In order to save the world from eternal night, Red must find a way to unlock the dormant power of the Sun Goddess running through her veins without killing herself and everyone she loves.
...
A sigh from the phoenix soothed her burns, but it claimed there was no fixing the magic inside of her, for there was nothing wrong with it in the first place. Instead, the phoenix offered Edith a coal from its very own nest, and told her to start a forge from the coal that would never go out, unless Rya or one of Her disciples chose to reclaim the magic. Edith used it to build the finest forge, the finest cottage, the finest gauntlets — all of them made from iron, cutting Gretchen off from the land. She traded what they didn't need for supplies in a nearby town — but not too near, for Gretchen's talents had to be kept secret — and together the sisters built a home, a life. All was well.
Until it wasn't.
Gretchen's chest spasmed as she saw flashes of the fateful nightmare that dragged her from sleep: mother and baby both drowning in a sea of blood. Edith's stern, oval face loomed over her own, and the Witch of the East was forced to watch again, for the millionth time, as the person she loved and hated most in the world rotted before her eyes, leaving the raven-haired beauty a crone at twenty-two years of age.
When all of Edith's attempts at mixing an elixir of youth failed, the sisters made another pilgrimage to the phoenix's net. Again, all it could offer was disappointing trinkets: two feathers plucked from its own tail, for Edith to fashion into a matching pair of quills. So you need never bear the burden of loneliness, it said, with immeasurable sadness in its fiery gaze.
Realising the time to venture from the Iron Cottage was nigh, Edith packed her bags and promised to write home as she continued her search for a cure, only to leave her quill behind, without even saying goodbye.
If only Gretchen had the sense to stay behind, or to at least wear her iron armour; it was too heavy to move quickly in, and she feared not being able to catch up with Edith or losing her trail.
Instead she'd ventured into town and lost herself in the labyrinth of the market, where the overload of sensory information and thoughts pressing up against her own made her vomit all over her shoes. When somebody pushed her off the path with a noise of disgust, she tried to grab into something, accidentally pulling as she regained her balance.
As she righted herself, every man, woman and child from the well in the town square to the signpost at the distant crossroads toppled over. Power coursed up Gretchen's arms and she felt stronger than she had in her entire life, but the cost of that power quickly soured the giddy feeling. The cold, hard realisation that she was a murderer settled in her gut as she took in all the faces of the dead, recognising the extent of her crime.
Only after turning over every body to check if it was her sister did she finally return to the Iron Cottage, vowing to never leave again. She poured her stolen life into her gardens, but not even the gold, dappled light of a serene morning could ease the pang of loneliness in her chest. She withered a little bit more with every day, even as everything else flourished.
I cannot grow if I do not feed, she realised, shielding her face against the glaring light. I cannot give if I do not take.
Gretchen looked down at the iron gauntlets strapped to her forearms. They were immeasurably heavy, a manifestation of all of her guilt and greed.
One buckle at a time, she let it all go.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
