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I feel like I’m choking.
You need to breathe.
Ocuri’s face has been obscured by the memory of finding my sister’s body after the battle.
She’s dead, and he is still alive.
I want to scream.
Rage, hatred, grief, all crash into me in waves. It is brutal and breathtaking and devastating, and I am not sure how I am still alive.
I feel it, vaguely, when I lose control of my magic.
But all I can do is hang on to myself as my grief and rage becomes greater than I am.
I have lost control of my magic several times. The first time was when I found my sister’s body.
Now, as I lose myself to the grief, I realize how powerless I am to myself and my magic.
A voice screams from my heart then. A voice of vengeance and hatred.
Let it all rot! Let them all rot!
I wish I could cry. I wish I could scream.
Let it all rot!
I have always known that I have the power, the ability, to cause great destruction.
Now, knowing that Ocuri is alive, all I want to do is bring Vhoig to its knees as I search for him. All I want to do is rot Vhoig away until I hold the city in my hand, and Ocuri is begging for me to kill him.
Something, something in the real, physical world, and not in my little world powered by rage, knocks into me then.
My magic sees this as an attack and reacts quickly, reaching for the body, as visions of my sister and Ocuri fall away and all I see is the loft.
And Denve.
You are rotting him!
I can’t hurt him,I think to myself. Suddenly I am back in my body, and my grief and rage becomes less important.
The only important thing now isnot hurting Denve.
I fight for control, and I realize that we are falling through the air. Denve’s face is twisted with pain, and a high-pitched keening is resounding through the air, and finally I have control.
Denve and I are both fighting for control, and I realize he is using his magic to soften our fall, while I force the rot to die down.
The tendrils of my magic snake their way back into my body, and I watch with horror as I wait for Denve to rot.
He doesn’t rot. We fall softly to the ground, and I wait for him to let me go.
And as I wait, all I can feel is horror, horror, horror.
He does not let me go.
“It’s okay.” He cradles me and strokes my head, and he keeps repeating the same words. Over and over again. “It’s okay. It will all be okay.”
My magic is gone, and I am in control, even if it feels like something inside me has exploded.
