Page 3 of She Who Was Severed

The priest is still saying something behind me. Probably the formal language—“Unbonded. Untouched. Unworthy.” The holy trifecta of erasure. I don’t hear the words. I feel them settle like dust.

I leave before he finishes.

I don’t walk back to the crowd. I don’t look for my mother. I head toward the edge of the grove where the trees lean darker and the light thins out. Every step feels too loud. The forest is pretending not to notice me. I pretend not to notice it pretending.

Behind me, another girl is called. She walks up. She glows. She screams in joy or pain or both. The crowd erupts in awe. A beast roars in the distance. The ceremony moves on, as if I was never part of it.

I sit on the lake bench because I don’t know where else to go. It’s old and half-rotted, the kind we used to lie on as kids when we didn’t know better than to dream. My hands are in my lap. They feel empty. Not metaphor-empty. Just… wrong. Like they’ve been promised something and the debt has come due with nothing to collect.

The air here doesn’t shimmer. It just waits. Quiet. Heavy. Like even the trees are pretending they didn’t see what happened. I watch the lake ripple and pretend I’m not waiting for anything. Not for forgiveness. Not for answers.

Kellen finds me anyway.

He doesn’t ask permission. He just sits beside me like we never stopped being whoever we used to be. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t come. The worse part hoped he would.

“They were wrong,” he says, voice low.

I laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “That supposed to fix something?”

“No,” he says. “But it’s still true.”

I study him out of the corner of my eye. He looks uncomfortable in his own skin, like he doesn’t know where to put his fire. Good. Let him burn. Let him sit in the ashes with me and see if he likes the taste.

“You gonna try to save me, Kellen?” I ask, voice quiet, cruel around the edges.

“No.” He doesn’t blink. “You don’t need saving. You need a choice.”

That almost does it. Almost cracks something open. But I seal it shut before it can bleed.

“If you’ve got a spare one of those lying around, toss it my way. Otherwise, leave me the fuck alone.”

He flinches, just slightly. But he doesn’t move.

“You felt something,” he says.

I go still.

“When you touched the altar. It wasn’t empty.”

I hate that he sees it. I hate that he might be right.

Because yes—there was something. Not light. Not welcome. Not even magic. But something deep. Slow. Heavy. It didn’t come to greet me. It pulled away like it was drawing breath. Like it knew this wasn’t the moment—but that it was coming.

“If I did,” I say, “maybe I’ll dig it out myself.”

He nods. Not because he understands. Because he believes me. I can’t tell which is worse.

“Go, Kellen.”

His jaw tightens. “Freya—”

“I said go. Before I start blaming you for still being golden.”

He stands.

This time, he listens.

The lake reflects nothing. The trees don’t move. And the wind doesn’t carry prayers for the Unbonded.