A rhythmic drum hums beneath my bare feet as I hover, suspended.Silky black material—edged in lace—clings to my body, replacing the rags I arrived in.My arms float, carried by a liquid silence, moving without thought or resistance.I look to my wrists.There’s no metal biting the skin.The manacles are gone.
And then I seeher.
Her hair—a cascade of pale yellow—floats on the air like spun gold.Her eyes are dark as charcoal, alive with the shifting depths of an endless sea.She glides forward until she’s within arm’s reach.For the first time, her predatory smile is gone, replaced by something soft.Kind, almost mournful.
My shadows roam freely, slithering over her neck and back like they’re greeting a long-lost friend.She returns the favour, stroking them like a forgotten pet.
“My poor girl.”Her words are muffled, as if I’m listening through a thick wall of water.“You have been through so much already.”
Tears blur my vision again.My words feel dense, heavy as I push them from my throat.The pressure builds in my chest, making the question come out slow.“Who are you?”
It takes all my strength to keep the grief down—a volcano on the brink.“Why is this happening to me?I just want to go home.”
Her eyes soften.“I know, child.”
Something cracks inside me at the gentleness in her face.
“You have been chosen, my love.”Her voice is gurgled, distorted, forcing me to lean in to catch the fading remnants of her words.
My throat constricts.I have to push through the tightening walls of muscle to reply.“Ch—chosen?For what?”
She leans closer, hands cupping my face as she studies me intimately.Under her gaze, my flaws and imperfections feel exposed—naked.
“You can be free of me—” she looks down to the shadows draped around her neck, “—and of them.”Her thumb caresses my skin, her long nails feathering in its wake.“You don’t have to carry this darkness alone,” she murmurs.“Set me free—and you will be free, too.”
I swallow the nausea that stirs inside.“Fr—free?”I sniff, fighting the floodgates that threaten to break at the mention ofnormal.
“Find the other shrines, piece by piece.Each one will loosen the chain that binds us.”Her words are a dull, distorted murmur, but they pierce deep.“Set me free, and you will be free too.”
She doesn’t wait for my response.Her lips curve—tender, maternal.“Free of shadows.Free of pain.Free to live without fear.No longer Shadowborne.”
Time stills.Nothing but the thud of my heart fills the silence.My brow creases as the reality of my prison returns to me.“But—I’m their prisoner.How am I supposed to leave?”
A smirk creases her porcelain skin.“Trust me, child of the night.The shadows will help when the time comes.You only need to follow the map.It will take you where you must go.”
Her hands lift away from my face.Her smile flickers—maternal comfort one moment, predatory the next.
Invisible hands seize me by the waist, dragging me into the darkened depths.Above, the stars bleed into lines of light until I’m falling, with no one to catch me.
The ground greets me with a thud.I wake with a gasp, the manacles burning my skin.Searing pain pulses in my chest, right where the crescent lies.
* * *
The weightof her voice echoes within, coiling around my chest like a thorny vine, squeezing the very breath from me.
Find the shrines.Free me, and you’ll be free.
Her words cling like cobwebs that I don’t understand.Behind my eyes, the map throbs—eager for me to obey.Light floods my vision, stinging after the mercy of the dark.I wait for the room to bleed into focus, forcing my heavy lids open to the four walls of my cage.There is no way out.
At that thought, the shadows stir restlessly at my feet.A tendril snakes up my leg, coming to rest near the manacle—a silent exchange I don’t yet have the language to comprehend.
I heave in a thin, broken breath, letting the citrusy incense calm the swarm of moths trapped in my gut, even though the comfort feels like a lie.
The room hasn’t changed.Silk sheets still drape the bed; lamps still glow in the evening light.Evening?How much time has passed?
The sound of a latch scraping fills the silence.The door opens, and a young girl steps inside.Plain-faced, dressed in simple cream linen, she looks entirely ordinary—except for her eyes.They are two pools of molten silver, shining with a cold, piercing intensity.
She doesn’t look my way.Instead, she sets a tray beside the bed and turns to leave.
