Page 136 of Into the Heartless Wood
The rain stops. Night comes.
Then dawn, blurred and silver.
My mother returns, singing a command to the briars.
They loosen enough to let me breathe a little easier.
She smiles. Her teeth spark
with the power
of a newly consumed soul.
She commands: “Sing, daughter. There is a village a league off, brimming with souls. Draw them to me. Sing.”
I say: “No,” and even this simple word
scrapes against my throat
like broken ice.
She squeezes her hand into a fist. She laughs. “It was not a request, little fool. Nowsing.”
My heart does not belong to her any longer,
but my will is still wholly hers.
She drags my song from me with her power.
It rips my mouth open,
tears the music from deep inside of me.
I can do nothing to stop it.
I cannot twist my head, cannot press my bound hands over my mouth.
I fight against her
with every heartbeat,
but it is not enough.
I sing
and sing
and sing.
After a time, the villagers come. They have walked very far. They are young and old and in between.
My mother slaughters them
one
by
one.
