[Previously FEATURED] Retail workers have the least chance of being haunted, hurt, or killed. At least, that's what three cashiers assume. When Temple, Marilyn, and Martine meet little Sienna, they find out how wrong they are about job security.
S...
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The Shadow dragged her through a clouded flume, and abandoned her gasping and thrashing on the bed.
Her granddaughter burst in the room in a flurry of skinny jeans and tousled hair.
"Ma-Ma, what is it?" Tristane rushed over, pressing one hand to her grandmother's forehead, and the other to her chest.
Orana kept on, her body rolling and convulsing. In the corner, ever-present, The Shadow hovered and waited. She drew strength from it in the form of bleak void, a dark tether between her and it. She wrapped a small length of cold around her wrist and tugged.
Compelled, The Shadow propelled forward ever so slightly.
"Ma?" Tristane's eyes bugged out as she activated her wristlet, demanding a recovery team be sent.
Another tug, and Rana pulled the Shadow closer. She ceased the thrashing, eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
"Come here," she whispered.
Tristane anxiously lent her ear, and Orana snatched hold, raking her in close.
The Shadow swelled, stealing all the light in the room. Tristane's hair stood up, the ends swaying slightly. The line between Orana and the Shadow splayed taut, with the ethereal mass straining like a dog.
"Get. Your. Mother."
She released Tristane, who fell back and scrambled to the door. Before escaping, she turned, a solitary tear marking up her young face.
"Ma-ma?" Her hand hung from the door knob.
"Yes, dear?" Orana managed.
A series of small hiccups and gasps emerged in lieu of words, until finally, Tristane spilled out the words, "Th-thank you."
The gratitude required no explanation.
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It took her first-born
[MURDERER]
nearly twenty minutes to arrive.
Typical Desdaina.
She'd always been a jealous slight, spiteful too. Even so, Orana never could have imagined, or foreseen, or guessed at the betrayal. At least now she had the chance to right a wrong, in a very wrong way. As she neared the end of her mediocre life, she found she didn't give a shit. If she could do this one thing, and finish it, then her life meant something. Had to.
