Page 48 of We Were Eternal Once

Shimon hesitates at the threshold, but Theon does not. He barrels in with the rest of them, as though he belongs. I do not resist the urge to snarl at him. He is not one of your flock, I can be as cruel to him as I wish. Shimon skirts around me like I am a dog that might bite.

At least he has some sense.

The gate to the courtyard swings shut. The cacophony starts anew. I can only pick out occasional words: traitor, secrets, humans, liar.

“How dare you bring your petty squabbles here,” you say, bristling. All at once, the noise stops. Ardashir touches his temple, Dione winces, Theon and Shimon stagger. There is a light pressure in my head, as though my ears need to pop, but it is fleeting.

“What is it he speaks of?” you ask Dione.

“He saw me speaking to Shimon and Theon and decided I was a traitor,” she says, her voice trembling on the last word.

“A traitor?” I ask.

“We split from them for a reason!” Ardashir explodes. You turn your red-hot gaze to him and he is suddenly silent, the veins in his neck bulging. His eyes are wide with shock. He stumbles against the wall of the courtyard, his body stiff.

You look back to Dione and she flinches, but continues on. “I only meant to tell them about the gift of compulsion.” The words spill out of her now, her fear driving them forward. “I thought if they knew there was a way to make the humans follow you willingly, to remove any pain or sensation, that they would want to know. Their main issue with feeding on humans is that they are afraid, and I thought⁠—”

“That is not the issue!” Shimon says, waving his hand through the air. “This is why we could not continue as we had! You do not listen when we speak, you make the issue something else entirely! You claim there is a gift that can be learned to control a human’s mind, to make them follow you without question—that is cruel! It takes away their agency, their consent. Your solution is no better…In fact, it is worse.”

“What is this compulsion you speak of?” Essemteu asks.

“Melinoë used it when we hunted. She simply spoke to a human, told them to follow her…and he did. She commanded him to do things and he obeyed.”

Every bright eye turns to me, burning lines along my exposed skin, tearing me open here in the middle of the courtyard. I wonder again if I was not supposed to show this to them, if I somehow unearthed a secret. How far back would this set me in your eyes? Does this failure undo my century of penance?

But when I look to you, I do not see anger. The corner of your lip turns up in the slightest of smiles.

“Is this true?” Essemteu asks.

“Yes,” you say simply. “I was unaware this wasn’t widely known.”

Theon laughs. “We are to believe you are capable of controlling the minds of humans and you thought that was common knowledge?”

“It takes a level of skill not every one of us possesses,” you say pointedly.

“And yet she can do it?” Theon asks incredulously, pointing at me.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, your head tilting ever so slightly.

“Do not play the fool. Melinoë is anything but impressive. She isn’t a scholar or a warrior, she has no discernible talents. She follows you around, simpering and useless. It’s no wonder you’ve collected the others, they will at least be good company in the coming years.” He scowls.

His words sink into me, rotting me to my bones. I feel it all—the taste of bile at my own uselessness, the crash realization that others see me just as I do, the gangrenous hatred that multiplied when Theon shone a light on it. In less than a decade, he scrutinized me and found me wanting in all the same ways I did.

You laugh.

Had I a stake, I would have driven it through my heart. I am in the box again, dying, drowning, drinking and vomiting water over and over again until the sun rises and I sleep.

You take a step toward him. He holds his ground, his stupid face overjoyed with his words. And you laugh and laugh. You laugh until you stand before him, then your fingers close on his throat, your nails pressing into the skin.

Theon doesn’t move, he just stares at you. The whites of his eyes are red now, bloodshot, each vessel swelling and bursting. I am removed from my misery to watch as blood trickles from his eyes, his nose, the sides of his mouth.

“Do you know how I got my name, Mother of Silence?” you ask, your voice low. Theon doesn’t answer. He cannot answer, I think. He can only shake his head, a tiny movement that could just as easily have been him trembling.

He should tremble. He should kneel. To insult me hurt, but it insults you as well. That is the bigger crime.

“I can kill you without touching you, and you’ll never make a sound,” you say, your mouth close to his ear now. Each word is a whisper, a caress against his skin.

“I am the Mother of Silence because I have silenced so many. Not just with death, but by maiming them. Did you know that if I wither your tongue, it will never grow back? I can take your eyes and you will never have them again, no matter how many humans you drain. Your ears, too. I am not lamia, I can tear you limb from limb and let you live out your immortality like that. Can you imagine what it must be like, Theon? To spend century after century, unable to speak or listen or see?”