Page 238 of May: Bloom & Bane

“What if it were Winnie at the end of this curse?” I rasp. “What if it were you, and your wings, and her name on the blade. What would you do? Wouldn’t you cut off the parts that would save her?”

“I already did.” His spine straightens, and when his eyes find mine, they’re not Damien’s anymore.

“Jack,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” His gaze flicks to my wings and his jaw sets. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

He stops in front of me and holds out his hand.

“Give me the scythe, Ashán.”

My wings pull violently off the tree. With the last of the grip I can spare, I press the handle into Jack’s palm.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now hold onto that tree like your girl’s life depends on it. Because it does.”

He moves behind me, testing the base of my wings. “This is going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt before, big guy. Don’t hold the scream in. Nobody out here’s going to judge you for it.”

He pauses. “Least of all me.”

“I’m ready,” I wheeze. “Do it.”

The skeletal framework of my right wing gives a sudden downstroke, a frantic attempt by the curse to launch us into the sky before the strike can land. The movement yanks my shoulder half an inch out of its socket. The pale blade of my own scythe comes down, slashing through the root of my right wing.

The world goes utterly white. It isn’t just physical tissue being severed; it is a spiritual amputation. The part of me that has waited three lifetimes to be enough. A piece of this body, newborn and mine, shorn away while every nerve ignites into a symphony of agony all at once.

The scream that rips from me is one of pure torment. The blue frost-fire on my skull explodes outward in a blinding wave, scorching the maple tree to charcoal in a matter of seconds. Fluid as black as the void between stars sprays across the frost. My wing thuds against the ground, a lifeless mass of bone and shadow. My knees buckle.

“One down,” Jack says, his boots crunching over the frost while he repositions. “Stay with me, Ashán.”

The left wing, sensing its own death, beats with an agitated, lopsided fury.

“Jack!” I choke out, black ichor spilling past my teeth. “Do it now!”

The scythe arches through the air for a second time. The bone parts and agony detonates. This time when I scream, there’s no sound left to make it with. Just a silent, open-jawed howl as my second wing slides heavily down my back.

It’s over.

My wings are gone.

I collapse onto my knees before falling over. Behind me, the scythe slips from Jack’s fingers and lands onto the snow.

A heavy weight settles beside me. “I’m sorry,” Damien whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry⁠—”

“Don’t. Please. You saved her. You saved both of them. You did what I couldn’t. And I am forever in your debt.”

My eyes close. The cold ground against my skull is almost gentle now. The pull still claws at the center of me, but my body can’t answer it anymore, and there’s a mercy in that, a terribly heavy mercy that feels a lot like sinking. My thoughts start to slow, the agony finally dimming and pulling me down toward somewhere dark and quiet where none of this can follow.

Just for a minute, I think. Let me rest. Just for a minute.

I start to slip under.

“... Oh no,” Damien whispers.

“... what,” I slur, too weak to lift my head. “What is it…”

“Ashán. Your wings.”

I force one eye open.