This is not a plea for forgiveness. This is a promise written in a god’s blood. I will break every oath, defy every power, and unravel reality to free you from this bargain. And when you’re free, if you choose to walk away, I will let you go, beautiful.I will be the one to sacrifice. I will be the one to break.
The world may paint me as the villain in your story. Perhaps they’re right. But I am your villain, and I will tear apart anyone who dares to cage what was meant to fly free.
Ever yours,
Thorne Noctus
I slid the small pencil free of the little golden book and sat there, lead to paper, wondering what I could say to him.
Thorne,
You speak of freedom while I wear the chains you could have warned me about. You write of protection while I drown in the madness you created. Every choice you made “for me” was really for yourself, to keep your precious Huntress breathing, no matter the cost to her soul.
Do you hear them, Thorne? The whispers in my mind? They’re fragments of every life you wouldn’t let rest, every death that wasn’t final enough. My Remnants aren’t merely shadows. They’re the pieces of me you kept hunting and breaking. The madness feels like an oldfriend. A manifestation of the love we’ve likely circled for a thousand lifetimes, finally showing its nature.
You want to slay your enemy to free me? Start with yourself. You’re the architect of this prison, the author of every bargain that binds me. Your love isn’t devotion, it’s possession dressed in pretty words and blood-soaked promises.
Winter was right. You can’t save me. You can’t even save yourself from what you’ve become.
Don’t write to me again. The next time we meet, it won’t be as lover and beloved, god and mortal, protector and protected. It will be as what we truly are, a man who played god with a woman’s soul, and the monster he created.
-P
20
Paesha
He’d tied me to a godsdamn chair and there wasn’t shit I could do about it. My brain vibrated with pain and exhaustion and still Alastor was relentless. My ass was sore from the hard chair, my ears tired from the echoes of my own screaming and gods, if he fucking smiled one more time I was going to bring this whole world down around me.
“Go further. You’re wasting our time,” he said, leaning against the wall as he stared at me with bright green eyes. Eyes I would’ve liked to gouge out of his pretty head. Maybe I would one day. Maybe I would be his downfall. I locked the new goal in my mind, lining him up behind Thorne as his Remnants creeped lazily toward me.
My stomach churned in anticipation. “No. Stop. If I could have a break?—”
“Interesting choice of word,break.That which you refuse to do.” He took another large bite of an apple, forcing my mouth to water with dreams of the crisp sweetness. I hadn’t eaten in three days. I’d been tied to this chair, somehow deeper in the ground than the Vale already was so no one could hear me scream. Though I’d only been lucid for a fraction of the time.
My Remnants remained coiled within me, refusing to bow to the beckoning of a god. I hated and appreciated their refusal to break in equal measure. They were strong. Stronger than me.
It took all of one sharp breath before Alastor’s magic lashed out, drawing back only enough to rush forward with a punch. The Remnants swirled over my neck, growing tighter before brushing my lips, silencing my scream with yet another deep dive into my mind.
Papa always said secrets were the same as coin if you knew which ones to keep. He’d winked at me the first time he’d said it. Back when he smiled more than he cried. Back when he was at home more than he was away. Back when we had a home. I must have been six then.
Now,Ihad a secret. One that was worth more than all the coin, he’d said. And it was just ours.
Until it wasn’t.
But this was the day.
I wore my prettiest yellow dress and squeezed my feet into shoes that were too small. I hid the stain on the lace of my sleeve by rolling it up. Dresses never kept when they were rolled in old newspapers and used for pillows on Beggars Row, but I’d done my very best. Because I had a secret that was going to buy me and papa a new house one day.
“He might look scary, Treasure, but don’t let your feelings show. You keep your face blank, your eyes on your shoes, and you let me do the talking, you hear me?”
I held Papa’s hand so tight, the tips of his fingers turned white, but he never let go. He and I were a team. We were the heroes in our story. He’d said so.
“I hear you,” I whispered. “Don’t stare, don’t cry, don’t smile, don’t speak.”
“Fear is only an emotion and emotions are nothing more than barricades.”
We might’ve been twins, my father and I, if not for my peculiar eyes. The dark, chestnut hair was an exact match, but any time the sun managed to come out, my skin would brown quicker than his. He was paler, and I was… Well, I wasn’t sure, but he’d said it was the only trait I’d taken from my mother before she’d left us for someone with more coin and fewer problems.
