Only Two Days Left of Giving.

It went by faster than I thought it would. If you're new to the blog, I did 12 Days of Giving of one of my novels. FATED TO DIE. It's a ya dark retelling. The premise can be found on my novels page. If you're interested in reading the ten chapters that I have posted so far, start at the first one titled, 12 Days of Giving. I'm adding some pictures from my Pinterest that relate to this chapter. Enjoy!

Pictures from left to right - The river, the woods, the bridge leading to town, the manor (Praya's home), Praya.

 

                                               

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

The trees blur as I sprint through the woods. A few times, I slip on the marshy ground. The river trails to my left, never far from sight. I could move toward dryer terrain but I'm afraid of getting lost. Then I'll never find my way back—or out of the woods.

This might be my only chance to see my family. Even though, the cottage let me leave, it doesn't mean Dacian will be happy. My guess is he'll be angry that I didn't tell him before I left. I would have, but, according to the plant, he was detained until later. If I had been able to tell him, he might have stopped me from going, and then I'd be angry with him.

Guilt slides through me over my actions and how he'll react—if he notices I’m gone. Hopefully, he won't. Hopefully, everything will be fine when I return.

Ahead, the white village appears through the trees. Although, my leg muscles and throat burn from exertion, I don't slow. If I do, I might stop and pass out, or worse, let fear send me back to the cottage.

The village bridge comes into view. Thick brush grows between the trees as if the woods wants to keep me from escaping too. Never slowing, I raise my arms in front of my face and plow through them. Thorny branches scratch my arms and hands. One nicks my cheek, another scrapes my neck and collarbone. My dress snags and tears at the hip.

I break out on the other side, ignoring the sting of my wounds and keep running. Instead of crossing the bridge, I tread under it to keep from being seen. Not that anyone is out in town this week. The only time people leave their homes is before dusk when they meet in the castle chapel to pray to the Blessed Ones. They ask for mercy and compassion, but no one dares to ask for the curse to be broken.

As the head Councilman, Mr. Winthrop opens and closes the service. He warns villagers not to become greedy, reminding us that greed is what landed us cursed in the first place. People worship him as if he were royalty. I suppose he's the closest thing we have, given his family has lead the Council since the day it was established.

Stepping stones aide my way across the river to the bank on the other side. Grass slopes down from the wall surrounding the village. I follow it the entrance of town, where another bridge leads to the manor.

Sweat coats my skin and burns the cuts on my body. Blood oozes from a few on my arms and hands. The wounds and my disheveled appearance won't help assure my family I'm doing well, surviving. Nothing I can do to chance it now.

My muscles scream for me to stop. My lungs feel like they've stopped working. Against my will, my legs slow to a fast walk. More than anything I want to lie down and sleep, after I guzzle a bucket of water. That can't happen though, not until after I see my family.

I come up from under the bridge that leads to our property and glimpse the white manor atop the hill in the distance. Home. Excitement gives me a second boost. I stride across the field, tall grass blowing under the sun, and start up the long driveway to the manor.

Magnolia trees line the way. At the top of the hill, I take a moment to catch my breath. I made it. I'm home. It seems unreal. Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back. They'll be plenty of time for crying later.

Colorful flowers brighten the gardens and perfume the air. The tops of blooming Crepe Myrtles sway in the breeze. Neighing sound from the barn at the bottom of the small hill. Does Daisy sense I'm back? I want to see her too, but I know there isn't time.

I listen for the giggles of the girls, frolicking somewhere on the property. This time of day they love to play outside. The manor is quiet. Too quiet.

My heart rate shoots back up, not that it had fully calmed. It had never fully calmed from racing to get here. I pinch the fabric of my dress, lifting it above my ankles, and race up the steps to the front entrance.

The big doors open with ease.

The foyer and winding staircase seem darker. The air is stuffy like the house has been closed up for the winter. Where is everyone?

"Father?" I call out, short of breath and cough.

No response.

"Girls? Girls! Where are you?" I take the stairs two at a time, my knees weak like they might give out.

No one replies.

On the way to their room, I pass Father's open bedroom door. He sits in the chair by the fireplace, his head hanging forward as if he's asleep.

"Father?" I inch toward him as a new fear takes hold of me. What if he's dead? "Father?" It comes out as a bark.

His head shoots up, but he doesn't look at me. His gaze lingers on dried-out wood in the fireplace. Deep lines carve a permanent frown on his weary face.

"Oh, Father." I drop down beside him and place my hands on his knee. What have I done to him? "Forgive me. Please forgive me."

Puffy blue eyes, streaked with red veins turn to me. "Praya?"

"I'm so sorry, Father," I cry, plead. "I don't know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know how sorry I am. I never meant to lie to you. I couldn't go through with it. Tristin was awful and I-I couldn't do it. I should have told you. I thought I would be safe. I never thought I'd be chosen." I rest my head on his knee and sniffle, tears flowing from my eyes. 

He doesn't touch me or move at all. "Is it really you?"

"Yes." I lift my head and squeeze his hand on his lap. "It's really me, but I don't have long." I glance at the clock again. Less than an hour. Oh no. I still need to see the girls.

He cups my cheek and wipes away tears with his thumb. "I thought I lost you forever."

Not yet, I want to say. Instead, I sniffle and cry a little more. "I'm still here, and if I can find a way to earn my freedom, I will." If I haven't lost it already. "Just know I love you and I'm fine."

His eyes seem to focus on me now, as if he’s just seeing me clearly. "You're hurt." He lifts his palm to the scratch on my cheek.

I take his hand in mine and kiss the top. "I'm fine. I promise. But I can't stay. I wish I could, but I can't."

"You can't leave." He clutches our joined hands and pulls me close. "I need you. The twins need you. We can't lose you, too."

Guilt, shame, and an achingly deep sorrow burrow in my heart. "I know. If I can make this right, I will. Trust that I will." I nod and swallow the lump of doubt in my throat. Am I spouting more lies? Aren't I already doomed? No. I can't think like that. "I have to go, Father." Slowly, I stand. "Be strong for me and for the girls. They need you, too."

He squeezes my hands, unwilling to let them go.

I kiss his forehead. "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

Pulling away from him takes all my strength. Once I'm free, I sprint from the room before he can protest or try to stop me. There's no time for long goodbyes. It won't change anything anyway.

Ignoring the pain in my heart, I race through the house in search of my sisters. Their room is empty. Seeing the rose patterned wallpaper and twin beds, their ribbon and bows, and their dolls tucked in their cradle—the cradle mother and I had been rocking them in the night she died—almost sends me to the floor.

What if I never see this again?

Forcing myself away, I check every room downstairs, mindful of the kitchen and laundry room in case the kitchen maid is working.

No one is here. With my time almost up, I check the back terrace. The twin's little voices catch my attention. I follow them to the garden on the side of the house.

Ivy covers every inch of the stone wall enclosing Mother's favorite retreat. The iron gate squeaks when I open it, but the twins don't notice. They stand by the fountain, arguing. Water speckles their apricot dresses like they've been splashing each other. Their golden hair hangs in messy curls down their backs and the sashes around their waists are tied in knots instead of bows.  Father's right. They need me, or else they risk sharing my same fate one day.

"Girls?" I step forward, warmth and love colliding with the hurt and guilt flooding my veins.

They freeze, and their already pale faces turn as white as the stone on the fountain. A moment later, they're rushing toward me, embracing me.

"You're free." Calyssa hugs me tighter.

"I knew you'd come back," Carys says, her face buried in my side. "I knew it."

I bend lower, enveloping them in my arms, wishing I could tell them everything is better and that I'm back for good. They smell of Plumeria and honey suckle, the best scents in the world. I drop a kiss on the top of their heads and force myself to straighten, or else I may never let them go.

The next words out of my mouth might be the hardest I ever say. "I am not free, and I don't have long, but I had to see you. I'm so sorry for what has happened. I’m sorry I didn't get to say goodbye before the ceremony, and for so many other things. If I could make it all better, I would—I will. For now, I need you to be strong for me. Help Father and help each other. Remember your manners and how to tie proper bows." I tease and tug at the sashes around their waists, while trying not to cry. "Be good and say your prayers at night before you go to bed. I'll be doing the same and thinking of you." I kiss their cheeks and fight the urge to hold them forever. "I love you."

