11. Chapter 11
eleven
B rielle
The bones crunch beneath my boots, brittle and dry like dead leaves in the fall. Except these aren’t leaves; they’re the remains of those who thought they could conquer this quadrant. Skulls, femurs, ribs, all scattered like discarded trash, bleaching under the non-existent sun of this cursed place. Every step I take feels like a violation. The air hangs thick and cold, clinging to my skin. There’s no wind, no sound, just the suffocating stillness, as if even the air itself is dead.
"I shouldn’t be here," my gut twists, "but where the hell else can I go?" I speak to the darkness and thankfully no one answers. This quadrant is nothing like the last. There’s no twisted greenery, no thorn-covered walls to guide my way. Just endless stretches of rock and death. How long have I been walking? Hours? The only thing marking the time are these bones, human, animal, things I can’t even name; piled in clusters like they were herded here to die.
"Just keep moving," I tell myself, though the pounding in my chest feels like a countdown to something worse. "It can’t go on forever." But what if it does?
Ahead, the terrain shifts again, and I catch sight of something—mist, crawling out from between jagged rocks, thick and unnatural like it’s waiting for me. I slow my pace, uncertainty creeping in, but there’s no turning back now. The mist moves unnervingly, tendrils stretching out toward me like fingers eager to pull me in. My breath hitches.
"What the hell is this?" I take a step forward, then another, the mist swirling higher, wrapping around my ankles and legs. It’s cold, colder than anything I’ve felt here before, and for a second I feel frozen in place.
The mist clings to me, pulling tighter, and then I hear it. A whisper. Faint at first, like a murmur in the back of my mind, but unmistakable. It’s not the wind; there’s no wind here. No life. Just that voice, soft and venomous.
"You don’t belong here."
I freeze, my heart lurching in my chest. That’s Henry’s voice. I turn, half-expecting to see him behind me, but the corridor is empty, just that fog crawling forward, consuming everything. The whisper grows louder, pressing against my skull.
"You’re going to die. You’re so weak."
"You’re nothing without me."
I stop dead, the words ricocheting in my skull. The mist crawls higher, snaking around my waist, pressing in like it wants to suffocate me.
"You never could make it on your own. Pathetic little thing."
My stomach twists painfully, and for a second, I’m not in the Maze anymore. I’m back there, back in that house, trapped in the suffocating grip of Henry’s cruelty. His hands on me, his voice cutting through my defenses like a blade, telling me I’m worthless, telling me I can’t survive without him.
"No," I choke out, my voice barely audible. "This isn’t real."
But the mist only tightens, and with it, the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury come flooding back. The nights spent curled up in a corner, nursing the pain and trying to hide the tears because crying made it worse. The endless cycle of fear, manipulation, and the crushing belief that I wasn’t strong enough to leave, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t… enough.
"He’s not here," I tell myself, but the doubt crawls deeper. But what if he was right?
The mist twists and swirls, pressing the thoughts into my skull like nails. "You’ll die out here, just like you would’ve died without me. Useless. Weak."
My vision blurs as my legs tremble beneath me, the weight of the whispers crashing over me like a tidal wave. The invasion of the whispers comes with a sharp pain radiating through my skull. "He’s gone. He’s gone, and I survived," I remind myself, but the memories have claws, and they dig in deep, refusing to let go.
I can’t breathe.
My knees hit the ground, bone shards stabbing into my skin, but the pain doesn’t register. All I can hear are those words, those venomous whispers.
"You were nothing without me, and you’re nothing now."
A sob bubbles up in my throat, the fight draining out of me as the mist curls tighter, squeezing, suffocating, dragging me down, down into the weight of my past. I can’t—can’t shake it, can’t push past it. The fear, the helplessness, it’s all-consuming, just like it was when Henry had me under his thumb.
"You’re still that scared little girl, hiding in the corner, hoping someone will save you. But no one’s coming. Not this time."
The world narrows, the edges of my vision darkening. The mist thickens around my throat, my chest, cutting off air, cutting off hope.
