19. The Vice So Gentle
The Vice So Gentle
Prism Malefic
Yellow flowers landed in my lap. The monster carrying me would stop every so often, pluck a rough handful of the blooms, and toss them at me like I were his human basket.
After consuming my weight in crab apples, I drifted to sleep against his chest, only to awaken next to a camp fire in the light of twilight.
I yawned, sitting up from my plush pile of straw.
The wither twisted a rock against another rock and growled as the stone slipped from his large grip.
Again he tried, and again the rock slipped from his hold.
“Let me help,” I offered, approaching him. It was eerie how he blended into the nightfall, how if I hadn’t known he was there, I may not have seen him immediately.
Giving me a sideways glance, the wither sighed and allowed me to pry the tools from his enormous hands. The smell of the crushed flowers reached my nose, and it occurred to me what he was attempting to accomplish. “You’re making a calendula salve?”
With a huff, the wither sat back on his haunches, resting his elbows on his knees, his long arms slack as he watched me. How could such a killer move like such a man?
The flowers transformed into a paste as I ground them against a nearby stone.
Once it was a thick, greenish-yellow hue, I held it up for the wither to see.
A slash of reddish-black caught my attention, and I gasped at the wounds on his shoulder.
Scooping a palmful of the salve, I walked between his knees, my stomach fluttering with butterflies at the feel of his warmth, and the way he opened his arms for me and allowed me access to his chest without pause.
Not that I could harm him if I tried, but something about the naturalness of the gesture sent a wave of warmth through my body.
Slowly, I reached up toward his wound, and he grabbed my wrist between two fingers.
With his other index finger, he scooped the salve from my palm and tilted my chin.
My breath hitched, and though his face was gruesome, his eyes softened for me.
He dabbed the salve against my burning cheek, caressing the pain leftover from the fearcat’s saliva. Trailing the salve down the crook of my neck, the throbbing on my skin eased, while the ache within my core intensified.
What was happening to me?
Birch and I had kissed behind his barn. On several occasions, while kissing, he’d snuck his hand over the top of my shirt.
The kissing was fine, his touch was okay, but I’d never felt the draw to more.
My heart didn’t burst into a thousand floating rose petals at the feel of his palm.
My pulse didn’t race at his slow glance.
In fact, he’d never looked at me in that same way as the wither.
It could very well be that the wither wanted to eat me and was bringing me to some spot to gut me.
However… more and more, I felt that wasn’t the case.
He’d been so tender, the way he regarded me with such gentle care while capable of ripping apart fearcats and willingly taking their lashes to save me.
Swallowing my rising heat, I placed my hand over the wither’s knuckles.
His eyes shot to mine in surprise. Taking a palmful of salve, I returned the care and rubbed it over his cuts.
My touch skimmed over the thick white scar that interrupted his otherwise solid black body.
The scar’s trail began at the corner of his face and slashed across his chest in a wide, jagged motion.
What creature could ever be powerful enough to inflict such a mark?
How powerful was this wither that he survived it?
The corner of the monster’s lip quirked, and he pointed to the sky.
When I looked up at the night scene, dozens upon dozens of stars raced overhead.
I was alone in the forest with the deadliest creature in the realms…
and somehow… I’d never felt safer. Taking a risk that made my pulse quicken, I leaned back into the wither’s chest.
Was I losing my mind?
This wasn’t normal.
The wither wrapped his arms around me as we stared at the sky.
That night I fell asleep across from a monster. My eyes lifted, and I watched his chest rise and fall in heavy motions. Sitting up, the wither didn’t budge or notice me. Testing my luck, I tossed a small rock into a bush—the wither didn’t stir.
Another opportunity presented itself.
I could run.
If I climbed a tree high enough, perhaps I could see Willowspire and know which way to go.
The wither snored as I crept around him, stopping to poke the fading embers of the campfire. Still, he didn’t wake.
My gaze drifted to a dark clearing, a path out, my road back to…
what was I fighting to get back to again?
Of course, I missed my sister. Though, truth be told, I’d always felt like a burden to her.
Ever since our mothers were taken, Rumor made caring for me her entire life’s goal.
It never occurred to her that I was capable of looking after myself.
In her overworked frustration, she’d snapped at me after a particularly grueling winter’s day.
She’d told me I’d never understand what she went through to ensure my safety and survival.
From then on, I knew I was her responsibility, her burden, her chains.
Perhaps she was happier without me.
Did I want to go back to the gray of Willowspire?
Or did I want to see where this monster’s journey ended up? It could very well end with me rotating over a campfire… or maybe not.
Regardless, somehow, despite the fearcats and the uncertainty, a small sense of freedom bloomed in my chest. A sort of desire for adventure, a want for recklessness and wandering… and an inclination to experience the wither’s touch on my skin once more.
I tossed another log onto the fire and stared at the clearing a final time… before turning around and settling back into my sleeping spot.
Tomorrow I could run.
For that night… I decided to stay.