"You're leaving again?" Heartbreak shows in Carys's green eyes.

"I don't want to."

"Then stay," she pleads, slicing a hole in my chest.

"I can't." My chin trembles. I’m barely keeping it together.

"Why?" She frowns and Calyssa takes her hand. Always the strong one, Calyssa lifts her chin, emotions darkening her teal eyes. "Why do you keep leaving? Where do you go? Father won't tell us. No one will." She stomps but her breath hitches, giving away her hurt. 

My sweet girl, defiant in ways that make me proud as well as fearful of her future. More than ever I want to break the curse, so she never has to know why I left, and why I'm leaving again. If I make it back to the cottage without being discovered, I will do whatever I must to free the village from this horror so my sisters can live whatever life they choose.

"It's better you don't learn about where I go," I say in the gentlest tone. "You have to trust me to know what's best and know I’m doing all I can to make it home to you."

Realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. I'm not making it better. I'm doing the opposite. Seeing them was selfish. If I truly cared, I would have stayed, followed the rules, and worked with Dacian to break the curse. Instead, I ran away to see my family at the risk of losing them forever and my chance to make a difference. The cottage said I could go, only now I'm not so sure it was the right choice.

"I'm sorry, girls. I must go. Remember how much I love you and how much I'll be thinking of you. Take care of Father for me, and Daisy. She needs you too." I squat to their level. "Can you do that? Please?"

Calyssa must sense my urgency because she doesn’t push back. She nods and Carys does the same. "We'll be good," Carys says.

I can't stop a tear from falling down my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it away. "You are good, so good." One last time, I wrap my arms around their little bodies and breathe in their sweet scents. "My girls. My beautiful strong girls. I love you with all my heart."

Straightening, I fight my sniffles and manage a warm smile. They don't know this could be the last time they see me. They don't know what might await them if I lose the chance to break the curse.

My legs feel weighted as I back away, my chest heavy with grief. Every part of me wants to stay and play in the gardens, tuck them into bed, and wake up with them tomorrow as if nothing has changed.  

I blow them a kiss and run for the woods, the cottage, and the consequences that might await.

"Hear me, Blessed Ones," I pray, "forgive me for my defiance and save me from having ruined my chance to break the curse. If you do, I vow to find a way to free the village forever, no matter what happens to me."

Only two days left of giving. It went by faster than I thought it would. If you're new to the blog, I did 12 Days of Giving of one of my novels. FATED TO DIE. It's a ya dark retelling. The premise can be found on my novels page. If you're interested in reading the ten chapters that I have posted so far, start at the first one titled, 12 Days of Giving. I'm adding some pictures from my Pinterest that relate to this chapter. Enjoy!

Pictures from left to right - The river, the woods, the bridge leading to town, the manor (Praya's home), Praya.

SLXLM

 

                                               

MXLLS

 

SLXLM

 

MXLLS

 

SLXLM

 

CHAPTER TEN

The trees blur as I sprint through the woods. A few times, I slip on the marshy ground. The river trails to my left, never far from sight. I could move toward dryer terrain but I'm afraid of getting lost. Then I'll never find my way back—or out of the woods.

This might be my only chance to see my family. Even though, the cottage let me leave, it doesn't mean Dacian will be happy. My guess is he'll be angry that I didn't tell him before I left. I would have, but, according to the plant, he was detained until later. If I had been able to tell him, he might have stopped me from going, and then I'd be angry with him.

Guilt slides through me over my actions and how he'll react—if he notices I’m gone. Hopefully, he won't. Hopefully, everything will be fine when I return.

Ahead, the white village appears through the trees. Although, my leg muscles and throat burn from exertion, I don't slow. If I do, I might stop and pass out, or worse, let fear send me back to the cottage.

The village bridge comes into view. Thick brush grows between the trees as if the woods wants to keep me from escaping too. Never slowing, I raise my arms in front of my face and plow through them. Thorny branches scratch my arms and hands. One nicks my cheek, another scrapes my neck and collarbone. My dress snags and tears at the hip.

I break out on the other side, ignoring the sting of my wounds and keep running. Instead of crossing the bridge, I tread under it to keep from being seen. Not that anyone is out in town this week. The only time people leave their homes is before dusk when they meet in the castle chapel to pray to the Blessed Ones. They ask for mercy and compassion, but no one dares to ask for the curse to be broken.

As the head Councilman, Mr. Winthrop opens and closes the service. He warns villagers not to become greedy, reminding us that greed is what landed us cursed in the first place. People worship him as if he were royalty. I suppose he's the closest thing we have, given his family has lead the Council since the day it was established.

Stepping stones aide my way across the river to the bank on the other side. Grass slopes down from the wall surrounding the village. I follow it the entrance of town, where another bridge leads to the manor.

Sweat coats my skin and burns the cuts on my body. Blood oozes from a few on my arms and hands. The wounds and my disheveled appearance won't help assure my family I'm doing well, surviving. Nothing I can do to chance it now.

My muscles scream for me to stop. My lungs feel like they've stopped working. Against my will, my legs slow to a fast walk. More than anything I want to lie down and sleep, after I guzzle a bucket of water. That can't happen though, not until after I see my family.

I come up from under the bridge that leads to our property and glimpse the white manor atop the hill in the distance. Home. Excitement gives me a second boost. I stride across the field, tall grass blowing under the sun, and start up the long driveway to the manor.

Magnolia trees line the way. At the top of the hill, I take a moment to catch my breath. I made it. I'm home. It seems unreal. Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back. They'll be plenty of time for crying later.

Colorful flowers brighten the gardens and perfume the air. The tops of blooming Crepe Myrtles sway in the breeze. Neighing sound from the barn at the bottom of the small hill. Does Daisy sense I'm back? I want to see her too, but I know there isn't time.

I listen for the giggles of the girls, frolicking somewhere on the property. This time of day they love to play outside. The manor is quiet. Too quiet.

My heart rate shoots back up, not that it had fully calmed. It had never fully calmed from racing to get here. I pinch the fabric of my dress, lifting it above my ankles, and race up the steps to the front entrance.

The big doors open with ease.

The foyer and winding staircase seem darker. The air is stuffy like the house has been closed up for the winter. Where is everyone?

"Father?" I call out, short of breath and cough.

No response.

"Girls? Girls! Where are you?" I take the stairs two at a time, my knees weak like they might give out.

No one replies.

On the way to their room, I pass Father's open bedroom door. He sits in the chair by the fireplace, his head hanging forward as if he's asleep.

"Father?" I inch toward him as a new fear takes hold of me. What if he's dead? "Father?" It comes out as a bark.

His head shoots up, but he doesn't look at me. His gaze lingers on dried-out wood in the fireplace. Deep lines carve a permanent frown on his weary face.

"Oh, Father." I drop down beside him and place my hands on his knee. What have I done to him? "Forgive me. Please forgive me."

Puffy blue eyes, streaked with red veins turn to me. "Praya?"

"I'm so sorry, Father," I cry, plead. "I don't know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know how sorry I am. I never meant to lie to you. I couldn't go through with it. Tristin was awful and I-I couldn't do it. I should have told you. I thought I would be safe. I never thought I'd be chosen." I rest my head on his knee and sniffle, tears flowing from my eyes. 

He doesn't touch me or move at all. "Is it really you?"

"Yes." I lift my head and squeeze his hand on his lap. "It's really me, but I don't have long." I glance at the clock again. Less than an hour. Oh no. I still need to see the girls.

He cups my cheek and wipes away tears with his thumb. "I thought I lost you forever."

Not yet, I want to say. Instead, I sniffle and cry a little more. "I'm still here, and if I can find a way to earn my freedom, I will." If I haven't lost it already. "Just know I love you and I'm fine."

His eyes seem to focus on me now, as if he’s just seeing me clearly. "You're hurt." He lifts his palm to the scratch on my cheek.

I take his hand in mine and kiss the top. "I'm fine. I promise. But I can't stay. I wish I could, but I can't."

"You can't leave." He clutches our joined hands and pulls me close. "I need you. The twins need you. We can't lose you, too."

