Page 37 of Off with Her Head

Mara laughs, the sound like breaking glass. "Semantics. The result is the same—power beyond anything our ancestors imagined." She gestures with her staff, and the corrupted forces resume their advance with renewed coordination. "Join me willingly, and I'll make the transition painless. Resist, and I'll strip your magic from your broken bodies and absorb it anyway."

I feel nothing but hollow grief for the sister I once knew. There is nothing left of Mara’s soul—nothing to save, nothing to redeem. The realization should devastate me, but instead, it brings clarity. The queen who must fall is already lost.

"We need to retreat," I tell Scarlett through our connection. "We can't defeat her here, not yet. Not without understanding the source of her power."

Scarlett nods imperceptibly, her mind already coordinating the withdrawal with her card-soldiers. "Fall back to second defensive line," she commands. "Controlled retreat. Protect the wounded."

The card-soldiers begin an orderly withdrawal, covering each other with disciplined precision. But Mara seems to have anticipated this move. She raises her staff, and the crystal at its peak flares with sickly light.

"Running so soon?" she calls mockingly. "Allow me to provide some incentive to stay."

The staff descends, striking the ground with a sound like breaking reality. From the impact point, power races outward, forming a massive sigil unlike any I've seen before—a combination of blood magic's precision and heart magic's creativity, morphed into something unnatural.

The sigil activates with a pulse of black light, and I feel our connection—the bond between Scarlett and me—suddenly strain. Pain lances through me, a tearing sensation as if something essential is being ripped away. Beside me, Scarlett gasps, her hand tightening convulsively around mine.

"Our magic," she manages through gritted teeth. "She's trying to separate us."

I focus all my will on maintaining our connection, but the sigil works against us with terrible efficiency. I feel our unified magic begin to unravel, separating into distinct currents. The pain is excruciating—like losing a limb, like having part of my soul torn from my chest.

Scarlett's green eyes meet mine, determination blazing through her agony. "Together," she insists, though her voice is strained. "No matter what."

I nod, pouring everything I have into resisting Mara's corruption. Our joined hands glow with intermingled red and black energy, fighting against the separation the sigil attempts to impose. For a moment, we hold steady, our unified magic a barrier against Mara's corruption.

But she was prepared for this resistance. With a gesture from Edmund's new form, a second sigil activates beneath the first, amplifying its power. The combined force hits us, driving us to our knees.

"You cannot resist the inevitable," Mara calls, advancing toward us through her legion. "Magic seeks unification—you've discovered that yourselves. The only question is which form that unification takes: yours, ormine."

The pain intensifies as the twin sigils continue their work. I feel my consciousness beginning to fragment, the unified awareness I've shared with Scarlett splintering into isolated shards. Our connection, which has become as essential as breathing, flickers like a candle in a storm.

"Scarlett," I gasp, sensing we have only moments before the separation becomes complete. "If we're divided—"

"Find me," she interrupts, her voice fierce despite her pain. "Whatever happens, however far apart we're thrown—find me."

"I promise," I vow, memorizing every detail of her face. "Whatever it takes."

With the last of our connected strength, we channel a desperate burst of energy—not at Mara, but at her army. The blast creates a momentary gap in the forces, a potential escape route for the retreating card-soldiers.

"Go!" Scarlett commands her troops. "Back to the castle! Protect Underland!"

As her forces retreat through the opening we've created, Mara's sigils reach full power. The world around us seems to crack, reality itself straining under the pressure of her magic. The last thing I see is Scarlett's face, her determination matching my own, before blackness swallows everything.

The connection between us snaps.

Pain beyond imagining.

Then nothing.

As consciousness returns, it comes in fragments. Cold stone beneath my back. The smell of sickness in the air. The distant sound of battle. And an emptiness inside me where Scarlett's presence should be—a void so profound I can hardly breathe.

I force my eyes open, finding myself lying on the grass several yards from where we had stood. My panther mount is gone, either fled or dead. A distance away, the battle continues,but it has shifted. Mara's forces press forward inexorably, while Underland's defenders frantically retreat.

And Scarlett is nowhere to be seen.

I push myself up, ignoring the pain that radiates through every fiber of my being. "Scarlett!" I call, scanning the battlefield desperately. My magic feels diminished, as if I've lost not just our connection but more of my own power.

My cry attracts the attention of a nearby creature—once a flamingo, now a sick thing with cancerous growths replacing its feathers. It turns toward me with unnatural speed, black saliva dripping from its beak as it charges.

I reach for my magic, but it responds sluggishly, weakened by the forced separation.

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