The Fates (Book I) - 2014 Watty Award Winner!

5.1 - Call It Fate

What a funny little couple, Atria mused with a silent chuckle. And then, just when she thought she might be on the verge of finally waking up, a wave of dark nausea spontaneously hit—a vision of a pig drowning in its own dirty blood—two young souls writhing in the damnedest depths of hell—and she was out cold once again.

When her eyes at last shot open, some time later, it was suddenly. Without another visit to half-conscious limbo. A good thing, since she didn’t think she could survive another trip into that state.

She stared up straight into the underside of storm clouds. Two of them, swirling in the eyes of a familiar face that smiled down at her as she awoke. Atria blinked, but still felt powerless to move in any other ways, transfixed beneath that gaze.

“Is she awake?” she heard the nerdy voice inquire, as the man approached to stand beside the grey-eyed woman, where she knelt next to the couch.

The woman nodded, though she didn’t turn to look at him. Her stormy greys remained affixed on Atria. “How are you feeling, dear?”

Atria gulped. “Uhh…” Good—so her vocal cords were still functional. Part of her had briefly worried that they might be broken, after what she’d been through on this night. She figured now that that had probably only happened to her heart and soul. Or whatever sorry excuse for such things she even still had, by the age of twenty-three. Those sorts of sappy luxuries had likely been obliterated years ago.

The woman’s smile seemed to brighten, just a bit—invisibly, yet somehow undeniably. Like sunlight on the opposite side of the world. At the height of the night over here. The surreal effect lent this lady an air of omnipresence, and omniscience, too—like she was everywhere, her aura enveloping the earth, and snaking deep inside Atria’s mind. Even if not maliciously at all, it was just… it was fucking freaky.

“I’m good,” Atria lied, forcing her limbs to mobilize and propel her the hell out of this place. “I think I’ll go now. Thanks.”

The woman’s smile widened visibly now, into a silent laugh. “I would suggest that you just rest. Someone will be here for you soon.”

Atria was seated upright in the sofa, about to set her feet upon the floor and sprint away. But something stopped her. Sure, maybe part of it was the fact that this honeyed voice did seem impossible to disobey, as she remembered thinking earlier.

That wasn’t all, though. There was also something… something on which she couldn’t put her finger, something that she had to figure out about this woman, before bolting… She recognized her from the streets of Athens, twice before on this same night—but was that all…?

“Do I know you?” she blurted. No need to beat around the bush.

The woman’s smile did that freaky-invisible-sunshiney thing again. “Barely,” she cooed.

Why did this lady have to coo like that? What did she think she was, a turtledove? It was unsettling as fuck. Comforting, though, at the same time, Atria couldn’t help but admit to herself. Talk about a paradox. Of course, that made the enigmatic answer to her question even more inscrutable. ‘Barely’? Was that answer even in English?

The woman reached for a glass of water on the coffee table, extended it graciously toward her rattled guest. “Atria, I think—”

Atria froze up, and then shrank back into the sofa, away from the offered drink. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—you know my name?”

The lady sighed and set the water back down on the table, probably in preparation to coo some more comforting nothings, Atria anticipated. She was not about to listen. She needed answers, actual answers, now. “Who the fuck are you? Who’s coming to get me?”