Guilt, shame, and an achingly deep sorrow burrow in my heart. "I know. If I can make this right, I will. Trust that I will." I nod and swallow the lump of doubt in my throat. Am I spouting more lies? Aren't I already doomed? No. I can't think like that. "I have to go, Father." Slowly, I stand. "Be strong for me and for the girls. They need you, too."

He squeezes my hands, unwilling to let them go.

I kiss his forehead. "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

Pulling away from him takes all my strength. Once I'm free, I sprint from the room before he can protest or try to stop me. There's no time for long goodbyes. It won't change anything anyway.

Ignoring the pain in my heart, I race through the house in search of my sisters. Their room is empty. Seeing the rose patterned wallpaper and twin beds, their ribbon and bows, and their dolls tucked in their cradle—the cradle mother and I had been rocking them in the night she died—almost sends me to the floor.

What if I never see this again?

Forcing myself away, I check every room downstairs, mindful of the kitchen and laundry room in case the kitchen maid is working.

No one is here. With my time almost up, I check the back terrace. The twin's little voices catch my attention. I follow them to the garden on the side of the house.

Ivy covers every inch of the stone wall enclosing Mother's favorite retreat. The iron gate squeaks when I open it, but the twins don't notice. They stand by the fountain, arguing. Water speckles their apricot dresses like they've been splashing each other. Their golden hair hangs in messy curls down their backs and the sashes around their waists are tied in knots instead of bows.  Father's right. They need me, or else they risk sharing my same fate one day.

"Girls?" I step forward, warmth and love colliding with the hurt and guilt flooding my veins.

They freeze, and their already pale faces turn as white as the stone on the fountain. A moment later, they're rushing toward me, embracing me.

"You're free." Calyssa hugs me tighter.

"I knew you'd come back," Carys says, her face buried in my side. "I knew it."

I bend lower, enveloping them in my arms, wishing I could tell them everything is better and that I'm back for good. They smell of Plumeria and honey suckle, the best scents in the world. I drop a kiss on the top of their heads and force myself to straighten, or else I may never let them go.

The next words out of my mouth might be the hardest I ever say. "I am not free, and I don't have long, but I had to see you. I'm so sorry for what has happened. I’m sorry I didn't get to say goodbye before the ceremony, and for so many other things. If I could make it all better, I would—I will. For now, I need you to be strong for me. Help Father and help each other. Remember your manners and how to tie proper bows." I tease and tug at the sashes around their waists, while trying not to cry. "Be good and say your prayers at night before you go to bed. I'll be doing the same and thinking of you." I kiss their cheeks and fight the urge to hold them forever. "I love you."

"You're leaving again?" Heartbreak shows in Carys's green eyes.

"I don't want to."

"Then stay," she pleads, slicing a hole in my chest.

"I can't." My chin trembles. I’m barely keeping it together.

"Why?" She frowns and Calyssa takes her hand. Always the strong one, Calyssa lifts her chin, emotions darkening her teal eyes. "Why do you keep leaving? Where do you go? Father won't tell us. No one will." She stomps but her breath hitches, giving away her hurt. 

My sweet girl, defiant in ways that make me proud as well as fearful of her future. More than ever I want to break the curse, so she never has to know why I left, and why I'm leaving again. If I make it back to the cottage without being discovered, I will do whatever I must to free the village from this horror so my sisters can live whatever life they choose.

"It's better you don't learn about where I go," I say in the gentlest tone. "You have to trust me to know what's best and know I’m doing all I can to make it home to you."

Realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. I'm not making it better. I'm doing the opposite. Seeing them was selfish. If I truly cared, I would have stayed, followed the rules, and worked with Dacian to break the curse. Instead, I ran away to see my family at the risk of losing them forever and my chance to make a difference. The cottage said I could go, only now I'm not so sure it was the right choice.

"I'm sorry, girls. I must go. Remember how much I love you and how much I'll be thinking of you. Take care of Father for me, and Daisy. She needs you too." I squat to their level. "Can you do that? Please?"

Calyssa must sense my urgency because she doesn’t push back. She nods and Carys does the same. "We'll be good," Carys says.

I can't stop a tear from falling down my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it away. "You are good, so good." One last time, I wrap my arms around their little bodies and breathe in their sweet scents. "My girls. My beautiful strong girls. I love you with all my heart."

Straightening, I fight my sniffles and manage a warm smile. They don't know this could be the last time they see me. They don't know what might await them if I lose the chance to break the curse.

My legs feel weighted as I back away, my chest heavy with grief. Every part of me wants to stay and play in the gardens, tuck them into bed, and wake up with them tomorrow as if nothing has changed.  

I blow them a kiss and run for the woods, the cottage, and the consequences that might await.

"Hear me, Blessed Ones," I pray, "forgive me for my defiance and save me from having ruined my chance to break the curse. If you do, I vow to find a way to free the village forever, no matter what happens to me."

The Fate of Chapter Nine

It's time for chapter nine. You'll get the whole one in this post. The chapter isn't long like the previous two-part post. 

I don't know about you, but I'm enjoying this. Who'd have thought posting chapters to one of my ms's would inspire me to do more writing. It might be the new year, or sharing this fun read with you but creative juices are flowing. 

This chapter is filled with action and, of course, strong emotions. This novel is filled with both, which is uncommon for me. LOL  I'm learning.

Anywho, enjoy the new chapter! 

CHAPTER NINE

Cold fear slices through me like a blade made of ice. I dig my heels into the gravel. The door is mere steps away, but I can't stop. No matter what I do or say, the shirt tugs me forward, closer to its victim.  

"No! Not here! Not this house!" The words rip from my throat, raw with panic and desperation. "Dacian?" I call out, searching for him in the darkness. He's not with me.

Light shines in the upstairs window of the manor. In his night robe, Father peers out, his face ashen, his wrinkles deeper than I remember. He's straining to see me, but it's too dark.

"Don't come out!" I shout to him, trembling and straining against the pull. "Stay inside. Don't open the door!" This can't be happening. Not again. He's suffered enough. Why more? Why now?

Rage engulfs me. I let out a warrior scream and throw my body backward. I'll run off a cliff if I have to, but I won't deliver this. The shirt doesn't surrender, not even an inch. Tears blur my vision and stream down my cheeks. To the night, the curse and the Washer Woman, I beg, "Take me! Take me instead!"

I shoot upright in the chair. My throat burns, and sweat coats my face. I'm in the cottage, not back at home with Father’s blood-stained shirt.

My heart races. I put my hand to my chest and urge myself to calm down.

"It was only a dream. Only a dream," I murmur until the panic and fear leave me.

When I open my eyes, the cottage is different.

It's not grimy or pristine, it's somewhere in between. Light oak panels make up the walls and floors. The furniture is sturdy yet slightly worn, like the furnishings at home in the manor. Soft light filters through the windows and warm oats sweeten the air. Breakfast is waiting for me on the table.

"Thank you," I tell the cottage, my voice still weak from my cries.

I stand and flatten my hand over my rolling stomach, still sick with worry. The last thing I am is hungry, but I don't want to offend the cottage by not eating.

At the table, I sit and nibble on blueberry and cream oats. I drink some orange juice, too. Neither eases the tension inside me. Nothing will make me feel better, except for seeing my family.

"All I want is to know they're all right." A tear slips down my cheek, then another. I don't wipe them away. One falls to the floor, darkening a small part of the white wood.

White?

The cottage is back to its cozy, clean self. Does it feel sorry for me? Does it know my pain?

Standing, I address the cottage. "Would you be so kind as to summon Dacian for me, please? I need to speak with him."

If I beg, he might take pity on me and help me get a letter to my family. I can't go on without communicating with them somehow.

"Please." My voice breaks.  

Nothing happens.

Instead of getting upset, I drag myself over to the chair and sit. My body feels heavy, weighted by emotions I’m not used to experiencing. Tucking them away is my specialty. Taking control and forging on, no matter the obstacles.

That's why I refuse to believe this is it for me or for my family. Determination fueling me, I pound a fist on the chair. There must be something I can do to change things in my favor. Something other than reading that book.

