Page 100 of Malicent
My legs move without thought, drawn forward by something deeper than will.
No creatures dare cross my path tonight; my presence reeks of her with every talon that claws into my mind.
Eventually, I arrive—always inevitably—at a lake. The full moon hovers above, casting a perfect twin onto the water’s surface.
The soft glow ripples across the dark waves, mixing its beauty with something more menacing.
“Come” she beckons again.
I don’t hesitate. I know what to do. I have done it year after year.
On the full moons, she demands worship.
Prayers.
Offerings.
You’re expected to give a piece of yourself, surrendered to the depths, and you will be rewarded with her blessing.
I sink to my knees, the white linen gown pooling around me like moonlight. She likes the white; I’ve learned this.
It shows the blood better—reveals every flaw and every weakness.
Even the buds of my breasts are visible through the sheer fabric barely clinging to me via the delicate tie at my chest. I bare myself because that is what she demands. My arms are exposed, my shoulders bare. I hold out my hand, summoning her magic.
It rises as something familiar but markedly stronger than mine. Tendrils of silver streak through the pool of inky black that swirls in my palm.
They sharpen, forming the sharp edge of a dagger. The hilt is carved bone. The blade glows red and settles in my hand with a chilling ease.
I reach for the tie between my breasts, ready to begin when I hear her.
Not just around me now. Behind me.
“He comes,” she whispers.
My brows knit together in confusion until I feel it.
Him.
I move quickly, slipping the dagger beneath the folds of my gown, hiding it behind my thigh.
Then I whip around, my eyes scanning the darkness beyond the trees. He’s there, lurking in the shadows and avoiding the moonlight.
“Your obsession with me is tiresome,” I call, my voice flat and unbothered.
A low, dark chuckle snakes out from beneath the trees. Then he steps into view. Those silver eyes are the same ones that haunt my nightmares.
He is clad in nothing but a plain black tunic and loose trousers. His boots are barely laced, and his hair is a mess.
He must have been in bed, yet he came here.
“What are you doing in the woods, little witch?” he taunts. “Hungry beasts lurk out here.”
“I don’t recall needing to tell you my every move,” I snap, letting him feel the words laced with steel.
His gaze drifts over me—lingering, assessing—trying to put pieces together in his mind.
He is yet to understand what he’s walked into.
