Drothiker

29.

There was darkness everywhere.

She did not know who she was, did not know where life commenced and concluded. Somedays she was a child, other days she was an old woman, but all the days she was itinerant in this endless dark.

She did not have a body, did not have a will. She was just ... there, like night air, only she was not wanted. Not known by anyone.

Something far in this void waited for her, a monster calling to her, to approach and give in, to approach and accept it. It tortured her every drifting second, only so she would walk over to it. Each instinct in these remaining shards of herself told her not to.

No, she told herself. Just a bit longer. Someone will come, you will be out.

But eternity seemed to have passed, only this dark persisted. Her body ached to walk over to that monster, and surrender—all shall end, if only she willed to approach.

It was ancient, and cruel, and sickening, that monster, she could feel it all the way over here to herself. Could feel its hunger for her, a crave for this shard of her soul that had remained hers.

There is a world outside, she'd been consoling herself all this time, you've seen it, you just don't remember it. There is a world of stars and moon and sun, a world where light never terminates. The monster laughed at her, called her absurd to hope for light.

She unheeded it.

She might not own her body, might be entombed in this grotesque form that bore a sword as spine, but this shard of her soul was still hers.

And the monster wanted it.

Someone will come, she told herself over and over and over, someone will free her from this curse.

She remembered a faerie, her beautiful wings blazing like a sun. Her friend. That Tiny Moon will come, she had faith. If not her, then her mother will come, or her prime.

The body she was ensnared in was feeding on someone—she could control it, and yet not, could not restrain this ... this hunger—she could feel the ghastly taste on her tongue, could feel the repulsive chewing with her own teeth. For so long, she had been ravenous. For so long, she had been in store for someone to venture here.

A sorceress sent food for her, practically shoved the man right into her maw.

She'd known the man—those tree-green eyes and tanned-golden skin. She'd known him, but hadn't recognized him. She'd known him, and felt nothing as she tore him apart, and fed on his body. Not only known him—that man had been precious to her, one of those very few she had entrusted with her whole heart.

Syrene, he'd called before she had disemboweled him, Syrene, I'm Lucran.

She hadn't recognized him, his tone had suggested she'd meant to.

Come, the monster waiting in the darkness called. Come to me.

No, she didn't know whether it heard her, whether her voice made it out.

Then, she felt it approaching. Fine, then I'll come to you. This has been going on for too long.

She began shouting, terror gripped her gut with a crushing strength. She was thrashing, and shouting, and protesting.