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14 EVIL'S SOFT FIRST TOUCHES
—THE midmorning sun is bright. Warm. Tender.
It is the sun of a new world. The welcoming and guiding light for those who have been lost in the darkness for so long. It beckons them from evil, coaxing them back to what once was good.
Many follow it instinctively, back to the open air where they belong. They race to the blazing end of the tunnel in search of their old selves. They do not look back, not at the cage, not at the mountain. It is behind them, now. It is a past they long to forget. A version of themselves they do not wish to ever be again.
They will move on, in time. The gentle sun and open skies above will make sure of it.
But there are those who refuse to see that good light. Those who cannot. Those who have been blinded by darkness—willfully or not. They've made a home among the evil, finding their own place in a world wrought with pain and terror.
No longer do they feel a place exists for them in the loving sunlight.
The Witch lives on in them whether they like it or not. She has left an impression, an etching, a scar, lasting even through her own death. Seeds of her corruption have taken root, burrowing in deep, deeper than what can be dug up.
Her legacy lives on in the monsters she made.
—KAZI fears the pull. That drawing force that rises up when she winnows to the threshold of the mountain. It attracts her like a moth to a flame. It is an alluring trap. She's escaped the darkness; she's escaped the Witch. And yet, the hardest part seems to be staying away.
She cannot fathom the ache in her bones. The one telling her to enter, enter, enter. Return, return, return.
There is an indescribable feeling that she is home here. And she is almost sick with that realization.
"Kazimyrah." Rhysand's voice washes away the darkness.
She shakes her head, clearing it of a hazy conflict she dare not give in to. "Yes?"
"Are you alright? I've been calling your name," he explains, eyes filled with concern. She opens her mouth to dissuade his worry, but he speaks again, "I'd understand if you want to return home."
There's that unsettling word again, tormenting her when it should only bring comfort. She cannot resist the way her eyes glance to the mountain over his shoulder.
This ishome, some dark part of her whispers from the depths.
"I'm fine," she asserts, forcing her gaze back to his.
"A lie," he says lightly at having caught onto her so easily, but his face has dropped into severity. "No one will fault you for not wanting to come back here."
