You were right, though. I’m the writer of my own tragedy.
I wrote the story of how the siren fell in love with the heathen, but love was never enough for them to have their three-word fairytale. Consequences would always stand in our way, and in the end, love would always spill blood.
Now, it’s been days since I’ve seen you. I decided long ago, and this is my last letter. Everything I’ve worked so hard for—before you came along—will carry on as if our time together never happened.
Don’t bother stopping me.
As I once said, the tremor between us will only lead to carnage.
But as I plunge a knife into the chest of the man I once desired to marry, I’ll think of all those foolish nights when we pretended, our time on Bone Island, the vanilla colas, our stupid song, and you.
Yes, my beloved black sea.
I’ll think of you.
xx a
My heart feltas though it was being punched by a hammer.
Staring at the words, I could not move.
My mind was spinning, trying to decode her message, putting the pieces together because I refused for those six underlined words to sink in. How dare she write this to me, knowing we could never be together.
Then a black spider moved across my hand and froze on top of the letter.
My sight narrowed, tunneling, hypnotized by eight reflective black eyes. Inside them, a gloomy and wintry picture of Town Square arose. Night was bleak and dreary. Snow, steel gray and lifeless.
I sprang to my feet. The sketchpad and all crashed to the floor, and I rushed to the window.
Outside, a blood eclipse would soon weep in the night sky.
It had been over 150 years since a full blue blood moon eclipsed. The flood of memories of that hot summer night benumbed me as they returned. If Adora hadn’t killed him yet, she may when the eclipse reached its peak.
My pulse was in my ears. Julian appeared next to me. “What’s wrong?”
My shoulder slammed into his when I sprinted for the door. I threw it open and bolted down the stairs and across the fields. Snow came up to my calf with every sprint toward the woods, soaking my pants. There had been no time to bother with a coat, but the cold seemed to bother me none. I was numbed by worry and fear. So, I ran harder, leaping over trunks and weaving between trees.
Despite my pulse and breath muting my surroundings, I knew the Heathens were running after me. I could feel their presence, an invisible force of nature, closing in with every step.
My speed increased once I reached the pavement. The feeling in my legs was gone. My mind was not working to tell me to stop, as the mind often did.You can’t, you won’t, you shouldn’t, you couldn’t, it would say, but not on this night. My heart carried me to the place it wanted to go.
A crowd circled the gazebo. They were shouting and crying, and everything seemed to be covered in fog, as if their heads were being held underwater.
My sprint slowed to a walk as I approached the crowd. I pushed between bodies until people stepped aside, opening up for me just as a soul-wrenching cry pierced the night, chilling me to the bone.
Adora’s eyes were clenched tight, her teeth bared. Her face was wet as she held on to the wooden pole of the gazebo at the top of the stairs. Her cheek was smashed against it as Kane dragged a knife into her back. Another traumatic cry shattered like shards of glass, piercing the air and cutting me open.
I raced to Adora, but Kane snatched her off the pole and held her close to his chest, bringing the dagger to her throat.
I froze, feeling all the color drain from my face as I looked into her terrified green eyes. Tears flew down her cheeks and her lips trembled.
“Get back,” Kane growled, pressing the sharp edge against her skin.
Everything broke inside me, but anger rushed in, holding me together.
My muscles were jumping under my skin and the crowd had gone silent.
All I heard were her cries. All I saw were her eyes staring back at me.
