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“My love?”
Looking down at her, I realized it would be easy. She was so fragile, her heart like a thin glass ball in my fist, filled with emotion and hopes and dreams. A few words, that was all it would take, to turn this bright, eager creature into a broken, hollow shell. What Rowan said came back to me, taunting my ignorance. Did you think this would have a happily ever after? Between a mortal and a fey? How did you think this was going to end?
I met her eyes, smiled coldly and shattered the illusion. “Go home, human.”
She faltered, her lip trembling. “W-what?”
“I’m bored with this.” Crossing my arms, I leaned back and gave her a disdainful look. “You’ve become boring, all that talk of love and destiny and marriage.”
“But…but, you said…I thought…”
“That, what? We’d get married? Run away together? Have a brood of half-human children?” I sneered, shaking my head, and she wilted even further. “I never intended to marry you, human. This was a game, and the game is over now. Go home. Forget all of this, because I’m going to do the same.”
“I thought…I thought you loved me….”
“I don’t know what love is,” I told her truthfully. “Only that it’s a weakness, and it should never be allowed to consume you. It will break you in the end.”
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She was shaking her head, whether in protest or disbelief, I couldn’t tell. Nor did I care. “None of this was real, human. Don’t try to find me, because you will not see me again. We played, you lost. Now, say goodbye.”
She sank to her knees in a daze, and I turned away, striding into the trees. A few moments later, a horrid, gut-wrenching scream rent the air, sending f locks of birds f lying. I didn’t look back. As the screams continued, each one more terrible then the last, I continued deep into the forest, the sense of achievement overshadowed by a tiny bit of doubt.
As I approached the trod back to Winter, I suddenly realized I wasn’t alone. A figure watched me through the trees; tall, dark, wearing a loose robe and cowl that covered its face. As I went for my sword, it raised a gnarled, twisted staff and pointed it at me…
…I jerked up on the stone f loor of the temple, gasping, as the present came f looding back. The Guardian loomed over me, cold and impassive.
I struggled to my feet and leaned against the wall, the memory of that day f lashing before me, bright and clear and painful.
Brynna. The girl whose life I’d destroyed. I remembered seeing her once after our last meeting, wandering along the stream, her eyes glazed over and blank. I never saw her after that, never thought about her, until an old druid priestess found me one day. She introduced herself as Brynna’s grandmother, the high priestess of the clan, and demanded to know if I was the one who had killed her granddaughter.
The girl had fall en into a deep depression, refusing to eat or sleep, until one day her body simply gave out. Brynna had died of a broken heart, and the priestess had come to exact her revenge.
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I curse you, demon! Soulless one. From this day forth, let everyone you love be taken from you. May you suffer the same agony as the girl you destroyed, may your heart know pain unlike any other, for as long as you remain soulless and empty.
I’d laughed at her then, claiming that I had no capacity to love, and her pathetic curse would be wasted on me. She only bared her yellow teeth in a smile and spat in my face, right before I cut off her head.
I sank to the f loor as their faces crowded my mind, dark eyes glaring at me in accusation. My breath came in short gasps. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t escape her face—the girl I had killed—because she had fall en in love.
My eyes burned. Tears ran down my face and fell to the cold floor, making my vision blurry. “What…have you done to me?” I gasped, clutching at my chest, hardly able to breathe—it felt so heavy. The Guardian regarded me without expression, an unmoving shadow in the room.
“Conscience,” it intoned, “is part of being human. Regret is something no mortal can escape for long. If you cannot come to terms with the mistakes of your past, then you are not fit to have a soul.” I pulled myself into a sitting position, slumping against the bed. “Mistakes,” I said bitterly, trying to compose myself. “My life has been full of mistakes.”
“Yes,” the Guardian agreed, raising its staff. “And we will revisit them all.”
“No, please—”
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Too late. There was a blinding f lash of light, and I was somewhere else.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VOICES OF THE PAST