Chapter 32
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule thirty-two:Do not, under any circumstances, pursue a career in motivational speaking.
You’d think I’d be hit with some grand wave of confidence after a literal Fate tells me I’m a badass. But no, instead, I’m staring at my cuffs, willing them to fall off.
It isn’t effective.
I think part of the problem might be that the cuffs remind me that I’m stuck inside a tiny space. Then I start hyperventilating. Or maybe it’s because the cuffs keep reminding me that I’m a complete failure.
Is magical performance anxiety a thing?
“Would you hurry it up already?” Clotho asks, purposefully ignoring the sound of my panicked breathing.
“If you wanted someone who didn’t panic in small spaces, then maybe you should have taken that into consideration when you were weaving my thread of life. Just a thought,” I snap back.
I’ve given up on being nice to Fate.
Fate is a bitch.
Clotho scoffs, “Please. Do you think I don’t know about the cave you nearly drowned in? If it weren’t for the claustrophobia, you would have managed to kill yourself long before you became useful. You’re welcome.”
Pursing my lips, I decide I’m no longer on speaking terms with her. It’s not like I want to stay here. But no matter how hard I try to call on the Reaper threads, they won’t respond.
Sighing, I shut my eyes, trying to relax – again.
When Sin was helping me manifest my Creator power, he said that magic was tied to emotion. If I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing that all along. I use empathy to free broken souls.
Switching gears, I try to focus on how sad I am that everyone is stuck down here.
Nothing happens.
At my newest failed attempt, the frightened voice in my head grows louder.What if they’re all wrong? What if I can’t do this, and everyone has placed their hope on someone who can’t get their shit together?
I glare at the cuffs, and the longer I stare at them, the tighter they feel.
In fact, I’m eighty-six percent sure the walls are starting to press in on me. It was definitely bigger in here when I woke up.
My pulse picks up, and I sink back against the stone floor. If I close my eyes, the walls can’t shrink any further.
The ache in my chest intensifies.
I’m so tired.
Tears trail down my cheeks, and I pretend I’m somewhere else, ignoring the sound of Clotho’s insults.
I pretend I’m back in Sin’s room.
Safe.
Peace washes over me, and my pulse starts to slow.
“Vivian, open your fucking eyes,” Clotho yells, her sharp command finally snapping me out of my daydream.
Reluctantly, I do as she says.
My jaw drops. Silver threads fill my cell, dancing along the walls.
