Loki's Apprentice: A Tale Retold

Chapter 45: Siren's Song

~May be trigger due to mention of gore and harm~

Evelyn couldn't tell how long she had been slowly spinning in the darkness of unconsciousness. But it was the pain in her wrists, it's throbbing growing ever steadily, that eventually brought her back to her senses.

She somehow could recognize the heavy feeling of her body, almost as if separated and disconnected.

It was laying awkwardly on the ground, much like a crumpled plaything of a child.

The freezing snow bit at her cheek, and she tried to move her head, attempting weakly to connect the spiritual with the physical. But the effort just sent an overwhelming wave of nausea over her.

Swallowing down the bitter bile that rose, she gritted her teeth and slowly brought herself up to a sitting position. Her body tingled, not amply prepared for the sudden revitalization.

She paused, her eyes still shut, trying to wait out the pulsing of her temples.

She was scared to open her eyes.

She dreaded to see herself and and the ground about her stained crimson. She wanted to save herself from the gory scene inevitably waiting her-- the gaping wounds smiling up at her where Nessa had brutally cut deep into her wrists.

Evelyn hadn't remembered much after that.

All that she remembered was blood.

Too much blood.

She could not forget Nessa's eyes, how they had shone with perverse delight, gathering all the warm liquid that welled steadily to the surface into a vessel at her hip.

It was a wonder how Evelyn was still alive after how much Nessa had greedily taken before she lost consciousness.

Do I even have the strength to open my eyes?

She wondered.

They felt heavy, and the task felt daunting.

Steeling her nerves as best as she could, she allowed her eyes to flutter open. They still felt sore, and burned as she adjusted to the light.

As the world finally came into focus, she noticed first her horse positioned by the tree in front of her, watching her in quiet submission.

He blinked, as if wondering at her wary stillness.

What is there to fear, little one?

His dark eyes seemed to assure her, like an old wise man to a frightened child.

Oddly enough, the steed had just cause for the placidity of his manner.

No stain of crimson circumscribed her resting place, nor did the awful hue stained her body. it was as if she had simply fallen asleep.

Her wrists bare no mark to indicate what had transpired.

No.

She thought.

It was real.

The phantom pain in her wrist was enough to assure her of that.

Everything must have happened as she remembered.

The fact that she was so weak seemed to doubly affirm that.

But what use and time had she to ponder such an insignificant question? Although she thought herself dead moments before, she now, remembering the purpose of such a horrific sacrifice, had her father to worry about.

It was in that moment that she realized that she had been clutching something hard in her fist, as if afraid to lose it.

Her fingers were white from the tight grip, and loosening her hold caused the joints of her fingers to ache in relief.

A small bag became known in the palm of her hand, which held an assortment of loose leaves and herbs.

The scent was pleasing, resembling notes of citrus and clove, but the note with Nessa's handwriting made the sweet aroma almost sickening.

Morning and night for your father's ailments, -N

There was a smear of crimson upon the card.

Another faint proof to the bloody arrangement.

She shook the thoughts of the past away, and focused on her present worry. Glancing at the sky she saw it was midday.

How long had she been trapped in her own personal limbo in the woods?

Nevertheless, she knew if she hurried now, she could probably reach her father by nightfall and start his road to recovery.

Using a great deal of strength, and gratefully using the aid of a nearby stump, she pulled herself to sit atop it, then eventually to stand.

Her legs felt unsteady and shook with each step, but she pushed herself to her horse's side. He remained at his post, breathing heavy into the cold air and patiently awaiting his master's mount.

It was hard and and exhausting work, and her frustrated cries echoed throughout the forest as she tried to hoist herself up again, and again.

The steed remained fixed, however, and he didn't begin softly upon his path until he felt her weight finally upon his back.

Evelyn breathed heavily, her head resting against his neck, recieving a mouthful of his mane. But she didn't mind. She was immensely grateful to the creature as it gently trodded in the direction of her home.

With that assurance, she felt the pull of a deep sleep tugging at her eyelids once again. Beckoning sweetly with the promise of numbness.

She could not resist the temptation of the siren's song for very long.