Chapter 5
Mora
Apathy pulled Mora into its frigid arms, smoke cleansing the blood from her flesh. It tore her apart, piece by piece, until nothing remained. Nothing except Dother’s voice whispering incessantly.
You’re a beautiful monster, Treasure. My monster.
Slipping deeper into her flask, Mora willed her mind to quiet, embracing the onyx mist’s haze until her awareness clouded over. It was as if she were trapped in a strange dream. Her body, if she could call it that, little more than wisps of obsidian she could barely cling to.
If it weren’t for the dizzying trajectory of her thoughts, an anxious prattling of horror holding her in a furious grip, she would have liked it.
Mora wanted quiet. She needed to feel nothing. To be nothing. She couldn’t handle the frantic hum of the endless barrage of emotions brewing in her soul—she was drowning, with no way to pull herself free.
Her mind wouldn’t quiet. The flask distorted the outside world, muffling any nearby sound. Yet she still heard one thing, the noise so loud it was maddening.
Drip, drip, drip.
It was almost laughable. Hours ago she’d promised she’d make any Keeper who intended to use her bleed. Now, the sickly-sweet, acrid scent of burning bodies haunted her, every splash of their blood an echo of her mother’s dripping onto the tiles.
She couldn’t do this. Be this...
But what choice did she have?
Thrashing in her flask, Mora thought she might lose the last threads of her sanity, panic clutching her in its ravenous maw. Until mint and summer rain wrapped her in a cool embrace and pulled her free.
Flashes of golden leaves flickered in her mind, and a deep voice whispered over and over...
Be strong, Little Witch.
Be strong.
It was almost like a song. A gentle cadence sheltering her. Soothing the parts of her soul that felt jagged and broken. A calm washed over Mora as she curled in the belly of her flask, bathing in visions of eyes that sparkled like the night sky.