Perhaps I killed them, too.
Gael—
Eyes popping open, I look up into heavy gray storm clouds threatening to bear down, dusting me in a cool sprinkle.
What if she didn’t leave?
I scramble up, a sharp breath cutting through me as I scan the singed glen. A gust of chill tills up ashen flurries that do nothing to soften the harsh landscape clothed in thick smoke and dashed through the middle by the felled, smoldering tree.
It’s hard to picture anything ever growing here again.
Bouts of smog clog my lungs, and I cough and splutter and heave, batting the air, clambering between the scattered bits of dead while churning ash with every frantic step.
“Gael!”
Another violent cough hacks out of me as I spin, stumbling, my gaze landing on a lithe torso—face down, head still intact, the skin bubbled and blistered beyond recognition.
I fall to my knees.
Please no.
Please ...
I crawl forward, little whimpers breaking past my chattering teeth.
Reaching forward with trembling hands, I roll the body. Layers of flesh slide away, sticking to my palms like the thick skin that forms atop cooling custard. Bile spikes up my throat as I catch sight of a small patch of hair that somehow managed to survive the singe.
A too-dark shade of blonde.
I twist and fold forward, belly cramping, a rush of half-digested peaches burning a trail up my throat before pouring from my lips in a lumpy splatter.
Not her.
I hack out a cough, insides curdling …
Not her.
She made it out in time. I have to believe she did.
I crawl between the charred lumps of flesh and bone, sieving through the ash, searching for my necklace—skinning my knees and the palms of my hands.My fingers brush against something hard, long, sharp …
I dig my blackened blade from the muck, the sharp burnished black, the opaline hilt now stained with an inky sheen that makes the detailed blooms etched into it look like tiny, macabre roses.
Sitting on my heels, hair heavy around my shoulders, I let the dagger lie loosely across the palms of my limp hands.
Another blow of air stirs the ashy ruin, sprinkling me with a burst of rain, the drips dragging clear paths through the filth to expose my pearly skin beneath.
Untarnished.
No cracks. No scars or burns or blisters. Nothing to pay homage to the fact that I just tore people to bloody shreds.
The necklace was the only thing keeping everyone safe from this slitheringthinginside me. This vile, deadly, noxious thing that does not discriminate.
This thing that took my mommy.
A sob erupts from my lips as I close my eyes and think of my dream. Think of the beautiful woman that cuddled us close and ran her fingers through my hair …
A wild, frantic panic makes my heart gallop and my thoughts spin—spiraling someplace dark and final.
