“You did it before, you can do it again! Take it away! Please, Aziel, just take it. Take it. Take it.” Her hands flew, clawing at her own skin, as if it could rid her body of the horrid pain that crawled over her skin. She wanted it off. She wanted it gone. She didn’t want to feel anything—not pain, not guilt, not remorse. She didn’t want to be a failure. And if he refused to relinquish her of the terror that she carried, he could do it with Death. He could drive those roots through her worthless body and end it all in one fell swoop.
“Please, make it go away.”
“No.”
“You can!”
“But I will not!” He exclaimed. His knees hit the floor, his hands drawing her body closer to his, peeling her fingers from her skin. “I’m not taking it away, Nymiria. This is you.”
“I don’t want to be me!” She sobbed. “I don’t want this—I never wanted any of this. I don’t want to beme, Aziel. I don’t want to beme. Please, please, make it stop.” Aziel rocked her back and forth, allowing her to scream, allowing her to tear at the skin on his arm, allowing her to release every ounce of hurt into his body. “You can do it. I give you permission—”
He shushed her gently, his lips brushing over her forehead, his hands still holding her as close to him as possible. It ached so deep inside of him—watching her unravel, witnessing her undoing, it ripped him to pieces. The pain was accompanied by a murderous rage, a desire to tear through time and space and find every person that ever inflicted this torment upon her and end them all before they ever got the chance. Her mother and his father were the first on that list. And while Dorid Yaarborough’s sorry, cockless body still lived and breathed, Aziel was just biding his time. Waiting for the moment he could tear that manto shreds. Over and over again, he would do it. He would ensure that the man who sired him was punished for all eternity, that he would beg for relief that would never come. And Inasha Celentas would be right there beside him.
“Do you want me to suffer with you?” Her voice was so small, so pitiful. She sounded nothing like the Nymiria he knew. But, perhaps, the woman with the smart mouth and snarky tone was just a version of her. One of many. “Are you doing this to hurt me back?”
And this… this was what she tried to hide underneath it all.
Aziel shook his head, trying his damndest to keep his Death reigned in. “Why would you think that?” He asked, exasperated. “Nymiria, I don’t want you to be like me.” It was a confession that he’d been fumbling with for a long time, one that he’d struggled to even think about without hating himself. “I have reworked my soul to the point where there is hardly a single ounce of emotion left. That is notyou.”
“Why?” She whined. “I don’t want to feel anything anymore.”
“What makes you who you are, is your ability to feel things so deeply.” He smoothed her hair, watching as more color returned to her face. “I can’t take that away from you again. Not when it did nothing, but make it infinitely worse for you in the end.”
He remembered the moment he released her from the comfort of his death. He’d seen the damage it did to her soul. It had not completely rotted it, but the edges around his magic had started to bleed into her, mixing his darkness with her light. It would have consumed her eventually, if he hadn’t taken it away the night that Phyona had removed the first rune from Nymiria’s back.
She stared up at him, her chin quivering. “How can I let anyone love me like this?” She asked. “The things I’ve done…”
“I’ve done them, too.” Aziel amended. “You and I are not very different from one another. No matter what you seem to believe.And if you look at yourself like this, how am I supposed to feel about the things I’ve done?”
“But, you—”
“No.” He shook his head stiffly, allowing her to sit up on her own. “I am no better. In fact, I am so much worse than you could imagine.” There was a pause, his fingers curling in as rage flared in his chest. “We have to do better, Nymiria. We have to do better or all of that pain, everything wedid, everything we didn’t do… all of it will be for nothing. And if the best you can do is forgiving yourself, then that is just one step in the right direction. Make that be your focus for now.”
The “friend” that Aziel had initially taken her to meet never showed.
After Nymiria sat and calmed herself down, they waited for another hour before Aziel took it upon himself to best explain the runes and their importance.Caddat, azul, gris.She repeated them over and over again, ruminating over their meanings and definitions until they were seared into her brain.Caddat,for life.Azul, for balance.Gris,for justice.
There were more runes, some that Aziel did not have texts for, that he’d hoped his friend would be able to help them with, as his memory of them had become quite spotty. He could tell her a few of them, the ones that pertained to his own realm of power, but did not feel confident with the others.
Eventually, the sun started to set and what little light had been available in the cove at the altar was darkened by the evening’s shadows. They left the books beside the altar before they headed deeper into the forest, Aziel claiming that they would return for them the following day.
He led her closer to the mists, into that glamoured stretch of woods that looked like something out of a dream, The Twisted Willow and its spired arches stretching up into a magical, twinkling night sky.
“I figured you could use a drink.” Aziel said, turning to look at her when she paused and stared up at the establishment. “What is it?”
Nymiria shook her head, offering him a strained smile. “Nothing. I suppose it is all still very unfamiliar to me—returning to places like this. I still feel as if someone will pop out of the shadows and take me away.”
“Well,” he smirked. “The only person popping out of any shadows around here will be Trio. But I can assure you he will not take you away unless you ask him to.” He paused, humor crinkling his eyes. “Maybe. He can be quite unpredictable at times, so don’t hold me to that.”
The laugh that came out of her was real, but still quiet. She followed him into the Twisted Willow, her eyes immediately darting around the front room in search of any familiar faces. Much to her surprise, there were only two people in the entire room and one of them was behind the bar, the other was sweeping up broken glass in front of the counter.
Perhaps it’s been the glamour of the building when she was there before, or perhaps she’d just been too nervous about her mission to notice, but when she looked at the establishment now, she could see why it had been given its name.
The walls looked like the inside of a very large, hollowed-out tree. Roots jutted out from the floorboards, making it nearly impossible to journey across without having to watch your step or being very familiar with the place. To her right, twisted branches formed the banister of a staircase that led to the second floor, wide and knotted roots operating as the stairs, each individual root rising higher than the last, creating the incline.
The ceilings were hung with flowers and beads, all of them intricately woven with a shimmering thread that would be invisible if one did not look too closely.
The bar was made of a large log, glasses, tankards, and mugs sitting upon the branches that curved up into the air. Nymiria smiled. It’d definitely been the glamour that made this place look so different. She would have remembered something as charming as this.
