And a flash of a man sitting upon a throne with deep blue hair, and a vicious grin upon his face. He wore a crown of silver, and his great, blue bat wings spread out behind him like a nightmare. The Unseelie King Valroy.
They pull your threads in different directions, little Weaver. Only you can weave a pattern of your own making.
The cocoon of threads tightened slightly, bringing their light closer to her skin. Where they touched her skin, she felt a strange resonance, as if two parts of the same entity were recognizing each other.
“Is there a way to stop this? To get rid of you? It’s—it’s not personal, I just—maybe I don’twantto be part creepy cosmic horror web-world-glue-monster…thingy?”
The Web’s response was immediate, and for the first time, Ava sensed something like emotion in its collective voice—alarm.
Dangerous. Catastrophic. We are Ancient. Primordial. To tear Us from you now would unmake Us both.
Her heart sank. “So it’s already too late. Either become Serrik’s weapon or…what?”
Choice remains. Always choice. We can be wielded, yes. We can also be directed.
Partnership, not dominance. Balance, not destruction.
The threads began to withdraw, the darkness fading around her.
“Wait! You still haven’t told me how to stop this! Or what to do!”
When the Spider speaks of salvation, remember his true desire is power. When he offers freedom, see the chains he forges.
She groaned. “That’sstill not helpful!”
Trust no one but yourself, little Weaver. Not the Spider. Not the king. Not friends nor enemies.
The darkness continued to recede, the silver threads unraveling.
Not even Us.
Ava reached out, trying to grasp the fading threads. “Wait!”
But the Web was already dissolving, reality bleeding back into her consciousness. The last thing she heard was a whisper that seemed to come from inside her own mind.
When the Spider spins his final trap, the vessel fills, and your humanity fades—trust yourself alone.
She woke gasping. When she looked down, her right arm had a tattoo that ran down to her mid-bicep. But it was unfinished—it was only a few lines, like she had a single short sitting with the artist and had to leave before it was done. She knew what it would be when it was complete, the twisting, thin spiral patterns and connecting, lacing spiderwebs.
But as they were now, they were only the lines that spread from the center points of the webs that reached outward, in delicate, green-gray ink that matched the color of her eyes.
She could only think of one word to say.
“Fuck.”
Ava wasn’tthe kind of person to panic. She really wasn’t.
Or, at least, she didn’tthinkshe was.
But now?Now?Now that she had spoken to a fuckingcosmic horror?
Yeah. She probably had an excuse.
It had taken her a solid thirty seconds to realize she wasn’t even in the mirror room anymore with Ibin and Nos. She was back in the room that Ibin had loaned her, lying on the nest of blankets and pillows. When had that happened? How long had she been out?
Lying beside her was Book. Honestly, she wasn’t even surprised by that anymore.
Pushing up from the floor, she grunted. She felt terrible. Stiff and sore.