I glance at it on the table. It's too thick. If I had a month, I might be able to do it, but seven days is hardly enough time.

"Please help me." I look up to the Blessed Ones. "Help me to find a way."

Movement by the door snatches my gaze. A fat leaf falls to the floor.

Is the plant ill?

It appears to be healthy. The leaves hang in a relaxed manner. The coloring seems as vibrant as ever. Even the leaf on the floor is green. Gold writing glistens from it.

I snatch it up and read. Dacian will not be visiting until this afternoon.

"You can communicate," I gasp, even as my shoulders slump. Now I’ll have less time to convince Dacian to reach out to my family.

Another idea arises.  If my intuition is correct, the cottage and plant, maybe even the Blessed Ones, have taken pity on me. If I play my cards right, I might be able to use it to my advantage.

I draw in a deep breath. Please don't let this backfire on me.

"Might I offer you a trade? I'm worried about my family," I say, careful of my words. "I have younger sisters, twins who are lost without me. If I could be granted permission to let them know I’m all right, that I miss and love them, I would gladly clean and care for you in return for your kindness."

Moments pass in silence. When nothing happens, I gather the bowl and cup into a neat pile and use the napkin to wipe the table.

"You see? I'm quite good at tidying up. I have much practice caring for the home where I've lived for several years now."

Please work.

Next, I take the cloth napkin to the mantle above the fireplace and wipe it clean, though there isn't anything to clean off. Then, I fluff the cushions on the chair. I'm about to wipe down the small table when another leaf falls to the floor.

I squeeze my eyes closed with a silent prayer—please let it be good news—and bend to pick up the leaf. Gold words glint from one side.

You have been granted two hours. Do not be late.

I can leave? I can't believe it. I don't know what I was expecting but this—wait. What if it's a trap, like the bird.

The door isn't opening like the window did. And this came from the plant inside the cottage. Dacian said the cottage will protect me. Does that mean I can trust it to leave?

I don't want to upset the plant, afraid he'll take his offer away, but I need to be safe. "I hate to ask but is this a trap?"

The top leaf shifts to the side. A shake of the head?

"And I won't be punished?"

The leaf moves to the other side.

Still, nervous, I press in the gentlest way. "How is this allowed? Is it something other maidens have been granted or just me?"

A moment passes then another leaf falls to the floor. I pick it up and read the gold script.

No other maiden asked. Ask the right questions, get the right answers.

Dacian said a similar phrase to me. He also said the other maidens spent their time crying and begging to be set free. Perhaps, they never asked if they could leave and come back, or perhaps, my kind gesture of cleaning and trading favors made the difference.

Another leaf falls.

Go now.

My pulse jumps. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much." I put the leaves in my pocket and open the door.

Fear seizes me and I struggle to move. When my feet touched the ground outside the window, it turned black and tried to suck me under. Heart pounding, I glance at the plant. Its green leaves fall in a relaxed position. Does that mean it's safe? I hate that I don't know. I hate that I'm scared. This could be my one chance to see my family and I'm wasting time.

A nervous squeal bursts from my lips. The plant does nothing to assure me. I grip the door frame and ease one slippered foot onto the mossy ground outside. It remains solid under my weight. With my hands still clutching the door frame, in case I need to pull myself back in, I step down with my other foot and wait. No bird chirps. The woods don't darken, and the ground doesn't disappear.

 Two urges strike me, leaving me torn. Jump back into the cottage, or take off through the woods. Mother used to say, "If you think for too long, you often think wrong."

My legs and arms shake with my nerves. The plant hasn't moved, as if it’s sleeping. Shoving my fear to my toes, I let go of the door frame and run.

In my haste, I slip a few times on the marshy ground and bang my shin when I jump over a fallen tree. Panic keeps me going until I realize I don't know the way out of the woods. I've never spent time on this side of the forest. By my house, the woods get darker and thicker the deeper I go, and thinner where the trees meet open land.

Here, I don't see a change. Everything is thick and dark. I need to stop and check my surroundings. No matter how afraid I am to slow down, if I don't, I'll never find my way out.

My heart hammers and my faster breathing dries my throat. I'm not sure how far I ran, only that I can't find the cottage. To keep moving, I walk around trees, surveying the area. Nothing looks familiar. Panic builds inside me. How do I get anywhere from here? I'm lost. Lost.

My eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall. I did this to myself. My breath hitches and a familiar scent fills my nose. The river. I can smell it in the air. I must be close.

If I can find it, I can follow the direction of the current. It will lead me to the village.

Relief transforms my fear into determination. Following the scent, I round trees and hop over roots jutting from the ground. The air grows moist and rushing water sounds ahead. 

A long row of hedges blocks my view, but I’m certain the river is on the other side. With no end in sight of the fortress-like shrubs, I choose to cut through them. Most likely, I'll get scraped up, but it will save on time.  

At the hedges, I search the leaves for a thinning area. Mumbled voices sound from the other side. For a moment, I think it's villagers, even though they never venture into the woods during the week of the Summer Solstice. I think they're here to save me, no matter how preposterous the idea. Then the air turns cold and dread seeps into my bones, alerting me to who is talking.

"You should be more cautious about visiting, child," the Washer Woman says, her voice dripping with such sorrow and pain, I physically ache.

Warnings fire inside me, screaming for me to leave before she catches me or lightning strikes the rocks, but my legs are frozen, my feet anchored in what feels like blocks of ice.

Like a lasso around my neck, my head jerks toward a small break in the hedges. Fog rises from the river like plumes of smoke, masking two figures. Their dark silhouettes appear to be standing on the surface of the water. Both are tall and human in shape. Who is this other person?

"You know why I come." Dacian's voice rings clear.

Panic and terror blasts through me, melting the chill from my skin, and still, I can't force my legs to move. What if they hear me? What will they do?

"Praya," Dacian says.

My heart lodges in my throat. They know!

"She's not like the others," he adds, and I can breathe again. "She's smarter, braver, and irrational in a way that works to her advantage. We talk. She asks questions. She pushes the limits and it’s changing things. It's making me stronger. I can influence my powers in ways I couldn’t before." 

"This is not for my ears, Dacian. You know better." Anger grates in his mother's voice. The fog darkens to a stormy gray. "I cannot stop the consequences if we're caught."

Caught? By who?

"Then help me," Dacian implores. "Tell me the right answers to seek. She could be the—"

 "Silence," she bellows. Lightning strikes in the fog, bright and blinding.

The hair on my arms stand. I shiver and cover my ears to lesson the loud boom that often follows a bolt like that. It never comes.

From the hedge, a black snake slithers around my feet. It's orange tongue flickers from its mouth with a hissing sound. The tail brushes over the toe of my slipper. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from shrieking. It circles back into the bush, leaving me in tremors—part from the snake and part from the situation.

I need to run away. I want to, but they might hear me.

Footsteps trudge over debris, drawing closer. I squat low to the ground and hold my breath. The snake could be beside me in the bush, waiting to strike. The Washer Woman could enslave me for a year after my service for breaking the rules. This could be it for me. The end.

"What is it, my dear?" the Washer Woman asks, the endearment sounding off in her glum voice.

The footsteps stop on the other side of the hedge. "It's a snake," Dacian replies so close that if I stuck my hand through the shrub, I bet I could touch his leg. "A big black one. We're fine."

"We are never fine." His mother declares. "Stand back so I can kill it."

Dacian's shoes scuffle away.

I need to go. Now. Rising, I lift the hem of my dress and run.

Light flashes through the woods. Thunder clashes and a whoosh of air sends me stumbling forward. I fall and throw out my hands to catch myself. My arm and cheek scrape against a twig sticking up from the ground.

Water gushes behind me, like the falls at Mount Loras. I glance over my shoulder, terrified its rushing toward me.

A wall of water crashes over the hedges where I was squatting a moment ago. I blink, not trusting my eyes. Like a flood, the water sweeps away the hedges and recedes to the river.

I jump up and push my legs to go as fast they can. My heart pounds. Every part of my body shakes. I can't breathe or think, but I keep going, afraid any second the Washer Woman will call for me and I'll be forced to greet her.

