Thetinycell. My breath catches, and the threads disappear.
It’s reacting to my fear.
My eyes widen.
I’ve been trying to compartmentalize my fear, but maybe shoving it away isn’t enough to bypass magical cuffs. Thinking happy thoughts seems like a bit of a stretch, but it’s worth a shot.
Closing my eyes again, I decide to focus on home. I think of every time Sin has held me. I picture laughing with Arianna on the garden wall and then sharing dinner with my Shadow Realm friends. I remember Sarah, Isaac, and Conner joking over coffee.
They are my home. They make life worth living.
The pebbles in my cell start to vibrate, but I don’t open my eyes. There’s still pressure on my wrists. The cuffs are keeping me here.
I picture the magic holding them shut. Every enchantment is just another thread. They’re tightly knit, but that doesn’t stop me. I picture them loosening, until they simply fall away from each other.
A soft click echoes, and the pressure on my wrists vanishes.
Opening my eyes, I find the cuffs lying on the floor.
I grin. Flexing my hands, I stand, taking in the locked door.
Now that I’m not wearing magically binding cuffs, my power comes easily. Silver lights wind over the bars, and a moment later, the door swings open.
My eyes find my chatty neighbor across the pit. He’s watching me, completely stunned. The hair on the back of my neck prickles as I feel more eyes on me.
Looking up, I find every prisoner standing at their cell doors, watching me with a mixture of disbelief and awe.
There’s a low rumble, and a moment later, Cerberus bounds from the shadows. He skids to a stop just behind me. His tail wags so hard that bits of stone shake loose from the wall.
I smile and pat his shoulder. He sits like a good boy. “Do you want to go home, big guy?” I whisper.
When the dog doesn’t magically gain the ability to answer (sad), I drag my gaze to Clotho’s cell – and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Why?
Why does the Fate have to look like a creepy demon child?
Her long black hair hangs over her face, not quite hiding her smug expression. Or at least I assume she’s being smug. Her solid black eyes make it hard to know for sure. Briefly, I wonder if she’s related to Morgana.
“That took forever. You are pathetic, and a horrible reflection of my work,” she states matter-of-factly.
“You look like a demon child who lives in a well, and haunts people who dare to own VHS,” I deadpan back.
Am I being mature right now?
No.
But respectfully, if the Fate wanted maturity, she probably could have woven that character trait into me a little more thoroughly. And yes, I’m currently in the middle of an existential crisis, because apparently, I have a maker, and I’ve never been in control of my own destiny.
I need a minute.
“You’re stalling,” Clotho snips.
Nervous mutters and shuffling ripple through the silence.
I wince at the reminder that I have a massive audience. “Well, that’s probably because you’re really bad at your job,” I mutter, turning my back to her.
Hundreds of eyes watch me, and it’s making me want to crawl back into my cell. I am not made for public speaking. But I can’t take on the Council alone, and these people deserve their freedom.
