Still resting.
My chair from yesterday sits between them, the poetry book where I dropped it.
Despite the hour, the light crawling through the stained windows overhead is dull. Grimy with dirt and neglect. It paints a mute sheen across the wood.
But I don’t go inside.
If I go to them, I will stay. I’ll waste the day and forget why I’m here. There will be plenty of time to sit with them once I finish.
“Love you,” I whisper, before turning away and continuing on.
Further, deeper into the house.
Deeper beneath it.
I follow the walls and corridors to the mirror and the figure already waiting for me.
The Marcus that isn’t Marcus watches me from his place before the writhing wall. Naked once more. His powerful build, a proud display of ink and muscles. He watches me move up the steps lined with candles. So many now. Hundreds. Everywhere. They practically light up the entire chamber. The air is an oppressive humidity of hot wax and shifting heat.
But none of that matters as I join him at the top.
“When?” I ask.
Swirling dark eyes meet mine from a face I have loved for so long. A face I think I still love.
I must.
I do. Of course I do. It’s just all buried so deep and I can’t bring myself to think about anything else right now.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Raw, scorching heat blazes up my stomach, a fury that curls my fingers into fists.
“You swore,” I grind out.
If he fails me the way Marcus has, if he refuses his end of this, I will set this entire place ablaze. I will destroy every mirror. I will find a way to end him.
“I did and I will, but once we begin, there is no turning back.”
“I don’t want to turn back. I want them dead and you promised—”
A hand lifts to stop me. “You are grieving. Grief turns us into monsters.”
“They’re the monsters. I’m stopping them from hurting anyone else.”
He considers that a moment.
But I push on.
“If you’re incapable, say so. I’ll find a stronger demon who isn’t a coward.”
The concealing coils spilling from his eyes thicken. Dark streaks that run down his cheeks like black tears. The shadows behind him ripple and snap.
But I’m past caring when I storm from the chamber.
Men keep failing me. They take what they want and find excuses not to hold up their end.
I’m done waiting for them. Done trying. It’s becoming obvious that I need to do this myself. Even if it’s messy. Even if I die.
