The huntress just snorted.
“King... that word is a poison. Every bastard wants to be one. Most end up bones in a ditch, wondering where that promise went.”
The sailor was talking to the wrong person about prophecies. Old memories stirred. Uninvited. A pressure behind her temples. White cloth. The suffocating scent of roses. Too many hands fixing her hair while telling her she was meant for a throne of bones. A groom that would never die, they had promised her eternity beside a king who drank blood. Stars. Chants. Whole bloody library explaining her life. Fate spoken like a lock clicking shut. How grateful she ought to be for it.
No!
Daniyah crushed the thought flat. She didn’t live up to a single line of it.
Fate was just another ghost. Only dangerous if you listen to it.
The beggar-thing scraped closer, drawn tight by the ache in his voice, by the soft meat of memory. The spectre shuddered nearer the salt, hunger dragging it forward in jerks. Pulled by the warmth leaking from Mako’s memory. Its tattered outline blurred.
"Chosen one, stars lining up just for you."
It crossed the line of salt and it felt like the air collapsed inward. The candles flared all at once, their flames turning all bight white. Heat fled the alley in a rush, as if sucked out through a wound. Breath would fog thick and sudden. The spectre's hollow chest yawned wider, a mouth without mercy, and the alley filled with the sensation of absence. What had been warmth became distance. What had been joy thinned to a pale imitation, like a song remembered by someone who had never truly heard music. The spectre reached for it all greedily.
“King... that word is a poison. Every bastard wants to be one. Most end up bones in a ditch, wondering where that promise went.”
The sailor was talking to the wrong person about prophecies. Old memories stirred. Uninvited. A pressure behind her temples. White cloth. The suffocating scent of roses. Too many hands fixing her hair while telling her she was meant for a throne of bones. A groom that would never die, they had promised her eternity beside a king who drank blood. Stars. Chants. Whole bloody library explaining her life. Fate spoken like a lock clicking shut. How grateful she ought to be for it.
No!
Daniyah crushed the thought flat. She didn’t live up to a single line of it.
Fate was just another ghost. Only dangerous if you listen to it.
The beggar-thing scraped closer, drawn tight by the ache in his voice, by the soft meat of memory. The spectre shuddered nearer the salt, hunger dragging it forward in jerks. Pulled by the warmth leaking from Mako’s memory. Its tattered outline blurred.
"Chosen one, stars lining up just for you."
It crossed the line of salt and it felt like the air collapsed inward. The candles flared all at once, their flames turning all bight white. Heat fled the alley in a rush, as if sucked out through a wound. Breath would fog thick and sudden. The spectre's hollow chest yawned wider, a mouth without mercy, and the alley filled with the sensation of absence. What had been warmth became distance. What had been joy thinned to a pale imitation, like a song remembered by someone who had never truly heard music. The spectre reached for it all greedily.