The choice is impossible. How could I ever live with it? Choosing one over the other?
“Please, Nora,” Sorren begs from my right. “We’re fate bound. Meant to be. Each other’s destiny. I will cherish you. Love you for eternity. Pick me and you never have to be alone.”
“He lies to you,” Mom says, pointing a shaking finger at Sorren. “He’s not one of us. He’s a trickster. Not even human. Stay with me, Nora. This is the miracle you’ve been praying for. A chance to save me. Take it now. I’m begging you.”
My heart clenches at that because she’s right. So many nights I’ve laid awake, listening to her dry cough down the hallway, to her vomiting from chemo. I’ve prayed for divine intervention. Brokered my own soul. Anything to spare her. Maybe that’s what this whole journey has been about? Not for me to find love? But to save my mother?
“Nora,” says Sorren.
“Nora,” says Mom.
I step forward. To the sword. The thorns pierce my palm the moment I grasp it. White-hot pain explodes up my arm, and I cry out but don’t let go. Blood runs down the blade, coating the copper surface. The sword vibrates harder as if my blood feeds it, powers it.
“Do you choose your lover,” the voice says. “Or your mother?”
“I choose truth,” I grit out as I lift the blade. It’s heavy. My muscles strain and shake.
I turn and drive the blade forward. Into my mother’s chest where red blossoms like the ugliest flower. She collapses. Boneless. Lifeless.
Then I spin and, with a single slice, draw the blade across Sorren’s neck. His skin splits like a second mouth, grinning as he dies. His body sways once. Then falls.
For a full minute, I stand there.
The blood of my mother, Sorren, and me mingles at the tip of the blade, dripping in slow, rhythmic taps to the earth below.
I wait for the illusion to dissolve. For the lights to blaze on and the audience to clap. To tell me I was so clever for figuring it out. That I solved the riddle. That this was the only way.
One minute passes.
Then two.
Nothing changes.
Blood crawls across the ground, warm and relentless, spreading until it kisses my feet.
The blood of my beloved.
My kin.
I look from one body to the other. Sorren’s green eyes stare at nothing. My mother’s are glassy and vacant. No chest rises. No fingers twitch. No miracle comes. Nothing moves.
What have I done?
What have I done?
Was I fooled?
Have I willingly destroyed everything good in my life?
A sob tears out of me, and I crumple to my knees. The sword slips from my blood-slick hands, hitting the ground with a dull, final thud. I drag those stained hands over my face, smearing warmth, my own blood, across my skin, as if I can hide from what I’ve done.
“That’s it,” says the voice. “There’s no one left to love you.”
I cry harder.
The voice circles me. Soft. Intimate. Cruel. “You built your entire existence on being indispensable,” it murmurs. “You mistake usefulness for love.”
My hands tremble where they press against my face. Blood slicks between my fingers. Mixes with my tears.