"I’m nothing," I whisper, my voice breaking, because maybe that’s the truth I’ve been running from. Maybe this maze will eat me alive because, deep down, I’ve always been the girl Henry said I was. Weak. Dependent. Disposable.
But then, through the fog, a flicker, something small but sharp, like a spark in the dark. A memory, not of Henry, but of the moment I left. Of walking out that door, of running into the maze.
I left.
I’m surviving.
Something inside me hardens and solidifies. My hands clench against the bone-littered ground, the pain bringing me back, anchoring me to the present. "You don’t control me anymore" I whisper, my voice trembling, but stronger this time. “I will not die here!” I yell into the void though the air in my lungs is swallowed by the mist. “Get out of my fucking head!”
Finally, the mist recoils, hissing like a wounded animal. I push to my feet, every muscle screaming in protest, but I stand.
"I survived you," I snarl, more to myself than to the mist. "I can survive this."
With each step forward, the mist thins, the whispers fading into distant echoes, furious but powerless. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my legs shaking from the effort, but I keep moving, forcing myself through the fog, through the fear, until finally, it breaks.
I stumble out of the mist, my chest heaving, my skin damp with cold sweat. The silence that follows is deafening, but it’s a silence of victory. Of survival.
I survived again.
I look ahead, the path still long, the dangers still real, but now, the voice in my head isn’t Henry’s anymore.
It’s mine. You’re not that woman anymore.
I keep moving, each step heavier than the last as the chill of the mist lingers on my skin. My breath still fighting against me, but I push forward, determined to put the horrors of that fog behind me. Just as the bone-strewn path clears, the oppressive quiet of the Quadrant gives way to an eerie hum, like the earth itself is holding its breath, waiting.
And then I hear it—another voice, soft but chiling, threading through the stillness like silk over stone.
"That was quite the show back there."
I stop, every muscle in my body tensing. Slowly, I turn to find a figure stepping out from the shadowed rocks. Her skin is stone—literally—etched with cracks that pulse with a faint light. Her body is shaped as though carved from marble, but there’s nothing rigid or lifeless about her. She moves with a liquid grace, the faint glow of her skin making her seem almost otherworldly.
Her hair, twisted vines of black, hangs down her back in intricate braids, and among them are tiny bones, some dangling, some woven into her hair like macabre decorations. She’s dressed in rugged, battle-worn clothing that clings to her like a second skin, strapped with bone weapons; jagged and deadly. The glow from her cracked skin dances over her body, casting shadows that accentuate her every sharp, dangerous curve. A necklace made of what looks like finger bones hangs around her neck, each piece clicking softly with every move she makes.
The grin on her face is wicked as she eyes me up and down, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"I’ve seen the mist take many," she says, her voice laced with amusement. "Few come out of it on two feet." Her glowing eyes flash, taking a step closer. "But there are far worse things here than a little smoke." Her hand slides to the hilt of a bone blade strapped to her thigh. "Like me."
My heart pounds in my chest, but my body reacts before my mind can catch up. I stumble back, my eyes darting to the ground, searching for anything, anything, I can use. She unsheathes her weapon with a metallic hiss. The blade gleams, its jagged edge dripping menace as she steps closer.
My hand brushes over something hard and sharp. Without thinking, I grab it. A shard of bone—long, thick, and splintered at one end—lies in my grip, and I brandish it in front of me like a sword, even though it’s more of a toothpick compared to what she’s carrying.
Her grin widens, clearly entertained by my pathetic attempt at self-defense. She twirls the bone blade in her hand, eyes gleaming with dangerous intent. "You’ve got fight in you. I like that."
She lunges forward, her blade slicing through the air with a speed that takes me off guard. I barely sidestep, the tip of her weapon grazing the edge of my shirt. I swing the bone shard in retaliation, aiming for her neck. She shifts at the last second, narrowly avoiding the hit. Her laughter rings out, echoing in the hollowed expanse around us.
"Well, well, well," she purrs, circling me now. "A feisty little thing, aren’t you?"
I grit my teeth, holding the bone shard tighter as my knuckles whiten. I can feel my pulse thundering in my temples, but there’s no time to be afraid. Not now. Not here.
