The end of your soul.
Lives within the Sheol.
Beware, behave
The darkness you will obey.
Beware behave,
Night will lead the way.
An old power rises as the fair one weakens,
Golden becomes the one true beacon,
Blood will run on the darkened moons,
Run child run, I will see you soon.
Beware, Behave
May the shadows keep you safe.
Emon groaned and his head slammed back into the clouds. “Why is there always a fucking tedious half riddled prophecy attached to shit like this? Why can’t it be simple like a human action hero? Bad guy, good guy, fuck up the bad guy, good guy wins…happily ever after. Now that’s a better formula.”
I laughed dryly, focusing on the words—even the water dragon had told me I should pay attention to them. “Fortunately for you, I grew up with half of this one. I've had many years to try to piece it out.”
My fingers traced the chickadee stamped on the scroll.
Emon grunted. “A chickadee…”
I continued to trace the etching of the bird lost in thought. “When I was younger, I would dream of a chickadee singing and playing with me. In my dreams, we would go on adventures to new worlds, worlds I had never been to before but somehow knew they existed despite not ever going through their gateways in real life. I became so infatuated with chickadees afterwards that my family started calling me chickadee. As I aged, the dreams became less and less. Now they have become symbolic for me…a guide in a way.”
“For the shifters, a chickadee symbolizes truth and bravery…even foresight. You have chosen quite the powerful guide.” Emon nuzzled his nose along my ear then nodded his chin. “Open the rest.”
Sighing, I traced the chickadee one last time and then unrolled the scroll further, staring wide eyed at the detailed etching of curved lines, ridges, and ancient text.
“It’s a map.” I breathed.
Sweeping my hair further back, Emon growled out the one word etched across the illustrated map. “Sheol.”
“These markings…” I ran my hand along them at the bottom of the page, "…they look like—”
“Your tattoo brands.” Emon reached across to grab my forearm and held it against the onyx paper. “They don’t just look alike, they are exactly alike. When did you get them?”
“They appeared when I reached mycentum. It’s very common for the shadow fae to receive brands during their transition into adulthood in their hundredth year.”
Emon’s hand traced the design on my inner wrist thoughtfully and I shivered at the intimate touch. “Do all the shadow fae have them?”
I pursed my lips. “Not in such detail, not the full arm. My brother and I have the same ones but are the only ones marked this way.”
Raising my wrist up, Emon kissed it possessively. “Has anyone ever licked them from here…” He followed one of the swirling brands with his tongue. “...to here before me?” Moving my arm to the side, he kissed the trailing tattoos on the top of my shoulders.
“No.” I whispered, remembering the way he had woken me up again for another round of sensual love making hours before and I shifted at the memory of my soulmates talented tongue.
He chuckled. “Still haven’t fully gained back your ability to use more than one syllable words I see.”
“That’s because you completely rob me of words with your sex vibes.” I snapped and leaned away from him with an arched brow. “Stop it.”
