Chapter 21
ISABELLE TOOK IN A ragged breath, trying to calm herself, though a flood of tears streamed down her cheeks, her chest heaving with panic.
The surge of fear that had been swelling since her conversation with Bellinor and Rul had begun to peak, and she was having difficulty breathing with the way her heart raced. No matter how she tried to talk herself out of it, she felt a sense of impending doom.
Was Celeste punishing them by withholding a sacrifice? Did the faux goddess even know she was here? All of those teachings about dancing with the devil, and the devil was no more than a man cursed by a witch.
The first of her many victims.
She had been an utter fool, believing every word the priestesses said, every lie.
Oh, she needed to get out of this room, needed time to think. Needed a moment alone, away from the demons who had brought her here.
Isabelle wiped the tears from her eyes and crept up to the door, pressing her ear to it and listening for any sign of life. Dead silence. She gathered her dress in her hands and turned the knob, opening it slowly to avoid any creaking.
She hurried down the hallway, her ears pricked for any sound, though an eerie silence permeated the emptiness.
No, not silence.
There was a faint pulsing, like le Voile had a heartbeat, and she supposed it might if it were truly a living thing. She ignored it, eyeing each door carefully as she strode past them until she found the one she was looking for.
Knotted wood, a worn knob. Familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time.
She opened it to her cottage, the sunlight beaming in through the windows so different from the dim candlelight of le Jardin. It was her home, where she had been born, where she had grown up, where she’d come into womanhood.
It would be so easy to return, not to this faux cottage, but the real thing.
She would never step foot in the temple again, of course, would be more of an outcast than she already was when she stopped worshipping Celeste.
She could beg for her jobs back. She could marry Pierre or Henri—if either still wanted her—both so unremarkable that she couldn’t even remember what differentiated them anymore.
So contrary to the electric passion she felt with Bellinor and Rul.
Isabelle brushed her hand over the countertop, feeling the worn wood beneath her fingers. It felt real, but it wasn’t real. Nothing was in le Voile, was it?
But Rul’s affection wasn’t fabricated, this she knew. She could sense it in the way he gazed at her, the silly and sultry poems he recited for her, the way he spent every moment he could with her, always with that cheeky grin on his face.
And Bellinor? She had experienced his need, his desperation, through his own memories. He had said that she was unlike any other he had brought to le Voile, and perhaps that was praise, not criticism like she had first thought.
As Isabelle wandered through the door of the cottage, she felt the sunshine dancing across her skin, her light dress swaying in the cool breeze. It was a beautiful afternoon, like many of the days she had spent in Marilet, and she followed the well-worn path through the forest.
She walked in silence, taking in all the sights and sounds until she could see the town in the distance. How far did the illusion go? Could she enter the café? The temple? Meander through the city square?
Did she want to?
Isabelle stopped, her heart thumping in her chest at the proximity to the edge of town.
She could go back. Bellinor would take her home, not to this fake Marilet, but the real thing.
That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She’d stabbed him in the shoulder, hoping he would let her return.
She’d begged them both to let her go, but as she stood at the terminus of her forest, she realized that no part of her felt any urge to return.
Somehow, Marilet felt more dead than the Hell that had ensnared her, and not just this faux one, but the real one that lived in her memory.
Sorrow and pain permeated the walls of her cottage—her father’s, her mother’s, her own—filling every space until she could barely breathe, though she had never admitted these feelings to herself.
In le Voile she felt alive. With Bellinor and Rul, she felt whole.
Without warning, the ground shook, like a quake was upon the sleepy town. Great trees swayed and creaked, the sunlight flickering as if it were a candle threatening to extinguish. The view of Marilet blinked in and out of existence, buildings slowly replaced by blackness.
Le Voile was eating away at le Jardin bit by bit.
When the temple was consumed, it felt like justice, though the trembling ceased a moment later.
She had been deceived by her goddess, the revelation paining her greatly as tears dripped down her cheeks once again.
But that wasn’t the reason she was crying.
At the very least, if she returned to Marilet, it meant she would never see Bellinor and Rul again.
At worst, it meant they were gone forever.
Could she let herself live with the knowledge that she could have saved them?
There was only one answer, the solution making her breath come easier.
Isabelle turned, hurrying back to the cottage and through the door to le Jardin, not looking back for a moment. They would come back for her soon enough, force her to Marilet like Bellinor had said. But she was tired. Tired of decisions being made by everyone but herself.
