THIRTY-EIGHT
TRUTH BLOOMS
Vivian
As soon asmy hands wrap around the sword's hilt, the air shifts. A quick succession of clangs sounds, as if giant deadbolts have slammed closed.
“No,” Gemma shouts from behind me, and I turn, slowly, bringing the sword up in front of my face. Gripping the sword in both hands, I shift it to the side so I can watch her with one eye as I respond, “Yes.”
And then the gold moves.
It ceases to hover and begins to zip through the air, matching the energy emanating from my blade.
Gemma rushes a step toward me but pulls up short as the gold flies around me, each fleck flying into the metal blade until its once-dull grey surface is coated in that gold, metallic sheen.
Gemma remains standing midway down the stairs, her eyes wide and her expression furious. And then she mutters, “This isn’t right. This can’t be happening.”
The gold oozes down onto the handle of my sword, and I have to fight not to drop it, but I hold fast, knowing if it had wanted toharm me, it could have done so easily already. Tension rolls over me, and my eyes flit between Gemma and the gold that’s just now touching the side of my finger at the top of the hilt.
“Let it in,” Zion whispers from behind me.
I frown, his words confusing me, and then Gemma sing-songs, “That’s right, sister. Let it in.”
“Ignore her. She’s currently out of her depth and hasn’t realized it yet.”
Gemma shrieks in outrage, but her words are incoherent white noise as I focus on the gold sliding over my hand, what was once a fearful attack now a loving caress. It settles in slowly, just a touch, with the rest remaining on the sword.
It travels just below my skin, a soft glow tracking up my arm and disappearing beneath my clothing. I sense it there, moving up my bicep, into my shoulder, until, finally, it settles into the base of my spine, a subtle warmth teasing my psyche.
Then it opens, an obsidian flower blooming from within, delivering a payload of information I never knew was missing, my truth finally revealed.
My family. Destroyed.
My childhood. Wrecked.
My love. Manipulated. Stolen.
With each truth unraveled, pure fury pulses inside me. The obsidian flower wilts and dies, immediately replaced by a new bloom, this one golden, untouched, clearly unwritten.
Retribution.
Redemption.
“You bitch,” I snarl, pointing my blade at her. “It was you the entire time.”
Gemma’s smug expression falters, but then she smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There was no run of bad luck. There was no saving me from worse. There was never any taking care of anyone but yourself.”
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Grow up, Viv.”
My eyes widen, and I lower my sword as I walk up the steps until we’re on the same level, though still several feet between us. “You didn’t want my parents to give a shit about me, but you also wanted me to come looking for you.”
She says nothing, likely knowing she can no longer dupe me or control me with her verbal manipulations.
Shaking my head, I raise the sword in front of me again, my focus on my reflection in the shiny gold still enrobed around the blade. Then I look back to her and shrug. “I can’t say I’m going to be sorry to see you go.”
“Go?” she asks defensively. “I’m not going anywhere.”
