27 || Bone Girl
Death was quiet. It was an eerie oddity that haunted and lurked throughout life, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on its prey. Once the claws of darkness had sunk into the flesh of its victim, there was no escaping its clutches.
Unless you were a necromancer, of course.
Morana awoke with a gasp, struggling to fill her lungs. No amount of air was enough. Her body had been starved of it and now it hungered for anything it could claim. Something tugged against her head, brushing through her hair with firm bristles.
"Welcome back," Silas greeted, smiling when he noticed she had returned from the dead. He braided her hair, twisting the purple strands into a simple pattern to keep them out of her face.
She recognised the small bunker as the safe room beneath her boss' office.
No light nor decorations could be found within the raptured darkness.
Only a bed was shoved into the corner and an enchanted safe was stored in the other.
A meagre table and chair took up the rest of the space, but that was all.
It was more of a prison than a place that housed protection.
"How long was I out for?" Morana rasped. Whatever the answer was, it wasn't long enough. After dying, her body kept her in an almost comatose state until it fully healed itself. Depending on the injury that ended her life, it could take days or weeks until it was complete.
"Not long. I took the initiative to get a little assistance this time.
" Her boss leaned back in his chair and grabbed the Necromancer's Tome from the table.
It was pried open with the sorcerer's contraption to stop the pages from clamping down.
"Who would have thought this book would be filled with useful information about your kind?
I sped up the process with a little... spell. "
The assassin squeezed her eyes shut, the lantern behind Silas making her head throb.
She tried to recall what had happened before death had taken her but the memories were blurred.
Morana recalled being reunited with Ilyana after long last. Feeling her in her arms again was what she had dreamed of and feared throughout the years they had been apart.
However, they didn't have enough time. There wasn't a chance to tell Ilyana about what had really happened that night — that she had killed their mother and, in exchange, their father had killed her.
If only Clove hadn't interrupted them. The captain's name and face were something Morana once struggled to place in her mind, in the past she tried to keep buried, but now they were back with full force. If she hadn't killed her, she might not have returned to Silas' grasp.
Morana was cursed never to be happy.
"What happened?" she questioned, keeping her eyes trained on the peeling paint on the ceiling.
"You failed, that's what." Silas kicked his bad leg onto his knee, resting his ankle across it.
"You know what I mean."
"The royals sent your body to the dungeons to have you chained up.
Mortas must know what you're capable of, otherwise, he wouldn't have wasted the effort," he concluded.
"I had a feeling you wouldn't follow through so I had people waiting around the castle to fetch you when it happened.
They got you out within a couple of hours. "
His words were a punch in Morana's gut, a force twisting a twin blade to the one Clove had already dug there. "You had other people in the castle too. Why didn't you get one of them to finish the job?"
"How many times do I have to say this, Mor?
You're the only one who can do this." Silas sighed.
"The translator I acquired confirmed my suspicions while you were busy on your fruitless mission — the curse can only end when you kill your sister.
Nobody else can succeed. One twin must kill another for the island to be free. "
Her heart hardened, the pieces of it that remained cracking into irreparable splinters.
It was no wonder why her boss was obsessed with getting her to complete the task — she truly was the only one who could complete it.
Either she had to take the life of Ilyana, or her twin would need to take hers.
With the power of necromancy running through her veins, she would never be free.
Morana reached for her necklace, seeking comfort from the smoothness of the crystal to stroke between her fingers, but she couldn't find the purple gemstone anywhere.
"Looking for this?" Her boss pulled a chain out of the breast pocket in his suit and hung the dyonite gem in the light of the lantern.
Silas had taken it. After all the years of carefully hiding it out of his reach, he had gotten ahold of it while she was dead.
"You can have it back when the Necromancer's Curse is broken and we've claimed the glory that comes with it. When Wyrith sees that it wasn't the royals that saved them, but the low lives they banished to the Lost Abyss, we'll see about restoring your title of princess. No, queen."
Morana turned onto her side and faced away from him, pushing through the agony in her abdomen. She could feel her organs moving as she did so, the wounds inside of her not quite fully healed.
That was the dream Silas had spoken of time and time again.
When she was younger, she found peace in his vision.
He wanted revenge on the king just as much as she did — to return the favour her father had given her by putting a dagger in her chest. Their souls were years apart, but they craved the same goal.
Now, she wasn't so sure.
"I can't do it," she whispered.
