Chapter 37 A Rejection of Ownership #2
“Let me tell you what I found entertaining, Mireille.” Each word fell like stones into a bottomless well. “I found it entertaining to watch you discover exactly how weak you truly are. How easily corrupted. How quickly you abandoned every principle you claimed to hold sacred.”
The words struck deep, finding the tender places where my own doubts festered. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how they affected me.
“I warned you, Mireille. Warned you what would happen,” his voice turning ragged.
“And still, you wanted his blood. The madness shows what already lives inside. It doesn’t create desire from nothing.
It merely strips away the lies we tell ourselves, the masks we wear.
” A pause, his next words releasing on a low rumble.
“And you, my little fawn, have been lying to yourself for a very, very long time.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a protest against the truth he laid bare.
I knew, deep down, Valen’s blood hadn’t created desire from nothing.
It had amplified what already existed, had torn away the careful walls I’d built around my own darkness, my own hunger.
The realization sent shame coursing through me anew, hot and thick as blood.
“Entertaining.” The word rolled off his tongue like poison. “Yes, I suppose it was... entertaining to watch you discover what you truly are beneath all that royal breeding and wounded pride.”
I recoiled from the wall as if physically struck, his words carving into me with surgical precision. My hands curled into fists against the stone floor, nails biting into my palms.
But he wasn’t finished.
“And if you wished to be entertainment, a toy to the gods, you have done an excellent job of it.” He scoffed, the sound almost deliberately amused. “Perhaps that is why we find mortals so diverting, so fun to play with—your capacity for self-deception is truly without equal.”
The words struck deeper than I’d expected, finding the vulnerable place at the center of me that had never quite healed.
The part that had always been an outsider, had always been a secret, had always been watched and judged and found wanting.
The part that had never been enough for my father, for my stepmother, for anyone.
Fury welled up within me, sudden and vicious, obliterating any lingering vulnerability. If Death wanted to see me as entertainment, as a diversion, as nothing more than a mortal toy to be played with and discarded, then I would show him exactly how sharp my edges could be.
“You’re so certain you understand me, aren’t you?” I whispered, the sound low and furious. “The all-knowing god, peering into the soul of a simple mortal toy. How easy it must be to judge from your lofty position.”
The temperature dropped further, frost creeping across the stone floor in delicate patterns. Death’s silence felt weighted, dangerous.
“Shall I tell you what I found entertaining, my harbinger?” I moved to the center of my cell, where the dim light filtering through the grate above caught my skin, illuminating the map of bruises and bites that marked my body.
“I found it entertaining to discover that gods can be just as petty as mortals. Just as jealous. Just as desperate for validation.”
A sound like distant thunder rumbled through the stone, but I pressed on, reckless in my rage.
“You speak of his corruption, but what is your own claim on me but another form of the same poison? You offer comfort with one hand while wrapping chains around my soul with the other.” I began to pace the confines of my cell, energy crackling through me like lightning seeking ground.
“At least Valen is honest about what he wants. He doesn’t dress his cruelty in pretty words and call it salvation. ”
The silence that followed was absolute—no chains, no breathing, nothing. The frost on the floor began to spread more rapidly, climbing the walls in crystalline patterns that caught what little light filtered down from above.
But now, I was not finished, and this infuriating god would listen to me.
“If I am to be mere entertainment during this endless imprisonment,” I said, my voice cold and precise, each word calculated for maximum impact, “do not pretend to care when I prefer Valen’s attentions to yours. At least he does not hide behind false kindness or pretend compassion.”
The quiet that fell was the kind of silence found in tombs. Deep. Unmoving. Eternal.
Then, a sound like the earth cracking open, like mountains shifting in their ancient sleep. Not chains this time, but stone itself, groaning under the pressure of divine rage barely contained.
“That is what you are choosing to believe?” Death’s voice had changed again, become something I barely recognized.
Not the sweet darkness that had comforted me on countless nights, not the sensual command that had guided me to pleasure, not even the righteous anger of moments before.
“After everything, this is what you want?”
No, this was something older, something that existed before time itself had a name. This was the void between stars, the silence after the last heartbeat, the eternity that waits for all living things.
“Then by all means, mortal,” he continued, and I could hear eternity in each syllable, could feel the pressure of ancient power pressing against my skin. “Crawl back to him on your knees. I hope you find what you seek in the Blood God’s embrace.”
A pause, pregnant with unspoken thoughts, unspoken truths, with words that hung in the air between us, too dangerous to voice.
“When he tires of you—when he has broken every part of you that remains whole, when he has drained you of blood and tears and hope—do not call for me again. I will not answer.”
“Good,” I hissed. “I do not wish to speak with you anyway.”
I turned away from the wall, trembling with my fury.
I was done asking. Done begging. Done placing my fate in the hands of gods who used me as a pawn in their ancient games.
From this moment forward, I would take what I wanted.
If Valen sought to break me, I would break him first. If Death thought to abandon me, I would show him exactly what he was forsaking.
If they believed they could toy with me, pass me between them like a plaything to be used and discarded, they would learn the error of their assumption.
I would belong to no one but myself.
Not to the God of Blood who had taken everything from me and left me behind bars.
Not to the God in chains who had offered comfort with one hand while acting as my marionette with the other.
And when they finally realized their mistake, when they understood that they had created not a victim but an adversary, they would learn what I had always known.
There are fates worse than death, hungers deeper than blood, and no chains—mortal or divine—can hold the prey that has decided to become the monster.