Marilet was nothing but grief, sadness, betrayal, loneliness, and she was so tired of being alone.
When she saw the empty hallway, she hurried down it, each passing door solidifying her decision, making her walk taller, a sense of ease coming over her.
She passed the Submerged Hall, smiling at the memories of swimming with Rul, lounging on the oversized statues as they wiled the days away in relaxed bliss. And then there was the dark wood door to the red room, where she had been enlightened, where her suffering had become magical.
It would have been lovely to see Bellinor’s garden one more time, but as she finally stepped up to the enormous door, she was as light as a feather, the tears trickling to a stop.
Isabelle grasped for the heavy ring, pulling it with all her might until it opened, using every bit of her strength to create a crack large enough to fit through.
With a final deep breath, she slipped through the door, entering the void.
An immediate sensation of overwhelming dread enveloped her, her body weighed down like she was made of lead.
Each step was an effort, her chest constricting as she walked along the obsidian path.
Intense heat surrounded her, footsteps echoing into the abyss beyond, the sound reverberating perpetually, never fading.
It was a cacophony, her head already hurting, but she moved onward. Wisps of spectral energy drifted by, flickering in and out of existence. If she listened closely, she could hear their wails, torment that would soon be her own.
She looked back at le Jardin, an architectural marvel dropped in the middle of the endless abyss.
The facade glowed with a silvery sheen, an ethereal beauty untethered by the restraints of reality.
Each arched window was covered by black curtains, and pressure welled in her chest, a silent goodbye echoing in her head as tears blurred her vision.
Even if her time there was brief, at least for a short while, she was able to feel whole.
Life had been hollow in Marilet–perhaps she’d been just as much of a shell as her father had–but she had seen how it could be different.
She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned, steeling herself for what was to come.
As she continued on, shadows slithered along the edges of the path, somehow darker than the slick stone, though there was no light to cast them.
The void pulled at her mind, all of her thoughts leaving one by one, the despair, the melancholy, the loneliness, the grief fading away until she no longer remembered why she was feeling them at all.
Only emptiness remained, the pure and beautiful absence of everything.
She was part of the void, a black hole to consume and be consumed.
There was no moon mother, no temple, no Marilet, just an irrational world.
There was joy in the struggle to find meaning, in embracing all that life had to offer–torture, anguish, ecstasy, fulfillment, love.
Celeste was a false goddess, a wretched witch, and Isabelle was powerful.
She may be sinful, but she lived in her truth, accepted herself as she was without artifice or guile. And she had others who accepted her as well, who loved her.
Who she loved enough to let herself be devoured by le Voile.
And for once, there was no sense of obligation weighing her down; she was sacrificing herself because she wanted to.
Something circled around her ankle, pulling her to the ground and dragging her toward the edge of the jagged bridge. Bits of flesh were torn from her skin, and she relished the pain, a sick smile curling her lips.
Gone was the shame; pure rapture left in its wake.
As she fell into the chasm, she was in an altered state, completely at peace, just like when Rul and Bellinor dominated her. She submitted to le Voile like she submitted to her lovers, offering herself freely and without hesitation.
“Isabelle!”
She heard a name, but was it hers anymore?
She was weightless, floating through the primordial void, a surge of pleasure racing through her as her dress was torn to shreds.
There was the warmth of her own blood, though she no longer experienced the pain, just euphoric release at the total destruction of being and personhood.
But she wasn’t gone. Not yet.
There was a searing pain at her back, then a billow of feathers fluttering in the windless air. She tested them, beating them gently until she was flying, darkness surrounding her on all sides.
Her head was throbbing as if it were in a vice, and then piercing pain in two spots. As blood dripped into her eyes, she fingered the new protrusions bursting from her auburn hair.
Horns.
She pricked her finger against the sharp tip, licking her lips as blood coated them, the metallic taste electrifying every nerve in her body.
It was all happening so fast, and yet every second stretched on for an eternity, her limbs cracking and elongating, excruciating pain giving way to intense pleasure.
Her body hummed with need, a crazy giggle bubbling in her chest as a whip-like tail exploded from her skin, forcing her to arch her back.
Still, something encircled her ankle, dragging her deeper and deeper.
“Isabelle!”
The word echoed all around her, and she tried to reach for it, but she was weak. She was tired. As she closed her eyes, she heard the thumping of wings, felt a fierce grip on her body, letting le Voile take her.