I wipe at my cheeks, feeling tears slip down, but my fingers come back dry—the ghost of her despair haunting me.
That breaks something inside of me.
My own wet, raw sob breaks out in response. I’m not sure what causes such a deep vulnerability in this moment, but I need to let these tears out as much as Petra deserves someone to feel her pain, to empathize years later.
I’m at the beginning of the journal, only about five passages in, so I don’t know what causes these overwhelming emotions. I’m not sure I’ll find outsince I’m being thrown into the middle of her story, rather than starting from the beginning.
Not that it matters.
At this moment, perhaps due to our spirit magic, our pain has entwined into one. I’m grieving over the loss of the family that never loved me as much as I’m grieving the great loss of Petra’s life.
“Please,” I call desperately to no one, hoping someone—or something—will hear my desperation.
Religion amongst witches is a vast and diverse concept. There’s a lot of tolerance for our different beliefs and practices. Many are rooted in human religions, but not limited to those. It’s as often determined by region as it is by individual coven.
My family never prayed to any gods, choosing instead to focus our gratitude on the earth and the universe. Those aren’t deities though, and for the first time in my life, I wish I had a god to pray to.
I take a second and think of every one I’ve learned about. The forgotten, the scorned, and the revered—so many deities I’ve read about but never interacted with.
Selfishly, I hope they hear me now.
“Please, don’t let the curse be isolation. I don’t—” I choke on my sob. “I can’t live with that. What did they do that was so bad? Tell me! Please… please…”
My pleas are no better than a bottle thrown into the ocean, but it doesn’t stop me.
“Anything is better than that lonely fate.Anything,” I cry out. I slap a hand to my chest. “Kill me if you must. Please, don’t make me live a life all alone. I can’t do it—Ican’t.”
I sit on my knees, crying and yelling at these wretched walls for half an hour. With Petra’s heartbreak splintering me from the inside out, I curse and plead for any indication that my future isn’t as bleak and lonely as it feels. My hands are raw from slapping the ground, and the anger grows into a wildfire coursing through my veins.
With each fallen tear, magic stirs in my chest. With every shouted plea and strike of my hand, a small portion of it bursts out of me. It escapes into the universe, never to be seen again, and even that leaves me feeling abandoned—like my own magic wants to get as far away from me as possible.
Now, I stare down at the small cuts left from the unfinished wood, fragments of glass, and other debris. My tired eyes follow the path as one drop of blood falls from my palm, silently hitting the floor.
As I lose all hope, I fall onto the blanket and curl into a small ball. Hexate coils herself around my hands, licking the back of one with her tiny tongue before resting her head on my forearm to watch the fire.
Maybe my mother’s worst fear is coming true and I’ve been playing too closely with spirits tonight.
There’s a good chance I’m really on the verge of going fucking mad.
For the next few hours, I stare at the low flame until it eventually goes out. The lingering despair of mine and Petra’s traumas swirl in my chest, creating a black hole that slowly sucks my soul down… down… down.
Eventually, the warring emotions in my chest calm enough that I fall into a restless sleep. At least, until I stumble into the familiar meadow I haven’t seen in weeks.
Chapter 6
Renata
Slowly opening my eyes, I know I’m not actually awake. It’s like a sixth sense when I get here, more comfortable than any home I’ve inhabited—an ethereal meadow full of wild flowers a short distance from a lake with thick woods opposite the water. It’s the exact place I’ve been brought to a thousand times in this state.
And where I hoped to end up last night.
I take a deep breath, letting the familiar comfort settle over me.
It’s always sunset when we arrive, with fireflies flickering around us and soft, warm rays of light breaking through the clouds. No matter how long we stay, the night never gives way to morning. The evening sun sets, and the blood moon rises to its highest peak. Daybreak never comes, making our presence feel infinite here.
By we, I mean me and the man I see sitting a few feet away from me.
Hurt and anger mix in my gut at the realization of us being in this dream world together after months of no contact. Since my sixteenth birthday, I’ve been able to count on one thing other than Hexate—finding him in my dreams.