Happy New Year

Wow. I can't believe another year is gone. Time really does seem to fly by as you get older. It's freezing in Florida. My blood is too thin for this weather. #Floridagirl 

I hope you had an amazing New Years Day! Stay warm, friends!

CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

Dacian straightens to his full height, and I imagine a huge smile is on his face.

We pass under the arched branch and step into a small clearing. Wisteria trees surround the area, perfuming the air with its sweet scent. White flowery vines wrap around the trunks of the trees, and the ground is covered with a thick layer of floral shrubbery. My slippers sink into soft flowerbeds as we move to stand in the center of the small meadow.

Dacian stops and faces me. Excitement radiates from him. I can feel it charging the air. "What is your favorite color?"

Ever since Mother died, I've answered that question with yellow, but the color I love more than any other belongs to the Plumerias that grow in the gardens at the manor.

"Bright pink," I tell him, eager to see what he does.

"Close your eyes."

I scan the green and white scenery one last time and then do as he says.

"Now open them."

The leaves, the vines, the thick shrubbery on the ground are all pink, bright glorious pink. The color is everywhere, except for some green leaves sprinkled throughout and what little bark you can see.

Beaming, I twirl and take it all in. "How did you do this?"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it!"

"Pick another color." His breath is as heightened as mine.

Thinking of the girls, I blurt, "Lavender. Do I have to close my eyes again?"

"No. Just the first time so it would be amazing."

He lifts his arms to the side. The fog swirling his body turns lavender. Then he snaps his arms at the elbows as if to release the color into the air. In a blink, everything is lavender.

I giggle, smile, and come so close to shedding a tear. "This is the twin's favorite color." It makes me miss them even more.

"What are their names?" Dacian asks.

"Calyssa and Carys." Before I can stop myself, I babble, "Calyssa is headstrong and too curious for her own good, while Carys is as soft as a summer breeze but loyal to her sister to the point that she'd follow her anywhere." I make a soft laugh. "They have so much of my mother in them, like they each took half of her personality."

"You loved your mother dearly?" he asks as if this puzzles him.

"Of course, I did." I shrug. "Don't you love your mother in some way?"

He draws in a deep breath, and the color fades from the trees, returning to white and green. "We should go."

Worried I upset him, I don't dispute his need to leave, even though I want to stay here longer.

The trip back to the cottage seems shorter than it did on our way to the wisteria garden.  The sun stays hidden behind clouds the entire way. The straw roof comes into view first. Though dirty, the yellow color stands out against all the greenery. The wood framing of the exterior looks as gloomy as it did when we left. I assume the inside is the same.  

Dacian stops at the door, mist swirling his tall form. "This is where I leave you."

"What? Why?" I blurt, only then realizing how dramatic I sound. "I mean, why are you leaving now? We just got back, and I thought we could read the book together, or rather, I could read it to you."

"It's easier if I leave here. I'm cloaked, so you don’t have to keep your head down," he explains with a lift of his shoulders.

"Is it because of what I said about your mother?" I’m convinced this has something to do with his sudden desire to part ways. "I meant no harm by it, no judgment. She's your mother," I say with compassion. "You must have some emotional connection to her, whether you want to or not."

He doesn't say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me. To know their color would be wonderful. Maybe he could tell me.

"Dacian?" I reach up to touch his face.

He catches my wrist, his grip soft yet firm. "Read. Rest. If death chooses another victim, I'll come for you at sunset."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll see you in the morning."

I force my feet to stay in place when he walks away. He follows the big tree to left like he's headed for the back of the cottage.

"Thank you for today!" I call out before he vanishes from my sight. "It was kind of you to share that with me."

Again, he pauses but only long enough to say, "You're welcome."

Then he's gone.

The woods are quiet and dim like the sun has set, even though it hasn't. In the summer, an orange glow always appears before it does. Part of me wants to explore the area and see if I can find where Dacian goes. Does he visit his mother? What does she do during the day? Hang out by the river, or return under the water until dusk? Perhaps these are the questions Dacian referred to and the answers are in the book.

When I turn to enter the cottage, the door is open. Fear flashes through me but fades when I notice the inside is light and cozy. The cottage is happy with me again. Why? Because I'm calm, because I want to go inside, because I was kind to Dacian and thanked him?

It's all such a mystery.

"Thank you," I tell the cottage as I climb the step and cross the threshold.

Everything inside appears clean and new. A fire crackles beneath the stone hearth. Even though it's summer, the warmth is nice, not too hot.

On the table, a glass of juice, a cup of tea, bread, and a bowl of soup wait for me. My nose tells me it's chicken soup, and my stomach rumbles.

Something shimmers on the other side of the room. The gold etching of the book ripple as if calling to me. I bring it to the table so I can read while I eat.

When my stomach has had more than enough of the delicious food, I move to the chair and nestle into the soft cushions. The lights dim slightly, making the room even cozier.

I set the brooch on the table and continue reading. So far, I haven't found anything new about Bretta and her jealousy for Queen Alys. Even as a child, Bretta acted spitefully toward her older sister.

The next page shows a portrait of them. The original hangs in the castle hall. I saw it from a distance long ago when Mother and I were in town.  

It must have been hard for her, looking so different from everyone.  I imagine it didn't earn her any favor with the people. Maybe that added to her bitterness toward her sister.

My mouth opens wide with a yawn. I rub my eyes. How long have I been reading? Outside the window, it looks black. Night has fallen.

Dacian never came for me. No one will die this evening. I should be relieved, but tomorrow is a new day with the chance of another victim, and I've yet to find anything in this book that can help.

I let out a frustrated groan and slam the book closed.

The lights flicker and turn off, leaving me in the dark.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean it. I'm frustrated, and I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."

The cottage remains dark. I can't even see my hand in front of my face. I could apologize again, beg for forgiveness, but it wouldn't be genuine, and I'm certain the cottage would know.

The truth is, I'm tired, homesick, and desperate to see my family. And now I can't even read more because this overly sensitive cottage is angry with me.

A chill spreads through the room. I shiver and draw my legs close, huddling in the corner of the chair. It no longer feels soft and cushy. The cottage must have turned back to its rotted self.  Will I ever be enough to please it? Is that even possible?

Instead of working to charm the cottage into its cozy state, I accept the punishment as payment for not being honest with my family about Tristin, for allowing them to think everything would be fine, and for not being there now to take care of them, like I had promised Mother I would.

SAY THIS FIVE TIMES FAST

Five days left of the twelve days of giving. Say that five times fast. LOL

It's crazy that I've been able to stick with this given how tired the holidays makes me. It could be all the extra carbs and candy. What goes up (my blood sugar) must come down. The cold weather is not helping, either. I want to live in my furry jammies 24/7. Yes, I said cold even though this is Florida. Next week it will be in the thirties at night. What? That's cray! Cray!

Anyway. (Not trying to rhyme) Here is the next chapter. It is long so I cut it in half, a little more than half. If it is a little less than clean, I apologize. It was either proof it, again, even though my eyes water everytime I focus on my laptop's glowing screen, or post it. The alternative--miss a day. Would you forgive me?  

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Hope?" I ask and twist on the floor until my body faces the sound of his voice.

"Let's take a walk," he says.

"Where? The cottage isn't that big."

"Outside."

"Outside of the cottage?"

"Yes."

"Outside in the woods?" I ask in disbelief.

He laughs softly. "Yes, Praya, in the woods."

I sit taller. "Can we do that? I thought it was against the rules."

"I told you, there are some things I can control. Now remember, no peeking." Long fingers curl around my hands and pull me to my feet. "Get dressed. I'll meet you by the front door."

The new lightness to his tone fills me with warmth.

I suspect I'm the reason for his happiness, but I don't know if the pride running through me is warranted. For all I know, this new emotion of his could work against me and go against his mother's rules. The curse’s rules. I don't want to take it away from him, though. To have never laughed is such a sad thing. I want to hear him do it again, harder and louder, so he can experience one of the best feelings in the world.

The bedroom door closes with a soft thud. I open my eyes. As soon as my vision clears, I spy my white dress on the hook. It's freshly laundered, the butterfly brooch clean and safe in the pocket. The cottage is clean, too, the ragged condition it changed to now gone.

