BRIAR
“Quit moping,” my Banisher snaps. “I let them live.”
I’ve been crying for two days. Two days since he stole me from my Complements and trapped me in my prison again.
And he didn’t make the same mistake he did last time.
I am well and truly trapped here. I can practically hear the magic binding me to this place.
I don’t know what the fairies did for him this time, but I don’t think I’ll be able to climb over the circle’s boundaries again.
Not that I want to.
What will I do, run into the village and try to convince Hans and Gerrit they know me?
That they care for me?
No.
They deserve better than me, anyway.
I will miss them.
I will ache for them.
But I can do nothing about it.
My body is heavy with grief at the death of a memory that is not my own.
I roll over on my side, pulling my knees to my chest. Quiet tears fall down my face.
My body has given up. I have no desire to move, no urge to speak.
Not even the idea of being outside in the sunset appeals to me.
“I wish you would kill me,” I say quietly.
“I understand that you’re unhappy with me,” my jailer says, not looking at me. “But this is the way things must be. You are a danger to everyone. A weapon that someone worse than me could try to wield. We cannot have that.” He stomps around the home, muttering and drawing sigils. No doubt to further ruin this life I don’t want to live.
“Then fucking kill me!” I shout. “Slit my throat. Bury me alive. Anything. If I am so dangerous, get rid of me. There is nothing left for me to live for.” The ache I feel knowing that my men cannot remember me is slowly drowning me.
Let it sweep me away.
Let it render me unrecognizable.
Let it fucking ruin me.
There’s nothing left for me to live for. Eternal nothingness is better than eternity alone in this prison.
“I’m making some changes,” he continues as if I didn’t just flay myself open before him. “You’ll have to understand that I can’t have you seeking them out. It’s just too risky. I toyed with the idea of having you keep your memories, letting you have that piece of them, but I no longer believe that to be the right call.”
“Take them,” I sob. “If you will not kill me, take my memories. Take my consciousness.”
He kneels before me, the black shadow of his hood bottomless, and I wonder if I am alive. He has shown no signs of being able to hear my pleas.
Do I no longer exist, or is he just cruel?
I wish to look upon my torturer.
