Chapter 32
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule thirty-two: Do not, under any circumstances, pursue a career in motivational speaking.
You’d think I’d be hit with some grand wave of confidence after a literal Fate tells me I’m a badass. But no, instead, I’m staring at my cuffs, willing them to fall off.
It isn’t effective.
I think part of the problem might be that the cuffs remind me that I’m stuck inside a tiny space. Then I start hyperventilating. Or maybe it’s because the cuffs keep reminding me that I’m a complete failure.
Is magical performance anxiety a thing?
“Would you hurry it up already?” Clotho asks, purposefully ignoring the sound of my panicked breathing.
“If you wanted someone who didn’t panic in small spaces, then maybe you should have taken that into consideration when you were weaving my thread of life. Just a thought,” I snap back.
I’ve given up on being nice to Fate.
Fate is a bitch.
Clotho scoffs, “Please. Do you think I don’t know about the cave you nearly drowned in? If it weren’t for the claustrophobia, you would have managed to kill yourself long before you became useful. You’re welcome.”
Pursing my lips, I decide I’m no longer on speaking terms with her. It’s not like I want to stay here. But no matter how hard I try to call on the Reaper threads, they won’t respond.
Sighing, I shut my eyes, trying to relax – again.
When Sin was helping me manifest my Creator power, he said that magic was tied to emotion. If I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing that all along. I use empathy to free broken souls.
Switching gears, I try to focus on how sad I am that everyone is stuck down here.
Nothing happens.
At my newest failed attempt, the frightened voice in my head grows louder. What if they’re all wrong? What if I can’t do this, and everyone has placed their hope on someone who can’t get their shit together?
I glare at the cuffs, and the longer I stare at them, the tighter they feel.
In fact, I’m eighty-six percent sure the walls are starting to press in on me. It was definitely bigger in here when I woke up.
My pulse picks up, and I sink back against the stone floor. If I close my eyes, the walls can’t shrink any further.
The ache in my chest intensifies.
I’m so tired.
Tears trail down my cheeks, and I pretend I’m somewhere else, ignoring the sound of Clotho’s insults.
I pretend I’m back in Sin’s room.
Safe.
Peace washes over me, and my pulse starts to slow.
“Vivian, open your fucking eyes,” Clotho yells, her sharp command finally snapping me out of my daydream.
Reluctantly, I do as she says.
My jaw drops. Silver threads fill my cell, dancing along the walls.
The tiny cell. My breath catches, and the threads disappear.
It’s reacting to my fear.
My eyes widen.
I’ve been trying to compartmentalize my fear, but maybe shoving it away isn’t enough to bypass magical cuffs. Thinking happy thoughts seems like a bit of a stretch, but it’s worth a shot.
Closing my eyes again, I decide to focus on home. I think of every time Sin has held me. I picture laughing with Arianna on the garden wall and then sharing dinner with my Shadow Realm friends. I remember Sarah, Isaac, and Conner joking over coffee.
They are my home. They make life worth living.
The pebbles in my cell start to vibrate, but I don’t open my eyes. There’s still pressure on my wrists. The cuffs are keeping me here.
I picture the magic holding them shut. Every enchantment is just another thread. They’re tightly knit, but that doesn’t stop me. I picture them loosening, until they simply fall away from each other.
A soft click echoes, and the pressure on my wrists vanishes.
Opening my eyes, I find the cuffs lying on the floor.
I grin. Flexing my hands, I stand, taking in the locked door.
Now that I’m not wearing magically binding cuffs, my power comes easily. Silver lights wind over the bars, and a moment later, the door swings open.
My eyes find my chatty neighbor across the pit. He’s watching me, completely stunned. The hair on the back of my neck prickles as I feel more eyes on me.
Looking up, I find every prisoner standing at their cell doors, watching me with a mixture of disbelief and awe.
There’s a low rumble, and a moment later, Cerberus bounds from the shadows. He skids to a stop just behind me. His tail wags so hard that bits of stone shake loose from the wall.
I smile and pat his shoulder. He sits like a good boy. “Do you want to go home, big guy?” I whisper.
When the dog doesn’t magically gain the ability to answer (sad), I drag my gaze to Clotho’s cell – and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Why?
Why does the Fate have to look like a creepy demon child?
Her long black hair hangs over her face, not quite hiding her smug expression. Or at least I assume she’s being smug. Her solid black eyes make it hard to know for sure. Briefly, I wonder if she’s related to Morgana.
