Chapter 8 #2
The few pages I managed to tear away lay on the dark wooden table in front of us. Emrys cages me in, his lean, muscular arms resting on the table as we read what the pages state, his head resting atop mine. I look at the pages, the letters dancing before my eyes.
“This is a… diary. A cruel one,” Emrys concludes. He grabs the papers from the table and hands them to me.
March 31st ,1426
I am losing my mind. I have to give them an honest chance.
Helix told me I had already lost my mind when I told him about the vision in my dream, but I hadn’t.
Not yet. The thought of the children going insane is heartbreaking.
They deserve a fighting chance. I weep myself to sleep at night, not knowing what to do.
Helix had always said my heart was too soft to carry such a burden, when he finally believed me.
Perhaps that is the ultimate goal. I can’t stand this anymore.
Losing him, seeing how that cursed jewelry poisoned his blood to such an extent that the night dwellers didn’t even want him anymore.
I still wake up hearing his cries of agony, the pain he was put through, all because I was too weak, too weak to relieve him of his pain.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell the children I cannot relive such torture once more. Why did this befall upon me?
April 2nd, 1426
I finally did it. I told my children about their cruel fate.
They first laughed at me, said I was crazy, and then, realizing I was serious, they got scared.
So frightened. I told them to pick a weapon of choice.
As if we have many weapons at our disposal.
Sybil grabbed the axe instantly, eagerly, almost. They will battle it out tomorrow, on their sixteenth birthday.
My tears don’t stop falling, but I am forced to write this down, my body not my own, as I pen down these words, reliving every horrible moment until my death.
April 4th, 1426
I can’t stop weeping. My baby boy was killed by his own sister.
She returned to me, covered in blood, and when I started to cry, she told me not to worry as it wasn’t hers.
She smiled, smiling at her own brother's death.
He never stood a chance, as she attacked him while he was still preparing.
Planted the axe straight into his head, then cut him to pieces.
She felt compelled to tell it all, in all its glory.
How the blood rained down on her, how the air filled with a metallic tang, how the blood tasted almost sweet.
I feel sick writing this down. My lovely, soft baby boy.
Why are our fates destined for cruelty? By the old Gods, what have we done to deserve such fates?
January 1st, 1428
It all happened so fast, and here I am, forced to pick up this damn book again, to write.
Our lives were almost peaceful. Then, the moment she turned eighteen, he appeared a day later.
Edgar. Her soulmate, just like Helix was mine.
The ache is more dull nowadays, the loss of both my loves.
My soul love and my maternal love. I despise Sybil even though she was forced to do it.
She seemed to revel in it, enjoying the fact that she took her brother’s life.
I need to sit her down and tell her what she can expect from her love, Edgar.
He must die before her children reach the age of three or else he’ll die an agonizing death like my beloved Helix.
Why does a part of me enjoy this? Why does my own heart yearn for her pain?
January 20th, 1428
Sybil is already with babe, and I will never forget the haunted look on her face when I told her of our destined short lives.
She told me she could not tell Edgar and forbade me from doing it as well.
It’s her choice. I will be a grandma to two healthy babies, Autumn children, most likely fiery, within nine months.
I almost feel for her. I think more for myself.
Again, I am forced to lose those that I will instantly love.
Innocence molded into something malicious.
I don’t think I will live long enough to witness Sybil's downfall, but I will if I can.
“This is heavy,” I tell Emrys.
He nods as he continues to browse through the papers, less bothered by the wording than I am.
“This means my father died because of the Aurum, or that my mother killed him. Those are the only two options...” I’m talking more to myself than to Emrys as his arms wrap around me, giving me the comfort I seek through the bond.
I’m trying to figure out my many questions with the limited information I have.
“To know that, you’ll need to find the pages your mother has written. From what we know now, Damina was forced to write down her misery, meaning your mother most likely needs to do the same. I’m sure losing your father made her suffer.”
He kisses my head as he holds me tightly.
“I can’t believe Damina decided to let her children murder each other in some idiotic death match,” I say.
I finally understand why Mother is working so frantically to break the curse.
“Have you seen this one as well?” Emrys asks me carefully.
I turn my head to look at the paper. As his embrace loosens, I straighten myself and reach for it.
“Is that the page with the family tree?”
He nods, and I take it from his hands. I trace each survivor till it ends with my mother. The realization dawns on me that my mother is part of a twin, too—a twin she murdered. I stare at her name. Adira Dhardere.
“We are only the 8th generation?” I murmur.
I thought this curse was ancient, a result of a centuries-deep old wound.
“I can’t read the scratched-away name; it’s like someone tried to write it down but was unable to,” I say. “It seems that’s where it all started, this person.”
I trail my finger over the crossed-out name. It feels as if the written letters were never meant to touch the paper in the first place. A name that was intended to stay unseen. The pen strokes are hard and rushed as if each line was painted.
“Weren’t the Witch Wars around that time? The fight between Light and Dark?” I ask.
I face Emrys, who nods. “Yes, I was born around that time, right after the war ended, 270 years ago. So, you are right, the curse is old. Like me. Eight generations that lived half-fulfilled lives.”
