Chapter 36 #2
“You don’t need to run away.” The dark-haired male slowed his steps, each one somehow silent, in spite of the decrepit plant matter they trudged through.
Mora’s movement faltered and she nearly tripped over her feet. “I’m not.”
The Fae grinned. “Let’s pretend I believe you.” When her back hit the tree, he stopped, keeping his distance. “I think you would have liked this meadow before... back when it was alive.”
“What makes you say that?” Rough bark met her hands, fingers slipping between its blackened grooves.
“It was breathtaking. Picture a glittering field of gilded daisies poking out between lush grass and wildflowers, the Mother Tree’s golden leaves watching from above.”
Something glimmered at the meadow’s edge, catching Mora’s eye.
Gold, standing out starkly among blades of fresh green grass, a small bit of life blooming among the decay.
The little plant swayed, its petals glinting.
A flower. Exactly as he described. Had it been there all along, or was Mora’s dream influenced by his words?
“Would you like me to tell the story of this place?” he asked, his voice a smooth rumble that calmed and frightened her in equal measure. His smile dropped when he looked at the gnarled corpse of the tree. “The myth of its birth.”
“I love a good tale.” There was nowhere to go, so she lowered herself to the ground, curling her fingers around his tunic’s cuffs. Whatever feelings brewed within her, she would withstand them. This was little more than a strange fantasy—Mora was safe, her want was safe... wasn’t it?
“This one is tragic.” He settled in front of her, their knees a breath apart. “A story my mother once told me.”
“I’m all ears, Fae.”
Reverence filled his low voice. “This, Little Witch, is the story of a Goddess blessed with the gift of creation, Her very blood made of pure, raw magic.”
That caught her attention. She leaned closer. “She must have been powerful.”
“She was indeed the most powerful creature, destined to be Queen of the Gods.” The Fae ran a hand over one of the old roots poking up through dry soil, the movement slow.
Purposeful. Full of worship, as if he believed the dead tree was divine.
“She loved to escape to the edges of Her realm and lie on the clouds, admiring the earth, pricking Her fingers and letting droplets of Her golden blood rain down on the lands. Where they landed, entire forests were born, unfurling and blooming until they were filled with life.”
Mora joined him, tracing the ridges of an old root. Did it pulse beneath her hand, following the cadence of her own heart? Or was she imagining things? “So, she created this tree?”
“No, Little Witch. According to the story, She fell in love.”
“Ah.” An uneasy feeling rose within her, her focus skating over every leaf, every branch moving around the meadow’s perimeter. Was Dother out there, watching? “Can I assume it was with an unworthy man?” she asked, not realizing she’d moved closer until her knees brushed against his.
The Fae laughed, the soft sound somehow joyful and sad all at once.
Like music. Like a song she longed to hear again, praying it would dance in her dreams for eternity.
“Have you somehow heard this tale already?” When she shook her head, he nodded and continued, “Well, you’ve guessed correctly.
He was not a worthy God. He lured the Goddess into his arms, but what he offered was never love.
In truth, he coveted the power in Her veins, eventually locking Her away so She couldn’t waste a drop. So none could use Her magic but him.”
Mora’s stomach dropped, her hands growing clammy. The feel of Dother’s stare returned, twisting around her like vines. “How depressing even Goddesses aren’t free from the whims of evil men.”
“This world is endlessly cruel.” The venom in his tone echoed her own. “My mother never shared why—perhaps I was too young—but when the God was done with Her, he threw Her from the heavens. She fell for eons until Her body slammed into the ground, leaving a circular crater in its wake.”
Her breath hitched, the beast in her chest opening an eye. “She landed here?”
His head dipped once in solemn confirmation.
“The earth mourned that day, and a scar formed on its surface. One that would never fully heal. Though it did become something beautiful, for a time.” Those onyx eyes bored into Mora’s, a wistful sort of pain glimmering there, etching itself into the sharp lines of his face and making her soul ache.
“Her body was broken, golden blood spilling from Her wounds to pool around Her beneath the soil.
It created a well of raw, Godly power, the Forest growing above it.
Something similar to the world She knew before. Or, perhaps, something better.
“The biggest tree of all curled its roots around Her, its canopy stretching to the heavens as a reminder of the God’s sins.
Some say the tree is Her. That the sap running through it was Her blood, its Heart Her own.
Her Spirit became the Mother of the Forest, creating creatures in Her image.
Sharing Her power with them and them alone. ”
Mora looked up at the ruined branches, broken and twisted as if they’d died in agony.
Had the spirit of a Goddess indeed existed within them?
Did it still, despite the state of the barren, gnarled tree?
“And the God who betrayed her?” She was almost afraid of the answer, her smoke already pressing against her ribs.
“He sits on a throne in the sky, for all I know.”
“Fuck him,” Mora seethed, the pressure in her chest growing.
The Fae rested a hand on her knee, the gentle swipe of his finger calming her furious power. “May he face his own fall one day.”
A muscle feathered in Mora’s jaw. “No.”
“No?”
Nails dug into the meat of her palm, the Fae’s tunic stopping them from breaking the skin.
Mora couldn’t help but think of Dother. Of how it felt to have his lifeblood drip from her fingers while the light drained from his eyes.
His death had set her free in a way little else could, despite the curse still holding her in its teeth.
“This Goddess can rest knowing he exists in a different realm. If he fell, he’d be near. ”
Somehow, she felt a kinship with this being. Perhaps Mora’s dream was simply telling her the story of herself. Reimagining things to better carry the burden of her memories.
His hand stilled. “What would you want for him instead?”
“That he face a Goddess of Destruction who teaches him the true meaning of agony.”
He squeezed her knee. “May your wish come true, Little Witch.”
“I don’t make wishes, I grant them,” she spat, voice dipping low, laced with violence.
It became more and more a part of her with each breath, coursing through her veins like the blood Dother had tainted, no matter how much Castellan wished for her to be better.
“If there is agony to weave from cruel desires, I will pull on those threads until there is nothing but horrors and pain left in my wake. I would gladly be this God’s undoing. ”
“You may very well be my undoing first,” he murmured.
Before he could pull away, Mora placed her hand atop his, threading their fingers. Mint and summer rain curling in her lungs. In this place, in this dream, she wanted nothing more than to bask in his scent and savor his touch. In the waking world, however...
Mora hoped he’d burned to ash.
“Perhaps, I will, Fae. Perhaps I will.”