23. The Ghost
The Ghost
While her flesh is so intoxicatingly sweet, her questioning does nothing but remind me exactly why I shouldn’t have her.
Not that it’s unexpected—her mind is inquisitive. She would not have made that deal with me otherwise.
Still, I let the anger fester in my chest.
She’s pushing me. Sinking her claws into me. Whether she knows it or not.
No—she knows exactly what she’s doing. Even if she won’t admit it.
Once I am in the safety of the dark, I’m flinging the plaster away from my face before I even realize what I’m doing.
Stupid, because it could shatter in a second, and then I’ll truly be relegated to the shadows.
But it only clatters to the rug, staring back up at me with its simple expression.
Like looking in a mirror—I’m staring at my face, the contours of the mask more familiar to me than the flesh it hides.
Rage erupts from my chest.
Why do I wear it?
Because I have to.
A hissing sound softly emerges from the corner of the room. I whip towards the sound.
A black snake is coiled in the corner.
It must have found its way into the house, hunting mice, earlier in the season. It doesn’t know it should be sleeping, it seems.
Stuck within these walls with me, lost in a world so different from its own, with no sustenance, no way of escape. The black scales almost blend into the midnight darkness. It can hide, at least. We have that in common.
When I crouch before the creature, its tongue darts out, tasting the air.
It’s harmless.
She’s not afraid of me.
But they are, and I have a reputation to uphold.