And a new one joins in with the others, the gravel cadence unmistakable.
Jasper.
“How could you let her live when she killed me?”
Thousands and thousands of voices all echo around me, a symphony of macabre dissonance I can’t escape from. The walls begin to ooze a strange black liquid, and spiders skitter across the wood flooring. I have to remind myself repeatedly that these illusions are only in my head, but when a particularly large insect crawls onto my foot, I scream and kick.
I need to return.
Now.
Magic cocoons me like a warm cloak, and the bedroom fades away. I find myself standing in my eternal home, the dagger still clutched tightly in my trembling hand.
“Murderer…”
“Killer…”
“Death…”
Pain curls through my veins like liquid flames, overtaking my blood, burning me from the inside out.
God, is this what it’s like to die?
Thank fuck I’m immortal. But I could do without the agony.
My legs give out, and I fall to my knees, agony thundering through me.
You can do this, Thea. You can do this.
Slowly, a sob catching in my throat, I begin to crawl towards the very center of my room, where a raised stone pedestal stands—a startling contrast to the other modern amenities in my glorified prison.
Almost there.
Just a little farther.
Keep going…
With a gasp, I lift my hand and set the dagger on the pedestal. Almost immediately, the voices cease, the pain dissipates, and the hallucinations stop.
But I know the reprieve will only last for a short while.
After all, I’m death’s favorite reaper.
CHAPTER TWO
THEA
Ihave no memory of anything before this life—if you can even call it that. It’s more of anexistencethan anything else.
I imagine that, at one point, I was alive. Human. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. It would be nice to believe I had an existence outside of this stifling isolation. Maybe people who loved and cared for me. A family.
When I’m not called on a mission, I’m kept in this room, which changes constantly with time, with the exception of the pedestal.
My room is large and circular, with no windows or doors. There’s a queen-sized bed that remains mostly untouched, since I don’t need to sleep, and a wardrobe that holds everything from Victorian dresses to jeans and band shirts. A bookshelf rests against the far wall, and a couch and television are positioned opposite it.
There’s also an easel with a canvas on it, as well as paint supplies, though I don’t use them often. One would think that an eternity would make me an incredible artist, but that couldn’t befurther from the truth. I draw the way I imagine a rabid monkey would if it got repeatedly poked with a stick.
And, in the very center of the room, is the stone pedestal.
