“From now on, you will never be by yourself, Harlot, facing life alone. In every shadow, I’ll be close to you, my tempest, by your side.”
He kisses my forehead, and with reserve, I start walking the cobblestoned streets I eagerly welcomed a few days ago. Back then, I arrived here full of excitement. Now, I feel restrained walking here; I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to walk these streets. I don’t want to face Mother or Fynn. I want to be with Emrys, and I crave the safety and comfort of his fortress. I watch Emrys disappear into the shadows, the darkness enveloping him, but I can still feel him— his presence pulsing inside me. His shadows rest on top of my skin, soothing me.
I walk past the square, eyeing the piles of ripped-apart corpses and the blood-stained stones; the stench of death is foul. I hover for a mere moment before I hear Emrys in my head, urging me to keep moving. And so I do; I move further into the city, which now feels foreign to me, a place I loathe and no longer belong to. I leave behind the decomposing bodies as I ponder where they came from. Did the vampires in this town organize some sick hunting game? The further I stray from the square, the less intense the smell becomes, and I can breathe properly again.
I stare at the inn's door, and it takes all I have to summon the courage to open it and step inside. As soon as I do, I notice heads turning.
DIARY ENTRIES:
We celebrated their first birthday today. It took everything in me not to burst into tears. Keir thought I was emotional that they were growing up. I am. But he has no idea.
I managed to stay away from you, you awful thing, for a whole year, but the compulsion became too strong. I was happy for one year. It allowed me to pretend. Pretend you did not exist. None of it exists. Yet here I am. I hope you’re happy that I am not. At least not fully. How can I be? They are two already. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Forging of Souls
FYNN
Chapter 7
“Fynn, look,” Caria says softly, her head craning around me, her eyes widening.
I turn as well, and I see Harlot walking into the inn as if she hadn't just disappeared for several days from me. I instantly see red at the sight of her.
“Fynn! Don’t!!” Caria cries.
Her voice reaches me, but not deep enough. I stride to Harlot and grab her arm roughly, making sure to pin my fingers in her delicate skin. Her eyes are like a thunderous, wild storm as she glares at me, as if her eyes no longer belong to her alone. A hatred I have never seen before shines through them. They are no longer light gray, more like a dark gray, an anthracite tone.
“Let go of me, Fynn. NOW,” she hisses.
Her words are laced with venom, like the serpent she is. Reluctantly, I let go of her. There’s something unusual about her, as if her mere essence has… changed. She rubs her arm, irritated.
“What did you do, Harlot?” I ask angrily.
She ignores me and storms past me upstairs to the room we inhabit.
I glance over at Caria. The witch looks at me, startled, then starts rummaging through the drawers at the bar. I squint my eyes at her. Suddenly, she becomes extremely busy. This doesn’t feel right; something's off. I look around and see nearly every creature staring at the stairs where my sister just disappeared.
“Caria?” I ask.
She acts as if she can’t hear me, ignoring me deliberately. I walk over to her and slam my hands on the counter, startling her.
“I saw the glimmer of panic in your eyes when you saw my sister, smelled her, whatever the fuck your kind does,” I snarl at her.
“Please, don’t do this, Fynn. Don’t force me,” Caria pleads.
Her head spins around, searching for something I can't see, her eyes now filled with anxiety. Frustrated, I run my hands through my hair instead of touching her skin.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Tell me what you can, please.”
Caria peeks at the stairs and other areas, ensuring Harlot cannot hear or see us talking. Her secretive behavior makes my skin crawl with unease. She walks over to the windows, pulls back the curtains, and sunlight floods in. Then she turns on the lights, and most shadows vanish.
“She smells… different,” she whispers.
“Her scent is mixed with another one—one I do not recognize…” she hesitates.
“I… if I tell you more, I could endanger your life, Fynn. Harlot did something stupid—like something majorly hazardous. Magic can only save and protect you so far, but what she did comes with a price.”
She glances once more over her shoulder, staring into a dark void. I try to see what she’s looking at, but I don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.