The wonders of the place. "Thank you," I murmur to the cottage.

I slip into my dress, put on my beaded slippers, also clean, and hurry to the bedroom door. Before opening it, I bow my head, staring only at the wood floors. 

Dacian's boots are visible when I approach the front door. "You look lovely," he says.

I touch my hair, aware of how messy it is and wonder if he's teasing me. But Dacian doesn’t tease.

"I forgot to pull it back." The strands hang loosely around my face, the curls at my waist, frizzing at the ends.

"I like it," he says, a soft smile in his voice.

"Is this allowed, us leaving?" My muscles twitch.

"We won't be long." Now his tone is deep and direct, so different from a moment ago. He takes my hand and opens the door.

"We don't have to go for a walk," I say. "I'm fine with staying here."

"I wasn’t talking to you. I was telling Amus, so he doesn't worry or act out while we're gone. He can be quite loud."

"Who?" Is there another person with us? Should I be concerned?

"The plant." Dacian says.

We step outside. Soft grass cushions my feet and a cool breeze caresses my skin. The day is picnic-perfect. I want to take in the surrounding woods. Instead, I keep my head down and focus on my slippers as he leads me to a narrow trail on our right.

"The plant has a name?" This is bizarre, but then so is everything about this situation.

"I gave it to him. He's the closest thing to a pet I've ever had, no matter how annoying he can be."

I can't help but laugh. "He annoys you, too?"

"Only when he lets out that obnoxious squawk. Since it's his job, it might be unfair of me to hold it against him."

"What do you mean, his job?"

Fallen leaves and twigs crunch beneath our steps.

"Rousing my mother's attention. It's why I first made friends with him. I trained him to report only to me. It's worked for years, though I still get nervous, knowing he can alert her."

I stop. "We should go back. I don't want you to get in trouble—or me."

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "We won't. There are things I want to say that should not be spoken in his presence. It's why I suggested the walk. That and I wanted to show you something, which reminds me you don't have to avert your eyes. We're outside. You may look where you please." The smile returns to his voice.

I lift my head. His misty hand clutches mine, the outline of his dark form cloaked in fog like a cloud. I wish I could see his face, to know the curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes. I suspect he has both features, though I also suspect they are not normal, hence his need to keep them hidden.

"You choose to look at me when there is a beautiful forest around you," he says. "It is quite lovely in the daytime. I would think you'd want to see it with all the darkness around you lately."

An unfamiliar and incredibly delightful feeling stirs inside me. I smile at his hazy face and then glance around. Sunlight filters through the tall trees, glinting off the different shades of green like gold. The breeze sets everything a flutter, like the wings of a butterfly. Birds chirp from somewhere to my left, and twigs snap to my right. Is it a bunny, a squirrel?

The forest is most lovely during the day. I feel I've been away from it for too long. Was it just the other day I had been taken? It seems much longer.

"Thank you." I sigh, so grateful for this.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the best part."

Dacian and I walk farther down the trail. At some point, he got ahead of me by a few steps. I use the opportunity to study him.

Sunlight filters through the trees and shines directly on him. It makes the mist hugging his body near transparent. His shoulders aren't too wide, just enough so that his torso tapers into a trim waist, creating a nice "V" shape. His legs seem strong and in proportion with his body. Nothing appears deformed or unusual. Perhaps, his skin is disfigured. The back of his head is dark with about half of his neck visible. Either he's wearing a bulky hat or his hair is black and grown out.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" I ask, assuming we're far enough away from the cottage for anyone, even a plant, to hear us. Maybe he's going to tell me why he hides himself from me.

"Have you read more of the book?" He brushes a low branch out of the way.

"Not since the other day. Why?"

He glances back at me. The fog shifts ahead, leaving a trail. "The book has answers to questions you've yet to ask." 

"What kind of questions?"

"I am not permitted to say. When you learn information from the book, you can ask me about it. I can't open the dialogue to you."

So he follows rules, too. Interesting. "How would that have worked if I were still bound to the rule of not speaking unless directly spoken to?"

"It wouldn't have. It's taken me decades to learn what I can and can't get away with, even longer to try them for fear of retribution."

I'm about to say from your mother but change it to, "From the curse?" 

He stops and looks at me. "You're finally understanding."

"Not as much as I'd like to." I catch up to him, hoping to glimpse the mask or something of his features through the mist. Other than a blurry outline of his head, I can't see much.

He doesn't turn away. Is he studying me the same way I’m examining him? Heat crawls across my cheeks.

A bird swoops low, close enough to touch my hair. I flinch and watch as it soars toward the sky. It's small with bright yellow feathers, Mother’s favorite color. Most of her dresses and skirts were of that shade. It was bright and cheery like her personality.

A deep ache fills my chest, as if a dark cloud were swallowing my heart. How are Calyssa, Carys, and Father handling things? Are they angry with me?  Does Father hate me? When we lost Mother, Father drowned his sorrows in jugs of ale. It took the staff and me weeks to sober him up. Is he back to drinking, and if so, how are the twins holding up? Surely, they blame me. I didn't get to explain what happened. I didn't even say goodbye.

"What's the matter?" Dacian asks.

"Nothing." I lower my head.

This is why I don't think about them. It's too painful.

He places a misty hand under my chin and lifts my face. "You don't need to keep your feelings from showing."

"That's not what I'm doing." I turn away.

"It wouldn’t be the first time I've seen a girl cry. I have experience in comforting maidens."

My head swings back to him. "You comforted them?"

What is that stirring in my stomach? It's dark and deep, and I don't like it.

A tiny chuckle escapes him.

I glare. "Are you laughing at me?"

"I’m surprised." A smile is evident in his voice. "I’m always surprised by you, Praya, who is stronger than anyone I've ever met and doesn't need comforting when she's sad."

He means it as a compliment, but instead of lifting my spirits, it has the opposite effect. For the first time, I feel wrong for the way I protect my emotions.

"You are like your mother in that way," he says, tone soft and reassuring.

My breath freezes. "How would you know?"

"I was there when she was chosen. I always accompany the Messenger."

It's as if the world disappears. My heart pounds in my ears, and a few moments pass before I find my voice.

"You saw her?" It comes out in a shocked whisper. "All this time I could have asked you what happened, if she was scared, if she felt pain, why she was chosen?" I step back. "You should have told me when we first met."

"That would not have been a good first day for you. The first day is hard, the second day even harder. I wasn’t sure what to make of you, either." He lifts his face to the sky and murmurs, "The girl with eyes of the grass and sky will end the curse before she dies."

 "That's an odd saying." I tense a teeny bit. "What does it mean?" 

"It's a rhyme I learned long ago." He picks up a fat leaf, green with yellow veins, and twirls it in his fingers. "I thought it was about your mother, and I thought it died with her. I'd only glimpsed her eyes a moment before she touched her clothing. I would have saved her if I could have, despite the consequences, whatever they would have been. I would have done it to be free. So we  could all be free." He pauses. "I thought it was over. But then you were chosen as Messenger, and I realized you could be the girl in the rhyme."

Ending the curse, now that I hear it might be possible, must be my focus on so I can get back to my family.

But for me to do that, I need to know one thing about the death of my mother. Hopefully, it will pacify my aching heart. For now, anyway.

"Is she at peace? My mother. After they go, are they all at peace?"

He's quiet for a moment, as if he's searching for the right answer, or perhaps, he doesn't know. Please let him know.

Finally, with a confident nod, he says, "I believe they are at peace."

I smile, and my eyes fill with tears. Even though his answer isn't the yes, they're in a better place I hoped for, it's enough. Dacian may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them. If he believes those who have been Fated to Die are at peace, then I will, too.

"Thank you." I let out a shaky breath, the pain in my heart easing a tiny bit. Then I do what I do best, tuck the emotions away and focus on what is important. "Tell me about the rhyme. Is there more to it?"

He shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"What about the book in the cottage? Could it have information?"

"I don't know. I'm forbidden to read it. I leave it for the maidens, hoping they'll come across something of importance, but I've never been able to talk to one of them like I do you. They feared me, blamed me, or wanted nothing to do with me."

