Shattered Line

Chapter 27: The Result

"You aren't worthy. You're nothing more than a killer."

Selfish? Sure, she picked this route because she wanted power. The strength to end her torment. Still, the spirit would continue an endless barrage of her shortcomings. After all, there were plenty. Regrets. Fears. Weaknesses. She knew them all. She lived knowing they existed.

Isla quelled her outrage before the spirit relinquished the final result. Failure. It had to be. What else could it be?

But where her sisters accepted such a result, Isla refused. Failure was not an option. Not if she wanted to change.

The time for debating and arguing was over. Instead, she would fight her own way.

She detected her aura, the pocket cushioning her soul. On the bright side, her soul remained inside her body. The spirit would be foolish to transfer the soul and risk inflicting damage. Well, unless this faceless hack wanted her dead.

The imprisonment spell blocked her senses. Even feeling the pleasant refusal of her muscles and limbs became distant. Yet, she could think. Her mind could act.

Restoring the communication between mind and body superseded all decisions. If a wall separated the two, breaking the obstruction could damage her, but what if she created a new connection? A new pathway.

Her mind deciphered this idea. What were the flaws? What were the strengths? Each point constructed her plan. Still, with the war raging on, she commanded her aura. The hairlike tendrils split and constructed around her. White lines contrasted the dark, dividing and driving forward. They unraveled, seeking her end goal—her limbs and muscles.

The action required dedication and a fine control. One mistake could kill her, or worse, impair the connection beyond repair.

The tendrils flicked and twisted seeking her desire. Forcing her aura through would be unthinkable, patience ran supreme.

The threads yanked, their attachment her reality. Isla wasted no time and strengthened her mind. She pushed against the restriction containing her, the darkness vanishing. A rush of sensations filled the void. The dampness of her skin, the moist air, and the cold ground vying for dominance. Her fingers curled and her toes wiggled. But nothing felt better than sweet success.

Isla lifted herself, scanning her surroundings. The cave burst to life, light filling the forsaken chamber. She squinted but endured the change.

"What the hell are you?" a little girl shouted as she appeared from a mist cloud. Her golden locks curled and flowed over a plain white dress gown. The large amber eyes framed by a heart-shaped face looked upon Isla with curiosity.

This was what toyed with her? Isla frowned, watching the spirit creep closer. "What's your problem?"

"What! How dare you?"

Isla narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me? You're the one invading minds, not I."

"Wait. You remember? But that's impossible. Retaining the memory of a deep subconscious conversion isn't probable." She nibbled her nails, both petite hands smacked against her face.

"Guess not anymore."

The spirit dropped to her knees and bawled. "No. No. No. Everything is ruined!"

Sighing, Isla crossed her arms and stared. This was the spirit of Arcadia? No wonder the Arcadians never trumped the Gods.

"What shall I do?" She sniffed, wiping her tears with her palms. "That Witch will lecture me senseless."

"The Queen?"

She perked, the tear streaks glistening under the ceiling starlight. "Yes, you know the unspeakable horrors I speak?"

Isla arched an eye, but refrained from delivering her first rhetorical comment. "Who do you think sent me."

"Oh, did she?" The spirit quieted, her gaze questioning.

"You invaded my mind and you don't know?"

"Uh, small details. Not everything was seen..." She clasped her dress, peering at her toes. "What's the Witch plotting?" She glanced upwards, waiting.

"Nothing good."

"It never is," she commented, pursing her lips. "Arrogance has no bounds."

"Ironic, considering you state a Queen shouldn't be selfish."

"We can dream, can't we? Look what our poor soul deal's with—pure and utter madness. Imagine an all-caring, unselfish, realistic, welcoming, innocent-"

"Stop," Isla interrupted, "Your goals aren't straight."

"What! How can you renounce our greatest hope?" she moaned, her face pouting.

"Because you're expecting too much. It'll never happen."

The spirit rested her head on both knees. "Maybe, but you're odd. Different. Not normal."

"Then why not pick me as Queen?"

She stared, her eyes glowing. "I don't know."

"You're afraid," Isla stated.

"What?" the spirit roared, jumping to her feet. A wind whirled, snapping her dress. "Me. Afraid? What nonsense you speak."

Isla watched the maelstrom before her. "You're scared to take a chance. How many Queens have you chosen?"

The gale ceased and her gaze shimmered. "One." She bit her lip, chewing the flesh. "But chances lead to unhappy endings."

"You complain the Witch is bothersome, arrogant and selfish. Complaining doesn't change anything. Do something about it."

She growled at Isla's response. "Fine! I get it. Then show me." She moved towards her and grabbed both of Isla's arms.

Bending her head, the spirit mumbled an incantation. Warmth spread from the contact points, encasing her body. The heat dissipated, but a reminder engraved upon her right hand. In red lettering, the language of the Ancients marked the symbol for ruler. She examined the mark until it disappeared, hiding beneath the skin.

"You've obtained my mark. Now you're connected with me, with Arcadia."