. Pressing its leggy limbs into the side of my face and squeezing.
Sometimes the sensation which I’d dubbed a spider , took me to a realm of unconsciousness, sometimes I woke up in bed, and sometimes…
I woke up six feet underground. I wondered which fate awaited me this wretched time.
My stupid spider , a tortuous curse of an ailment I’d so hatefully named and adopted as my unwelcome pet.
The burning would begin at the top of my head like a heap of hot coals. The spider would crawl, invisible to everyone but me, and strike debilitating pain through my nerves until my vision failed, my body went numb, and I drifted away.
Prism found me by the creek once after a spider attack. She couldn’t lift me alone, so Birch had to carry me home to bed, or so I’m told. I wasn’t wholly convinced that Birch was capable of being strong or useful.
The way I’d disappear, the spider’s effect on me, was horrifying enough—though it wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it was now.
Here.
Alone in this dark place.
The show was about to begin.
No, literally.
My folding seat held me in place as a red velvet curtain opened, revealing the stage I’d come to know and dread. It didn’t always appear; sometimes I only beheld shades of black until I awoke. But every now and then…
The pasture appeared, and I saw myself from above.
Whatever this vantage point was, it was high in the sky, observing the scene.
I sat cross-legged on my patchwork quilt, looking annoyed at Amity.
Prism stood, arms extended, back to the forest. From this new view, I scanned the crowd of men again, still coming up short on locating Birch.
That little bitch didn’t even show up?
Rage burned in my chest as I gritted my teeth, knowing what happened next. Something moved in the forest in the distance. Massive, gruesome, and knocking through trees as if they were flimsy blades of grass.
Terror held me by the throat as I hung on the edge of my seat, fighting the tears from blurring my sight.
This would be new information, a clearer view of the creature that took my sister.
Oh, goddess, what if it had killed her and this theater showing would reveal that horror to me now?
I didn’t think I was strong enough to bear that—but I kept watching, regardless.
The evil that lurked within this long, muscular, inky creature and the trail of fog that followed it… instilled fear so deep and primal it made my bones ache.
Prism must have been so afraid. Fuck .
My weak and clumsy body hurtled toward my sister as the town panicked.
With long, wicked arms, the monster snatched my sister off the willow’s stump.
She screamed, a man threw a pitchfork, and I fell to my knees before face-planting into the dirt.
This is where the spider took me, and I recalled nothing more…
but the film kept rolling, a device I didn’t recognize clicking behind me as I followed the beast at the above vantage point.
It threw Prism over its shoulder as she kicked and screamed and trudged through the forest. It’s skull-like face and sharp teeth apparent even from the sky.
I was right.
A wither .
I’d find it.
I’d kill it.
We were supposed to be protected from these things.
If we’d had lords who did their duties and protected our town.
If we had a rulership who allowed us to practice our crafts and magic—these monsters would be no match for the coven.
These creatures that plagued us could be shut out by the Blackthorne Boys—but they didn’t pay us any mind.
Abandoned.
Left for dead.
Willowspire was just a large grave plot in their thorned cemetery.
Fury threatened to choke me dead as hot tears streaked my face. “Prism!” I cried out. “I will come for you! I swear it!”
Her head cocked to the side as if she’d heard me. Had she? Please, goddess, keep her alive long enough for me to find her. What must these creatures do to the maidens they capture?
The monster faded into the dark mist of the forest—my last glimpse of my sobbing sister, reaching out her palm for something, anything to save her as she disappeared.
Agony pressed upon my forehead as the screen clicked off and my awareness shifted back into my physical body. Loss and shame so guttural scorched my throat as I screamed into the abyss, choking on dirt as I did.
Pain hammered my temple in rhythmic strokes.
Wet soil pressed me deep into cold earth.
Tiny stones flecked my eyelashes as the deep voice taunted its tired line.
Buried alive, you stupid witch.
Fury roiled in my bones as I screamed again, pushing through the grave dirt.
I’d take care of the monster.
But as usual, and as with most women and witches, I didn’t wholly blame the monster. No, monsters did what monsters do.
My ire was set on the men.
The blame rested on men.
Birch would be first.
And last? Oh, last would be them. I’d come for them—the Blackthorne Boys. Gilded castle of briar and horror or not, they’d not met me, and I would find them. I would find them, and I would make them pay.
Buried alive, you stupid witch.