"Sounds familiar," I murmur, reminded of how the kids in the village always treated me. I give his hand—the leaf still in it—a squeeze. "Now you have me. We'll figure this out. Together. All right?"

He sighs with a hint of awe. "You really are something."

I can't stop my lips from turning up. "We should head back and get started."

"But we're here." He uses the leaf to point out white bushels of wisteria, cascading toward the ground. One of the full branches curves, creating a shadowed archway.

"It won't take long," he adds. Quiet excitement hums in his words. "I really want you to see it. I've never been able to share it with anyone."

It'd be cruel to deny him this, and I suppose I am a little curious. "Show me then," I say.

6 Days Left of Fated Giving

Today is my youngest son's birthday. He is now 15. I can't believe it! We are heading to Top Golf and Andretti's indoor karting and games to celebrate. Living in Orlando is never lacking in fun stuff to do.

Only 6 days left of giving and FATED TO DIE. Posting the chapters is reminding me of how much I love this story. It was so fun to write. Enjoy!

CHAPTER SEVEN

    

I wake up groggy and weak. My body is warm and at peace. There's no pain, no ice under my skin, just warmth, like I’m resting in bath water.

Moist fingers brush hair from my face. "You truly are beautiful," someone murmurs. "And you have no idea who you are."

"Dacian?" I crack open my eyes.

He's close, really close. My cheek is nestled against his misty chest like he's cradling me. I try to lift my head. Water splashes and my hair feels weighed down.

"Where are we?" I whisper.

"A hot spring. You passed out when I was carrying you here. How are you feeling?" He slides his fingers through my hair.

"Better." I let my eyes close, too exhausted to keep them open.  "What was that? I felt like I was freezing to death."

"You would have had I not brought you here in time."

Despite the warm water, a chill shoots through me. "I would have died?"

"No. Not exactly." His gentle tone is almost as soothing as the water. "You would have thawed when my mother called for you, so you could deliver another garment."

I stiffen, and my eyes spring open to his misty form, visible in the moonlight. "I broke a rule, didn't I? I spoke to him."

"Relax." Dacian brushes the back of his fingers across my cheek. "You're not enslaved to return under the river with her. The freezing was punishment. It will be your punishment every time you speak to the victims."

"Mrs. Potterfield," I gasp, my heart squeezing with pain. "She's dead because of me."

"She is dead because of the curse."

Tears of shame fill my eyes. I close them before any can escape. "She was innocent, kind." The sweetest lady I knew. "Why would your mother choose her?"

"Death chose her. It does not pardon those who are kind. It simply takes those whose time has come."

"It isn't fair." I turn my face toward his chest, seeking what … Comfort? Peace? Do I deserve, either?

"Life isn't fair," he says. "Why would death be any different?"

I shake my head. This is too much to think about right now. My brain hurts. My body is still too weak to move, but I don't feel like I’ve earned the right to rest.

"The next time I break the rules," I say because I surely will, "and am punished, let me freeze."

Dacian exhales, and I feel his body tense. He's disappointed in me. For some reason, he thinks I'm special. I’m not. I’m stubborn, desperate, and now a murderer, or at the very least a murderer's accomplice. By the end of this week, I might want to return under the river with the Hag. Then I think of my sisters and father and know I can't let that happen.

"Sleep," Dacian says.  "Things will be better in the morning. I promise."

"Why are you being so nice?" I slur, as sleep starts to creep over me. "You're supposed to be cruel."

"I am cruel," he murmurs, but I'm too far gone to care.

                                   ***

This time when I wake, I'm in the pretty bed with lavender flowers on the canopy. The cottage is light and cozy. I'm dry and in a nightgown. My muscles are soft, my body revived.

Dacian springs to mind and his final words before I passed out. I am cruel, he'd said.

How can he think that? I don't. He saved me from that horrid pain. He brought me back, tucked me into bed, and made everything better for me. Better, when I didn't deserve it.

I killed a person last night. A kind loving person. A woman who didn’t turn me away when others in the village did.

She gave me a discount, too. She’d never admit it, but I know she did. And now she’s gone. Who will run her bakery, the only bakery in town? Will it close and life go on as if it had never existed? Will people forget her like they do all the maidens who have been sacrificed to the curse?

The families of the Messengers mourn them by walking around in black for days or months. No one dares to challenge the rules or complain about who is sacrificed to the Council, though. 

Mr. Winthrop, the Head Councilman, holds service every Sunday in the castle's great hall. He tells horrific stories of past families and Fathers who went after their daughters and the Hag, and how the moment they entered the woods they were never seen again. 

He says during the week the Washer Woman rises, the curse wraps the woods in its cold claws, taking aim at anyone who enters in challenge. 

There will be no one to save me, not that Father would try. Once strong and proud, he’s withered mentally and physically since losing Mother. He was more like his old self than he's ever been on the day of the Choosing Ceremony, but I ruined that for him, too.

Maybe, I have withered along with him. The younger me, the girl angry at the world for losing her mother, would have risked her life for any chance to destroy the Washer Woman. Last night, I stood before and coward. 

Dacian is wrong. I’m no different from the other maidens. I’m not strong and brave. 

Time has changed me into a girl who spends her days caring for the manor and Father, making sure he remembers to tend the sheep so we can trade the wool and milk for coins. When I’m not giving lessons to the twins and loving them as Mother would have wanted, I care for the gardens she adored, preserving them the best I can so the girls can know the beauty their mother had created. 

A sharp pain stabs my chest. I bury my head in a pillow. I miss the girls so much. I miss their soft curls, golden like mother’s hair had been. The way they laughed and begged me to play chase in the maze as mother had done with me so many times. If they lose me, who will care for them? Who will care for the manor and Father? 

I shouldn’t have lied to them about Tristin. I should have done as Father asked, begged. I should have—wetness touches my cheek.

I sit up and feel the pillow case. It’s damp. I rub my eyes. I’m crying? I don't cry. I survive. I push through. I fight.

I didn't last night, though. I killed an innocent person.

No. Don't go there. I need to be strong. I know strong. I’m good at it. I need to get through this for the girls. For Father and memory of Mother, I've worked to honor for years.

Besides, I have support. Dacian helped me last night. He stopped the pained and cared for me in a way no one ever has. It may be his duty, something he's done for other maidens, as well. I suspect otherwise, though, and need to ask him about it—after I thank him, of course. He deserves a huge thank you.

I shove back my hair, climb from the bed, and open the sheer curtains the way I do at home when I need an extra boost before starting the day. 

To my surprise, the woods are lovely and alive, glinting with morning light. Like rain drops, sunrays sprinkle the shrubbery and leafy ground. Trees with moss-covered trunks stand tall, their bushy green leaves appearing yellow.

Such a beautiful day after such a tragic night.

Sadness weighs on me and my shoulders sag.

"Fight it," I whisper to myself. This is what comes of being the Messenger. I’m not the first or the last. 

A bird flies by the window and lands on a sunlit branch near the cottage. Its feathered body is gray while its wings are a shimmering blue. How rare.

The bird chirps in a rhythmic way as if it’s singing. 

If I were home, I’d open the window and welcome him inside like I did the little Sparrows that used to visit me.

I touch the glass. "Hello, little birdy. Good morning." 

It looks my way. 

"Are you enjoying the warmth of the rays?"

The bird springs from the branch and swoops toward me.

"Slow down." I tap the glass. Can it not tell the window is closed?

It keeps coming.

"No. Don't." I smack the glass pane.

The bird crashes into the window and bounces off, falling to a bed of leaves on the ground.

 I gasp and jump back in shock. No. The whimper rattles from my chest. I creep closer and stare down at the lifeless bird. This is my fault. 

Without thought, I grip the bottom of the window and lift. A breeze wafts through cooling my skin. Realization hits, and I freeze. I opened the window.

My gaze shoots to the closed bedroom door. Why isn’t the plant squawking? Does it not know, or is this his allowed? It can't be. A maiden could escape.

Perhaps, a protective barrier blocks the way. And lets a breeze pass through? Not likely.

I bend and inspect the opening, then I chance it, and stick my hand outside. It passes through with ease. I snatch it back, and wait for the plant to react. 

Nothing.

