Ben Alderson

There was once a human and a dryad who fell in love. When the moon took its place in the sky and the sun bid farewell for another day, the man would run into the forest to greet his beloved. Night after night he would return, sharing tales of his day and listening to the songs the dryad had to share. Trust blossomed like spring flowers between them. As a gift, the dryad gave him something to represent her love. She couldn't give her heart, for without it she would perish, so, instead, the dryad gave him a piece of her that he could always carry with him. A reminder, during the long days they were separated. In his hand, it looked no more than a mundane piece of wood. But in truth, it was far more. It was imbued with the magic of the dryad, and the man came to know of it as the first amplifier.

I stepped further into the shadows. The only noise, besides my raspy breaths, was the slow drip of what sounded to be water. The louder it got, the more it taunted me. Something splashed onto the crown of my head. I shot up my hand to feel my hairline, only to find that my fingers came back wet and warm. I searched for the source, when another splash hit my cheek, close enough to my mouth that the taste leaked inside.

Iron burst across my tongue, knotting my stomach in disgust.

Then I looked up and found him. Julian had never fled. He had not run away, because he had no chance to.

In the pale light from the rising moon, I found his corpse.

Even in the dark, the mark was as clear as the waning moon in the sky. Three silvered circles, each overlapping one another. Through them were two sharp lines meeting in an X. It was hard to make out the finer details, but within the silver-scarred circles, I saw other marks. Smaller symbols I was all too familiar with but should never have seen on myself.

I pushed away from him, head thundering. It was as though Simion had taken a knife to my stomach and gutted me. Except it was not a blade which buried, soul deep, inside of me. It was his words. Words which haunted me as I left him, words which repeated over in my mind, growing louder and louder the more distance I put between us.

Lightning ripped from the sky. It tore down my arm, through my chest and filled me entirely. The hairs on my arms stood on end as bolts of white heat consumed me. I tasted the warmth across my tongue as it spread from my body to my mind. Like the beating of drums, the intense power built in pace.

I released it.

I dropped my gaze to his exposed forearms, marvelling over the scars littered across his skin. They left nothing untouched. Burn marks—old yet raw—mottled his ivory flesh. A map of tight skin, different shades of pink and brown.

There was a beauty to the scars; it was a landscape all onto its own.

Books stacked high atop the table. Some were left open, spines snapped, waiting for someone to finish reading them. It was a silly reaction, but I longed to relieve the books of their forced discomfort. Folding a page was one thing, but breaking the spine was practically criminal.

It was only when I replayed over the entire meeting, trying to find out what I had done, or said, to ruin the lie, when I realised Camron had left the room unlocked. No maid returned.

Camron, unlike the others, had not locked me away.

Take that emotion, take that fire inside of you, and mould it. Use it. And when you are given the chance, burn them. Bum them all.

Sometimes, those closest to us act in ways we could never comprehend, but it is important we give them the chance to explain.