"What are you doing in my quadrant, little girl?" She asks, taking another step toward me. "What are you hoping to achieve in the Maze? Why are you trying to defeat it?"
I falter for a moment, words sticking in my throat. The truth, or something like it, slips out, shaky and unsure. "I… I came to save someone."
But even as I say it, the doubt creeps in. Save someone? Or survive? I don’t know anymore. Everything here, the maze, the mist, the Maze King, has twisted the purpose behind every step I take.
Her eyes narrow, her blade dropping slightly. "Save someone?" she repeats, like the words are a joke. "And now you’re not so sure, are you?"
I don’t respond, and she takes that as an answer. She steps closer again, her voice lowering to a purr. "Here’s the thing, little human… You don’t save anyone in this maze. Not yourself. Not anyone else. You survive, or you die. There is no middle ground."
My grip on the bone shard tightens. My breath is shallow, ragged. The truth in her words twists in my gut like a blade. Her sharp gaze bores into me, and the moment hangs in the air like a string ready to snap.
“Who are you trying to save?” she asks, her voice a dangerous melody.
The question catches me off guard. For a fleeting moment, I falter, the weight of my journey pressing down on me. “I thought I was here to save my monster of a husband,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside me. “But now I’m realizing I’m here to save myself. To prove to him, and to myself, that I’m not the weak woman he put down. I no longer have his foot on my neck, and I aim to prove that when I slice his.”
The words spill out of me, surprising even myself. A strange sense of power washes over me, like a fire igniting within my chest. But then I see her expression shift, her surprise fleeting but genuine, and the air grows thick between us.
“That's the thing about the maze,” she replies slowly, a small smirk creeping onto her lips. “You will learn the truth about yourself… or die trying.”
She sheaths her weapon with a fluid motion, her demeanor shifting from hunter to ally, albeit a wary one. She extends her hand toward me, her glowing skin casting an ethereal light against the shadows.
“Villina is my name,” she says, a slight tilt of her head as if she’s assessing my worth.
I hesitate, unsure of this sudden shift in energy. I take her hand relieved to drop the makeshift weapon. Villina's grip on my wrist is fierce, and before I can process her intentions, she yanks me into her, our bodies colliding with an electrifying force. The sudden proximity sends shockwaves through my system, and I can feel the heat radiating off her body as she leans closer, her breath warm against my ear.
“Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?” she whispers, her voice dripping with mockery and something darker. I shiver as she licks a teasing stripe along my cheek, her tongue leaving a trail of heat “So many monsters in this maze would have fun with you.”
“Let me go,” I hiss, trying to pull away, but she only tightens her hold, a blade pressed firmly against my throat.
“Not just yet,” she purrs, her tone shifting to something more serious, almost seductive. “When you slice his throat, make sure you go deep. Don’t be soft. Be rough and tear through his flesh. Let his blood, your revenge, wash over you.”
Her words sink into me like a poison, stirring up a rage and longing for retribution. The thrill of her breath against my skin leaves me breathless, and before I can even react, she kisses my cheek, a sudden, fleeting softness that contrasts with the steel of her blade.
As she releases me, I gasp, my fingers instinctively moving to my throat, where I can still feel the imprint of her weapon, a reminder of how close I came to being cut down in an instant. “You’re… letting me go?” I stammer, bewildered by the sudden shift in power.
“Yes, I am,” she replies coolly, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something akin to respect. “But I’m also coming with you.”
The declaration shocks me, and I blink, trying to grasp the implications of her words. “Why?”
Villina’s smirk grows, revealing a hint of mischief beneath her composed exterior. “Because I want to see just how deep you can go. And in this maze, you’ll need someone who understands the shadows.”
As the tension crackles between us, I realize that I’m standing at the precipice of a choice I didn’t know I’d have to make. This nymph, with her ethereal beauty and ruthless demeanor, might just be the ally I need; or the monster that’ll devour me whole. But as I look into her vibrant eyes, I sense a flicker of something genuine. I hope I’m not wrong… again.