They killed me, Ode.
They killed me.
They killed...
"You've grown, Ode, from a child into a woman." My mother's voice is both inside my head and outside it all at once. It makes it so difficult to concentrate. My heart pounds. The mirror is cold against my breast, the light and the ghouls silent. They killed me.
Ode.
They killed—.
But I'm happy, so deliriously happy as her fingers grasp my face, entangle with my hair. "You have your father's hair, a lion's mane." Her fingers skitter across my scalp like spider legs. Her hands. They smell like cinnamon and something else. What spice is that? Cardamom? Shata? Zhug? They killed me, Ode. They killed... "But what else have you inherited from him?" She reaches her fingers through my robes, reaching directly for the mirror that's so cold that it burns against my skin. She wraps her hands around the handle. Ode...Ode...
Her eyes flash at me, the blood-moon color running to the color of blood pouring on city streets, blood of the innocent, blood of the damned. "You're turning into him, aren't you? You're a bloodthirsty monster who kills for fun. A lover of war, of death."
They killed me, Ode. They killed me.
An arrow, Ode. Through the heart. Called me witch. Called me heathen.
They killed me, Ode.
"No, mama," tears stream down my face. I fall to my knees, hands clasped in prayer. My mirror burns, and I moan in agony. Yet, I can't look away from her face, the face so beautiful that gods would kill. "Please, mama, I'm doing this for you. For Astera. For Ryu."
An arrow through the heart. An arrow broke me.
Blood pours anew down the cavern walls. "And will you leave your father, injured like that?" She rises then, this terrible beauty, hovering above the ground. Her coils of endless, raven hair whip around her face, serpents framing a face like fire. "Will you run off with the Blind God on this foolish adventure? You have responsibilities, Ode. Responsibilities to your family, your people. What will they say if you lose this war? They will call you witch, Ode. They will kill you just like they killed me!"
They killed me, Ode, they killed me.
An arrow through the heart.
An arrow broke me. I died alone on that battlefield.
"No!" I rip the mirror from the bandages, the tears exposing my chest, bruised and burnt from all my training, all my fighting. "This is the only way! I must fight to save them."
An arrow through the heart, the tip ripped through my skin, and left a trail of blood and terror. Terror as they killed me.
"And if you die?" Her eyes settle upon me, those beautiful eyes. I look at them from the mirror's reflective surface, calling for my ghosts. They refuse to come. "If you die, you will bear no children. Nobody will tell your stories, witch. Your legacy will die with your name!"
I hold the mirror up, falling to my knees, blood dribbling down my scraped shins. "I will protect them even if it kills me and my legacy." The mirror starts to glow violet as I whisper the same prayer repeatedly. But it's not so much a prayer as it is a single phrase.
"You are not my mother!"
The ghost drifts to the ground, reaching for the small of my throat, reaching for the torn bandages, the freezing air clawing at my exposed breasts. Blood dribbling everywhere. She presses her fingers against my forehead, pressing until blood dribbles down, splatters over the mirror. "Ode, baby, please."
An arrow. They killed me. Witch. Heathen. Ode killed me. You killed me, Ode.
"You..." I gasp, staring at the violet light increasing with every drop of my blood, every ounce of my strength. I grit my teeth, and even my mouth's filling with that coppery taste of blood. "You're not my mother."
Ode, baby, Ode. You killed me, darling.
Just like your bloodthirsty father.
Witch.
The mirror's nearly blinding. Finally, I can tear my gaze away from this spirit's beauteous, nightmarish face. Light fills the cavern, violet and magnificent.
"You're not my mother!"
The spirit screams, and I am left alone.
Blood dribbles down my forehead and knees, a nasty burn over my bare breast.
It's a triangular smudge over my heart, shaped just like an arrow wound.
***
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I reached 2k reads, wait, what? I love you. You're all lovelies!
Or should I say Champions? ;)
Side note, if you had to pick a god to serve, which one would you choose: Cato the Elder (Warrior), Aziz the Beloved (Artist), or Kane the Blind (The Loner).
Best wishes, Champions!
Sophia Whittemore
***
YOU ARE READING
A Priestess for the Blind God (Legends of Rahasia Book 1)
Fantasy"The Blind God walks around me, and I feel my mind prodded again like it was in the cavern, a spider weaving a tangled web. "Would you do anything to be remembered, Ode, even play a villain, the one who rises against the Chosen One?" In answer, I dr...
