Page 64 of Broken Shadows

I land on the cold, stone ground, coughing black, gritty Hell dirt from my lungs, every violent expulsion of air sanding rough, course particles along my esophagus. My watering eyes lift to what first appears to be a cemetery, with its curling black patina speckled wrought iron archway. I peer around both sides, then scan the expanse of something akin to Human Realm ivy twisting through the metal, visually tracing the two words formed in a slight upward bend at the peak of the arch. Intricate metal flowers sit on either end of the words like bookends. Magnolia Medows. I snort, then a few more coughs wrack my body as I expel the rest of the dirt stubbornly clinging to the membranes of my lungs. I squint into the thick, creeping mist and the hairs raise on the back of my neck. There are no headstones or crypts—just foreboding statues as far as I can see.

Fuck.

“Evie!” I yell, my voice suffocated in the gray ether.

Adrenaline surges through my veins as I race to find her, fingers clenching into fists. If anyone’s hurt her, I’ll fucking kill them.

The faintly glowing fog wraps around me like a cloud, the chilling caress of its tendrils sending shivers down my spine as it slows me. Echoes of my footsteps break the unnerving silence as I run through the labyrinth of stone walkways. I swear to fuck I’ve seen that same gargoyle multiple times. Foreboding prickles my skin like miniature icepicks. I’m going in circles.

This must be Samuel’s doing. He was always going on about creating trials for the unfortunate souls who ended up here to go traverse. Dad only went along with it because Samuel added that the human souls would learn something as they went through each trial, essentially making them better people. My lip curls. I know better. These trials are torture under a guise—Samuel never does anything unless it inflicts suffering. If this is a trial, then Evie’s stuck in one too.

I ball my t-shirt at my chest, clutching tighter as anxiety shreds what’s left of my waning sanity. She’s already so fractured from what that sick fuck Edward did to her. There is no possibility that she leaves the trials unscathed—none of us will.

I’ve never felt anything like this. I thought I’d experienced every side of fear until now, but caring this deeply, it’s like wearing my heart on the outside of my chest—vulnerable, bloody, and raw, exposed to the elements. I run a hand through my hair and spin in a pointless circle. My shoulder clips a statue and I freeze. I swear the stone just twitched. No. That’s not possible, it’s just Samuel fucking with me in the cruelest way he knows—extended, creeping psychological torture.

My claws shoot out of my fingertips. Godsdammnit. I have to get the hell out of here so I can save her. So, what’s the fucking trial? I’m going in circles surrounded by creepy ass statues.

I stare at the tall and twisted stone statues, slick with moss and decay, searching for clues. In the distance the fog lights up as if something moves, hidden amongst it. The trials are linked to some kind of lesson. Perhaps after each of us? Lust, Wrath, Envy… but they’d be torture. Emotions were the simplest and easiest way to fuck humans up, so what were the darkest ones? Depression, loneliness, grief…

As I draw closer to the statues lining the bisecting gray stone paths, their expressions shift and the sorrow etched into their faces distorts into something more sinister—morealive. My heart stalls, then gallops at an untenable pace. Unblinking eyes seem to follow my every move. The statues watch me with feral hunger, as if they’re waiting for me to falter.

Loneliness seeps into my thoughts, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, utterly suffocating and unyielding. I call out for Evie again but only a whisper from the mist responds. No one is here to hear me. Fuck.

I’m truly alone, separated from the rest. Even the illusory wisps of barely illuminated fog resemble the bars from the cage I was trapped in for decades.

A statue moves in my peripheral vision. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to find someone—or something—trailing behind me. But the graveyard is empty, save for the looming statues that seem to shift just beyond the edge of my vision.

The air thickens so rapidly I choke, and I can almost hear the statues gasping, their stone mouths warping. I lean closer, just making out the trapped, intelligible voices from within.

“Shit, you’re alive,” I whisper, my voice too loud in this oppressive silence. I straighten my spine. They’re fucking real. I lift a finger, then poke the tip against the solid, stone chest. The statue’s feminine lips twist and I leap back. “Godsdammit!” I shout. “Fucking creepy, Sam.” I really hope the asshole can hear me. I stare into the stony, pained expression of the woman and cross my arms. “What did you do to end up trapped here?” I glance around at the pathways, clogged by fog, when I realize the statues are people who never made it out of the trial and succumbed to the sin it embodies.

That means… Evie. Gomez. Rosa. Aiden. Gideon. Fuck. They’re all at risk of becoming statues. Vivid scenes of my witch and her bat encased in stone carousel in my mind. I shake my head, trying to remove the thought, but it only stabs deeper like icy claws into my brain matter, distorting my reality into a grotesque caricature of itself.

A whisper climbs through the branches of dead trees that post like soldiers between statues on the sides of the path, reminding me I willalways be alone. It’s in my nature. A muscle under my eye twitches. I am a demon, immortal, and Evie is human. One day, she’ll die like all the others, and I won’t have anyone.

Shapes twist and morph in the mist. I spot a statue’s arm, and for a fleeting moment, I swear it twitched.

I stumble backward, dread pooling in my stomach. I have to find her before the statues take my witch and turn her into one of them.

The fog coils tighter. Shadows flit just beyond my sight, darting away whenever I turn to see what the fuck is moving.

The statues’ faces blur together, their muffled voices growing louder, a chorus that haunts my every step.

I turn down a narrow path and catch sight of a shorter statue—a woman draped in tattered robes, her face twisted into a mournful expression. My eyes widen and I barre my teeth. I. Can’t. Look. Away. Her stone eyes latch onto mine, luring me deeper into her sorrow—a feeling so palpable, my heart launches into my throat. No, fuck this. I tear my gaze from hers.

My heart races, a frantic rhythm that matches the pounding of my thoughts. I feel myself sinking deeper, desperate to suddenly lie on the ground and give up. It would be so easy to drift into the icy loneliness pulsing from the statues, its frosty claws a relief of sorts. The voices grow louder, reaffirming what I already intimately know—I deserve to be alone. I sink to my knees, and stare at my fingers as they curl inward and slowly turn to stone, but a sudden burst of clarity jolts me upright.

What the fuck am I thinking?

Alone.

Loneliness.

This is the godsdamn Trial of Loneliness.

The statue moves in my peripheral. I sense more of them, their presence lurking in the fog, inching closer every time I look away.

I know how to get out, but as soon as the thought flits my mind—an acceptance that I may be alone again someday, but I’m not right now and everyone deserves to be loved, even demons—the veils fade away into tatters and the fog dissipates. I spot Rosa first, running from a statue that chases her toward a collection of dead trees. Aiden wanders beyond her, none of them able to see each other, crying into his palms as he tries to not look at the statues.

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