Page 61 of Shadow and Smite

She was awake, her eyes open in a sleepy sort of way. She didn’t ask questions; she didn’t intrude, but her eyes were dark with concern.

“I’m okay… Okay enough,” I reassured her. I reassured myself, running a hand against her back.

I wasn’t okay. Wasn’t sure if I’d ever be okay again.

I remembered glimpses of what had happened.

There was a long blur in my memories while my soul had been bound. Once the Brand had its grip on me, I struggled to find my wits. It had continued an onslaught of abuse. It used my weaknesses and twisted my memories. It told me of my worthlessness.

Then I woke. Zayne was touching me, spent ashflower drifting between his fingers, his hand between my breasts.

Such a different touch than before—he had transitioned from lover to healer. Yet I could still remember him stripped, his sculpted chest and large bulge. The sound he made when I brushed the base of his horns. Even now, my sex itched, a little wet.

How embarrassing.

I had attacked him in nothing but my underwear. I had lost control of my body. I still felt naked. I detested myself. After the Brand’s abuse, it was easy to scratch at my flaws.

Now we headed for Gloom. The Brand wouldn’t weaken anytime soon. This would get worse before it got better—

I breathed, in and out, forcing my spiraling thoughts to stop. I had to destroy my Brand before it drove me insane.

I hoped Zayne was right. That defeating Inarus would destroy the Shades. That putting Eleanor on the throne would encourage Gloom to return to the north. Then maybe this hell would be worth it.

Right now, I needed sleep.

Lengthening my breath to match Ninti’s long sighs, I closed my eyes and miraculously found stillness.

I dreamed again.

The roots might be broken, busted, and planted in poor earth, but the tree stood tall. Mostly straight, mostly sturdy. The trunk supported the branches, a spine lifting leaves from mud, closer to the sun.

Except the trunk was damaged with ash.

Bark had been scratched, treeflesh exposed. The gray ash thrived there, a parasite.

Yet the tree lived—contaminated and complete. It had grown to accommodate the injury. Like the roots, the trunk had adapted. It was resilient.

I studied the details, where ash met bark. The edges of the injury had healed, forming a new boundary. The bark would not regrow, but the edge had scarred. The infection struggled to spread past the scar. In its hardiness, the tree limited the parasite. The ash remained, but it no longer commanded the tree.

My Brand had belittled me, making the most of my flaws, and yet I remained. I was still here. The ashflower had given me time to thicken my scars, a defensive boundary.

Darkness was inevitable, but that didn’t dictate what I did with the life I had left.

Dreamily, I fell into the ash, and it didn’t consume me. I settled beyond space and time.

I saw that the ash forged connections, building a web of those infected. Anything could become a tool—if I had the courage to wield it.

Leaning closer, I saw countless threads.

A single strand separated itself from the web. I had once held a handkerchief with magical essence like this. Lilac…

Eleanor.

She was far away, consumed by the Brand. Her soul was contained while her body remained alive. She was more of an echo than anything solid.

Still, it was her.

My eyes snapped open.

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