“You shouldn't keep me waiting,” she chastises, her eyes narrowing as she manages to flick her nose up an extra inch, glaring down at me with that same hatred I'm so familiar with.
“I wasn't aware I was,” I reply, tilting my head to the side, but the second I move my neck, it straightens, and my back stiffens as a tightness forms around my throat.
My heart thunders in my chest as my mother's magic takes hold, the air bending to her will.
To the world, she looks small, dainty almost. All delicate, like the perfect picture of a shattered widow, but I see what lies behind those eyes.
Frustration wars inside me; the irritation of her mere presence, combined with the fact that she so quickly resorts to forcing her control over me, makes it impossible for me to contain myself.
I snap back, my throat bobbing against the invisible grip as I attempt to speak. “You will release?—”
My words trail off as her magic contorts at her order. She doesn't tighten her magical hold around my throat. Instead, she twists the air between us, mottling my words to nothing but a breeze, so they can't take root against her.
Amusement flickers in her dark eyes as she flexes her hand at her side, and the grip around my throat replicates the motion.
Bitch.
Her eyes are void, a familiar look on her, but also a telling sign that she’s a little more hectic and unpredictable.
She’s at her worst.
I remember once, when her eyes were full of love, hope, and joy. I haven't seen those eyes since my father passed away, and every moment that has ticked by since, they've become more void, more pained, more angered, and I'm the cause of it.
“It's disappointing when I have to visit again because you didn't do what I told you to the first time,” she states, and despite her grip around my throat, I have enough room to reply.
“I never said I would.”
Her palm connects with my cheek, but my face doesn't move with her magic still in place.
Heat floods at her touch as my knuckles curl at my sides. Instead of relishing in the present pain, my mind takes a trip down memory lane, like always. Memories of me as a child, with the same burning sensation, flood my veins as my cheekheats, playing like a kaleidoscope in my mind, each one merging together.
She may have smiled when my father was still here, but she was still just as handsy then… just when he wasn’t looking.
I'm surprised that the left side of my face isn't permanently numb by now.
I sink my teeth into my tongue, the taste of copper more prominent as I push myself to recall my father's smile. That slight lilt of a smile to the right side appears in my mind, clearing my thoughts and bringing me back to the present, only to falter at the same sight of my mother. I can't help but feel a slight twinge of sadness as I acknowledge the fact seeing her doesn’t lift my spirits. Not even the memory of the way her eyes would glitter with happiness that felt like the elitist kind.
No.
It's my father's crooked smile that serves as an anchor, while my mother is an energy-sucking vampire who always finds a way to sink her teeth into me.
Her intentions are always clear: take until there is nothing left.
She folds her arms over her chest as she narrows her eyes at me. “Your father would be very disappointed in the way you've been treating me lately,” she declares, as if sensing him in my thoughts, and I scoff, my throat vibrating against the air tightening around my neck.
I attempt to brush her off, but a mere mention of my father in a negative light cuts deep into my soul.
“What do you want, Cressida?” I ask, silently pleading for her to be gone.
“I want you to use that damn magic of yours and help me, as I’ve already asked,” she snaps.
My nostrils flare as I shake my head. “I’ve already said no.”
I once heard that ‘no’ is a complete sentence, but apparently that doesn’t apply to her.
What she's asking for is insane. We both know it, yet her eyes dance menacingly, like she's not done trying to get her way.
“If you don't, then maybe I'll pay the Angel of Heaven's Ridge a visit,” she muses, tapping her fingertip against her bottom lip, and my eyes narrow as anger zaps through me, but nothing consumes me more than panic, all while I desperately try to remain neutral, but she has a way of exposing me whether I like it or not.
