It’s trying to shove its face down the drain.
Another low snarl frays my composure, and it pulls back, weaves its paw through the hole, and swipes at the empty air—as though it’s trying toreachfor me. My stomach drops, and I dash toward that distant promise of light in sloppy steps that feel too slow.
Too slow.
Cobwebs stretch across my face as I near the end, and I choke back a squeal, batting at them with desperate swipes, until I burst past the spill of lantern light and out the other end—shrouded in a sense of safety.
A fall of rain caresses my upturned face, the stormy evening bathing the silent city in a bleak blanket. I scour my surroundings, looking past the bridge that saddles the deep ditch I’m standing in, up the edges of lofty buildings crammed close together. Up the city’s wall—its blazing turrets spilling a shield of light that doesn’t make it into the city’s dark gullies.
I turn, looking down the drain, heaving breath into my starved lungs. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the beast breathing from the other end. Can still feel the blazing trail of its perusal carve across my face like it’s hunting every freckle sprinkled across my nose and cheeks.
A blow of relief batters out of me.
I scramble up the side of the ditch and burst down the desolate alley. Lowering myself behind a barrel, I spin, spine to the wall so I can see through the thin sliver between barrel and stone. Despite knowing the beast won’t emerge, I keep my stare on that drain as I blindly dig through my knapsack, fingers grazing against my snips. I pull them out and thread my finger through one hole, thumb through the other, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.
I drop my gaze and coax the cloak away from my tender shoulder, revealing the black vine and the tiny crystal bloom that’s now baring a full nest of delicate petals—soft to the touch when I brush my thumb across them.
Face twisting into a knot of disgust, I pinch it between my fingers, tilt it to the side to expose its sable stem, and open the snip’s pincers against the stalk.
I draw a breath, holding it in my lungs as I pinch the handles together.
My mouth falls open, a scream threatening to burst forth when the blades slide off the stem, scouring deep gouges on either side.
Pain explodes across my shoulder, the muscle and bone and flesh a mess of mangled nerves, making tears pool in my eyes. The fierce throb radiates across my clavicle, lashes up the side of my neck, and bores into my eardrum.
My stomach churns.
Harder—I have to cut harder.
I hiss through gritted teeth, tilting the tender bloom again, hand shaking, settling the snips against the stem …
Lightning scribbles across the sky, and I squeeze the callous blades together.
A clipping sound plucks at the air as I sever the stalk, struck with a blinding bolt of pain.
I smack the back of my head against the wall and slap my hand over my mouth to smother a scream, snips clattering across the stone as the hurt knots my limbs and fires my blood. I writhe, thrashing through broken whimpers, churning my legs like it’ll alleviate the devastating throb bruising my bones.
It’s gone.
I got it off.
A relieved sob breaks free, and I tip my head, letting the drizzle wash away the tears tracking down my face until I mine the courage to look at my shoulder again.
I slowly turn my head.
The severed nub leaks a black substance down my front, swiftly attacked by the rain, diluting it into inky swirls that get lost in the fold of fabric. I poke at the swollen skin surrounding the hurt, then drop my trembling chin to my heaving chest, gaze sliding sideways. To the golden snips lying on the stone with their sharp mouth wide open.
To the tiny crystal bloom nesting between two cobbles.
My pain seems to sprout more roots at the sight, as well as a seed of melancholy I try to ignore.
The rain grows into a drumming symphony while I shore up the courage to reach for it. I swallow thickly, pluck it from the stone, and cup it in the palm of my unsteady hand.
My lungs are mortar, throat tight as I study the crystal bloom.
Delicate. Beautiful.
Hideous.