“That took forever. You are pathetic, and a horrible reflection of my work,” she states matter-of-factly.
“You look like a demon child who lives in a well, and haunts people who dare to own VHS,” I deadpan back.
Am I being mature right now?
No.
But respectfully, if the Fate wanted maturity, she probably could have woven that character trait into me a little more thoroughly. And yes, I’m currently in the middle of an existential crisis, because apparently, I have a maker, and I’ve never been in control of my own destiny.
I need a minute.
“You’re stalling,” Clotho snips.
Nervous mutters and shuffling ripple through the silence.
I wince at the reminder that I have a massive audience. “Well, that’s probably because you’re really bad at your job,” I mutter, turning my back to her.
Hundreds of eyes watch me, and it’s making me want to crawl back into my cell. I am not made for public speaking. But I can’t take on the Council alone, and these people deserve their freedom.
“This century would be great,” Clotho drawls.
Her bullying has the same effect as Sin’s no-nonsense training voice, and I step into the glow of a nearby sconce, letting everyone see me.
It’s time to see if my prospective career in writing motivational quotes actually has merit.
“Everyone here has been imprisoned by Need,” I call out in a shaky voice, only to choke as I hear my words project throughout the cavern.
Heat flames across my cheeks, and I clear my throat.
I clench my hands together, hoping it looks confident. “Right, I’m going to try that again. Uhm, my name is Vivian Ryans, and I was prophesied to bring about a new era to all the realms.” Pausing, I swallow before adding, “No pressure, right?”
A few nervous laughs trickle through the crowd.
I’m pretty sure most of them just died of second-hand embarrassment.
“I gave you the ability to inspire. Stop making me look incompetent,” the demon child hisses.
My eyes widen in disbelief, but my trembling slows, just a little. I scan the endless rows of faces, taking in their haunted expressions.
Something squeezes in my chest. They deserve nothing short of the truth, no matter how terrible I am at vocalizing it.
I take a breath, and my hands drop to fists at my sides. “I was terrified when I learned about the prophecy. I was afraid of not being enough, and of letting my loved ones down. But fear doesn’t keep people safe. It keeps us small… obedient. Exactly the way Need likes us.”
The words send anger surging through me, chasing away some of the wavering in my voice.
My tone grows stronger as I continue, “At some point, every one of us fought back, only to be locked away for it. And now, I’m asking you to fight again.
Not because of some obscure prophecy, but because you deserve the chance to take back your freedom. ”
My gaze sweeps over the crowd, and I catch the flicker of something fragile but growing – hope. My heart gives a painful thump.
“I can’t guarantee we’ll win. But if we do, you’ll be free… whether you choose to fight or not.” I pause, feeling my blood heat with fierce determination, and try to funnel it into my words as I finish, “But if you do decide to fight, I promise I’ll be there, fighting like hell beside you.”
There’s a beat of silence after my definitely-not-going-to-win-any-awards speech, before the room erupts into a deafening roar of applause and overwhelming cries of ‘yes.’
My heart soars.
I’m not alone.
Not wanting to make them sit in their cells for a moment longer, I close my eyes and focus on my Reaper energy. I try to project it to the rest of the prison, only to feel the threads stretch and weaken.
There are thousands of cuffs and locks to break, and my power isn’t keeping up.
Still, I don’t give up. Back in the forest of the forgotten dead, I was able to amplify my Reaper powers. Tuning out the sounds around me, I search for my Creator energy. I can feel the golden light just below my collar. But when I try to tug on the power, it won’t come.
Sweat beads along my brow as I pull again, this time using some Reaper energy. The silver light teases along the collar’s edge until it coaxes out the faintest hint of gold. The two energies twine together, and I gasp, wrenching my eyes open.
Silver light explodes, momentarily blinding me. It feels like my Reaper power has been hooked up to a massive battery as I try to aim the blast at every chain, cuff, and lock in the prison.
The light dims, and I swear there’s a faint trace of violet in the glow. But as the clatter of metal hitting stone echoes around me, I shove that thought aside for later.
Looking up, I find some cell doors are open, while others have vanished completely. But one way or another, no one is trapped anymore.
I expect everyone to sprint for the exit. Instead, I’m shocked when hundreds step out of their cells, only to stop at the edge of the path.
All of them stare down at me.
My throat tightens, wondering what they’re waiting for.
Clotho comes to stand at my side and raises a brow. “They’re waiting for your instructions.”