"You will." The sound of a blade being unsheathed sliced through the air, signalling what was about to come next.
There was no escaping her punishment now.
"Before that, there are a few things we need to catch up on.
" Silas stood over her, his shadow looming across her figure.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he assessed his blade — his chosen weapon for this round.
Every time Morana failed, whether it was of her own accord or not, she met her end.
Over and over again. Ever since her boss had discovered she could be revived, he had taken advantage of the dark magic running through her veins and used it against her as a punishment.
She had already died as a result of the mission to kill her sister, but that wouldn't stop him from doing it again.
He hummed in consideration, trailing a fingertip across the metal. "A blade isn't enough this time." Silas returned it to its sheath. "We're heading to the Molten Sea."
The summer storm that waged a war across the island of Wyrith made the short trek to the beach a nightmare.
Bellowing winds crashed against the cliff faces, creating a whirlwind for them to stagger through.
Debris from ships colliding with the magic wall had washed up on shore, the sands a battlefield of splintered wood.
Morana could barely hold herself up. Instead of feeling revitalised like she usually did when waking from death, she felt like nothing more than a walking corpse.
She had been to these shores many times before. Had watched them from the cliffs above when she needed to think. This was where Silas had found her all those years ago and dragged her out of the relentless waves to save her.
After her father had killed her, a royal funeral was held for both Viviana and her mother. Their bodies were sent out to sea so the Gods could let them pass into the next world. While Queen Oleress had been accepted in the afterlife, Morana had not.
She had woken with the wound in her chest healed only to drown in the tepid waters.
Each time she fought to reach the top of the sea, hoping with everything she could muster that she would get some air, but it never worked.
The young princess had drowned a countless number of times until she washed up on the shores of the Lost Abyss — into Silas' arms.
He had saved her, given her a home and a family to depend on. Silas had raised her in the throes of chaos and moulded her into a weapon to help him with his dreams. And Morana had cherished every moment. She hadn't known any better and adored every drop of love he fed her.
Only, that love soon turned to betrayal and callousness.
Silas discarded his cane on the white sands and waded into the sea, the fierce waves crashing into his legs. Morana thought they would buckle under the pressure but they held strong. He extended a hand to her, motioning her to join his side.
The assassin had no choice but to follow. There was no escaping, no running away. Only death whispered sweet nothings into her ear.
"Perhaps this will remind you of where you came from and how far you've come because of me. Hopefully, you'll regain your senses after a death or two." The howling winds tried to drown his voice, but the threat rang true.
"And if I don't?" the necromancer questioned. Never would she be able to kill her sister. She wanted King Mortas to pay for what he had done, but Ilyana didn't need to be caught in the crossfire.
"I'm insulted that those words have even dared to leave your mouth.
" The wrath that blazed in his stare made her flinch.
"You will. Otherwise, this island will crumble around us until nothing is left.
" His hands reached for Morana's neck, the missing chain that usually sat around it starker than ever.
Then, he pushed her into the sea, letting the water and violet foam smother her.
Morana took a deep breath before she plunged beneath the waves. Salt filled every pore and she embraced it. She let the greedy fists hold her in place, not even attempting to fight it.
It was peaceful succumbing to a death she reckoned she deserved. Bubbles left her mouth as the air she held released, her lungs beginning to burn just like they had several times before — a feeling so familiar it was nostalgic.
As her body cried out for air, her arms flailed upwards against her will, battling for any chance of life it could cling to. Morana tried to push herself up, scratching at Silas' hold, but she was too weak. She would be stuck in an endless cycle of drowning until she gave in to his demands.
Light faded from her eyes and she felt herself become light, the last morsels of oxygen leaving her bloodstream.
However, the hands around her throat let go too soon and let her sit up.
The sudden air was intoxicating as she rolled over onto all fours, coughing and spluttering the salt she had swallowed.
Between wet strands of purple hair, Morana saw Silas' unconscious body in the water. Wisps of crimson bled into the roaring tide as the attacker loomed above him with a thick piece of driftwood in his hands.
The man's chest heaved as he squinted against the pelting rain, muddied water racing down his neck as it washed the makeup that lay there away. His clothes were soaked through, the off-white shirt he wore now transparent and the same shade as his alabaster hair.
The storm made it difficult to see, yet the wobbling smile of relief would be a sight she would treasure for as long as she could remember it. "Bone girl."