I do it again. Cool air and warm sunrays caress my skin. Could it be this easy, a glitch in the curse? A determined maiden would take advantage of situation.

The thought of seeing my sisters and father sends excitement whirling through me. Has no maiden ever discovered this?

No stories tell of Messengers trying to escape the Washer Woman, but then there is so little we know about their enslavement. No one knows about Dacian or the cottage, and the week of the reaping is never consistent.

In the beginning, tales say the Washer Woman killed for seven straight days. In my lifetime, my parents and grandparents as well, the Messengers can reap five lives in one summer and only three the next.

The Council likes to recall a summer, decades ago, when only one life was claimed. One life. They say we had sent a worthy maiden that week, and she must have served the Washer Woman well for the village to have been so blessed.

If she were so worthy, why didn’t she earn her freedom and return home? The Council was wrong about only losing one life that week. We lost two, the maiden and the fated victim, but no one speaks of it in that way. 

I take in the poor bird still on its side. Its furry chest puffs with a short breath. He's alive? 

Anger and guilt coil inside me. I might not have been able to save Mrs. Potterfield, or whoever else I’ll be forced to claim, but I will save this innocent bird. 

I push the window open all the way.

The plant doesn't squawk. 

Again, I consider climbing out and making a run for it, just to see what happens. What if I make it home? What if I discover a new way for maidens to break free? What if I die? I’d never see the girls again. I may never still.

Get the bird, think about escaping later.

I send my legs through the opening and try to reach the ground with my foot. It's further down than I thought. Turning, I rest my belly on the wooden sill, my upper body still in the room, and ease myself down slowly so I don't land on the bird.

The inside of the cottage darkens, the dinginess returning. Oh no. I freeze, unsure of what to do. Climb back in—will it matter—or save the bird. Had I truly believed I could do this without being penalized?

Before pulling myself back inside, I glance over my shoulder. The bird no longer lies on the ground, because the ground is gone. Blackness swirls beneath me. Bony fingers made of dark fog clasp my ankle and pull.

I shriek and slip further outside.

The bird, trees, woods, breeze, everything is black. My heart thunders. Fear sends me scrambling to get back into the cottage. I tighten my grasp on the window sill.

The hand yanks harder on my leg, drawing me closer to the darkness. It twirls faster with the center spiraling inward, like a throat opening up to swallow me.

My arm muscles burn, straining against my weight and the force pulling on me. Sweat moistens my palms and my fingers slip. One of my hands loses its grip.

I scream and call out for help. "Dacian! Please, help me!"

A second bony hand clasps my other ankle and jerks me down.  

I slide further down, my body completely outside as I struggle to hang onto the windowsill with only my left hand. One more tug, and I'll be gone, sucked into the dark abyss.

What have I done? I'm didn't mean to. I didn't know. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Tears choke my words. I don't know who I'm apologizing too. The cottage? Dacian? My family?

A loud bang sounds from inside the room. A strong hand clamps onto my wrist. Hair covers my face, blocking my view to who is helping me.

"Dacian?" I ask, assuming it's him.

My body jerks upward and I'm pulled through the window. My chest slides over the windowsill. My waist, my hips, my thighs. The fingers on my ankles tighten, keeping me from going further.

Wind whips through the window, sending leaves and dirt over my body and into the room. Everything turns black like the darkness is following me inside.

The person holding me roars and wrenches me so hard the force lets go. I shoot across the room and slam onto the wood floor. Face down, I stay that way, working to catch my breath. 

Panting from the other person sounds to the right of my head, like he's on the floor too.

"Dacian?" I roll onto my back, too weak to do more. Hair covers my face like a blanket. I leave it.

"You were trying to escape?" he says, his voice a mix of shock and sadness.

"I ... I wasn't. I swear. I thought about it, but I didn't try." 

"Then why were you out the window?" Anger deepens his tone.

"The window opened. I saw a bird. It hit the wall and fell. I tried to help it. I didn't think, and then the ground disappeared, and something tried to pull me down." I shiver with a bout of panic and fear. "I wouldn't have left. I thought about it, but I wasn't going to do it. I-I don't know what happened. I’m sorry."

"The curse happened." He sighs, sounding both weary and annoyed. "Like the cottage, it punishes and rewards. It also lures you to do wrong when the opportunity presents itself. Earn the cottages trust and it will protect you."

"The cottage tried to kill me?"

"It was teaching you a lesson. You wouldn't have died, but you could have suffered more. Treat the cottage with respect and it will do the same to you."

"You're mad. I can hear it in your tone, and I hate that I put it there." I turn my head toward him. Hair falls away from eyes, and a gloved hand is shoved in my face.

"Don't look at me," he snaps.

I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut. "Sorry. I didn't see you. I swear. I'm not … I don't mean to mess up, I just—" I clamp my mouth shut cutting off further excuses. That's all they are.

For a few moments, we both lie in silence. I focus on his breathing and notice it's slower than it was before when he was mad at me. Does that mean I’m forgiven? 

"Dacian?" I ask, curious of his response. Will he huff, or has he calmed?

"Hmm?" His tone is soft with a hint of sadness that is so often there.

"Why am I not allowed to look at you?"

He sighs. "I can't say."

"You can't say, or you don't want to?"

No response.

"Is it for the same reason I can't see your Mother?"

"No."

"Is it because you're disfigured?"

"I can't say." His words are tight, like he's frustrated, but I don't think his upset is directed at me.

Is he ashamed of how he looks? Bothered by something that might be different? Could he have an anomaly, like I do with my eyes? 

"Dacian?" I start again.

"Yes," his draws out, his tone emotional in a way I can't place. Agitation and a mix of something else … humor? Doubtful.

I don't let it deter me from what I have to say. It's important. "I want you to know your appearance, no matter how different it might be, won't bother me. How you look cannot and will not change the way I feel about you. I know you too well for that. I even consider you … a friend, no matter how warped that may be. I don't have many, any really unless you count my horse, Daisy. My point is, as my friend, I'd like to be able to put a face to your name. It's incredibly challenging not being able to look upon the person I spend all my time with. Can you understand that and understand that I would never judge based on your appearance?"

He's quiet for a while. Considering my request? Finally, he says, "Yes. I can understand your needs. But I can't show you myself. Not yet."

Yet? Hope blooms inside me, along with ideas I should squash at once. Have I learned nothing.

Still, I ask, "Are the rules I break to you different than the rules I break to your mother?"

"You know they are." Movement stirs around me like he's sitting up. "But don't get any ideas. There is only so much I can control."

"Can control." I shoot upright, keeping my eyes closed. "What does that mean?"

"It means no more breaking the rules," he says, his tone reprimanding in a way that almost makes me laugh.

"I don't mean to break the rules. I truly don't." I explain, wanting him to understand me better. "I've always done things my own way. It's not an excuse. It's a habit. I wasn't raised to think my defiant nature is bad. If anything, my mother praised me for it. Passionate and fearless, is how she described me. And when kids in the village ridiculed me for my unusual eyes, she me the difference made me special. I am sorry for the trouble I've caused you, and I am thankful for your help. You saved me last night from agonizing pain and you saved me again today. I will try to be more like the other maidens."

I cross my legs under my dress and fold my hands together in my lap, my head high and my eyes sealed.

"I never asked you to do that." He whispers in my ear, suddenly at my side.

My breath hitches, and I fight the urge to open my eyes out of surprise. "You're so quiet."

"When I want to be."

"But you don't want me to be like other maidens?"

"I want you to be like you." His warm breath flutters my hair.

"I don't understand."

He slides away, his presence gone from my side. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry I did."

"You don't have to apologize to me. You had every reason to yell. I keep messing up. I promise I'll try harder. I'll be better. A better me. Not like the other maidens." He said he didn't want that. "But better than I was."

He makes a soft noise, similar to a chuckle.

I turn my cheek toward the sound. "Did you just laugh?"

"I think I did."

"You think?" He doesn't know?

"Laughter has never been a part of my life." His tone dips to something somber. "Most maidens are filled with sorrow, always crying and begging me to free them. When they're not sad, they're terrified of breaking a rule and becoming enslaved for a year, which always results in death." He pauses. "You are different in so many ways. It gives me hope."