He laughs at his comment. I watch him as his dark eyes roam over the worn papers. His flawless features are so handsome it nearly hurts, and his beauty is ethereal, almost ghostly.
“If only you could see yourself through my eyes, your own beauty. Your swirling eyes, always a storm, your long raven hair, those lips.”
He nips at them, and I kiss him back eagerly.
“Harlot, your mother… how old was she when she became pregnant with you and your brother? Did she ever tell you?”
“Hmm… I believe she said 18, why?”
I look at the papers in his hand.
“Her written age is the only one that looks like it was written down wrongly, erased, rewritten, and tampered with. The five got reformed to an eight. Do you see it as well?” I stare at the numbers, seeing the thin lines connecting, turning the 35 to 38.
“But if my mother were 18…”
“It means you and your brother are at least 20, Harlot, assuming your mother did not lie about that.”
I do not miss the disdain in his voice.
“I know the thoughts are becoming more permanent; the desire is becoming a need, a need to kill your brother. I can feel it, the urge brewing within you; it’s burning, and I do not know how much longer you can keep your claws in.
If this is true, and you are indeed already 20, you should find your soulmate.
Your brother has already connected and sealed his fate.
I will not risk losing you. I’d rather feel the pain of a thousand knives gutting me inside out and skinning me alive daily than losing you entirely to this damn curse, living my life without you. ”
I hear the hurt and despair in his voice.
“Find my soulmate?” I repeat.
“I don’t want that damned cursed soulmate; I want you, Emrys. Only you, it will always be you.”
He looks at me with a pained expression. “You’ll feel different once you meet him, but it’s better than not having you at all. We’ll visit Verdant Fields first; it’s the second-largest city in the North. There are humans there. I’ll pack some things.”
He brushes past me, lost in thought, leaving me alone to process that I’m apparently two years older than I initially thought and need this soulmate to survive.
A soulmate I never asked for, one I do not want.
I swallow the saliva that forms in my throat and ignore the tears threatening to spill.
I look over the page once more, seeing our ages appear: 20.
It reveals a hidden truth, as if it is only for me to witness.
I didn’t know the book was a sentient being.
Then I notice the soft outline of the Deathhawk moth underneath Fynn’s name, as if fate itself scorns me—a lure to entice me to find this damned soulmate of mine.
The moth appears to be a marker for those who remain alive; Fynn is unknowingly ahead in this race for survival.
I wonder how much Fynn truly knows, whether his Death Witch has any insight into this curse of ours, and if she has, will she share that information with Fynn?
Even now, after finding his soulmate? When I indirectly told them they were soulmates, their perplexed faces told me he was not aware of that part.
Not that it matters; he has found his in Emrys’s forest of all places, another jab by the universe, while I have no aspiration of finding mine.
The mere idea of dividing my love, or even being capable of loving someone to a level that comes close to the way I love Emrys, makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Especially the fact that it is involuntary.
The love I will feel for this person won’t be real; it will just feel real.
I’m unsure if I’d be able to distinguish the emotion as pretend.
Again, I am coerced into a situation I did not choose; once more, I am held hostage against my will after finally finding the freedom and belonging I have been yearning for, all because I am born into a cursed bloodline.
A family destined for tragedy, where happiness is only short-lived.
I wipe away my tears. I refuse to give in to all of this.
By bonding with Emrys, I picked my own fate willingly.
I belong with him, and I want to be with him.
“And you will,” he whispers in my ear.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I smile.
“I’ll be louder next time. I didn’t mean to disturb your thoughts,” he says.
He gently kisses my tear-streaked cheeks.
“We’re in this together, my little tempest. Sorry for leaving you alone like that. You and me. We’ll figure out how to break this curse.”
“I packed some belongings; we’ll go to the city tomorrow morning; the sooner we find this… human, the better. You need to even out the playing field with Fynn, and you can only do that when you, too, find your… soulmate.”
“What is Verdant Fields like?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Verdant Fields… It’s unlike anything else you’ve seen or traveled through; I’m certain of that.
The city is vile and relentless, but despite that, it’s one of the few cities where humans can build a life of their own, free of terror from darklings, when willing to be even more cunning and ruthless.
You will see your kind abusing other humans for their pleasure, for their survival.
Murder happens on the streets, and no one bats an eye.
It’s a city I’d rather not visit; there’s no culture, no…
rules, and there never will be. Its citizens prefer it that way, and…
the other cities and towns rely on Verdant Fields…
produce, I guess you can say. The products you see being sold on the square, for example… all of it comes from Verdant Fields.”
I stare at Emrys in disbelief. I have wondered where it all comes from, but it never crossed my mind that it originated in one city—a city where the supernatural and humans coexist, often selling out to one another. I am both curious and terrified about experiencing the city myself.
DIARY ENTRIES:
We’re going to try it anyway, we are going to find a loophole for your bullshit, and you will hate me for it, but you can never hate me more than I hate you. You are putting me through this ordeal, so it’s only fair that I try to destroy you as you are trying to do to me. I hope you’re ready.
Are we stressing you out? I can feel the compulsion to write becoming stronger. Don’t worry; whenever I am up to something, I’ll write it down. How can I not be with you around? There is no need to force me, you asshole.