Page 42 of Malicent
“Your mama would be so proud of you.” Nora whispers.
A kiss presses against the crown of my head. Tears fall down my cheeks; I do not wipe them away.
The icy rim of the chalice presses to my lips. I drink.
The moment the thick sludge slides down my throat, my body revolts. It is filth—rot and decay. My stomach heaves, my throat constricting as nausea slams into me.
Swallow.
I force it down.
The weight of it settles in my gut like lead. For Mama. She would be proud. Nora will be proud. The mantra hammers against my skull. My throat constricts, the bile rising in my throat.
No.I am worthy.
I swallow the vomit that burns its way up, choking on it as it mixes with the tainted liquid already inside me.
My body betrays me.
My legs and arms tremble. Everything shakes.
The chalice slips from my fingers.
Nora catches it.
Her grip finds my jaw, tilting my head back, and forces my lips apart.
She pours, and the rest of it floods in.
My body seizes, convulsing against the floor. My shoulders jerk, my spine arches, the air burns in my lungs.
Nora’s grip tightens on the back of my head, holding me still as the last of the sludge slides down.
She covers my nose and mouth.
“Swallow. Do not dare spit it out,” she commands.
Her eyes shift but I cannot understand how.
I swallow—but I do not mean to.
I need air, I cannot breathe.
The moment my throat bobs, she releases me.
I gasp, sucking in breath too fast, too sharp, and the world spins. My limbs collapse.
I hit the floor.
My head cracks against the thin carpet, the impact sending a shock of pain down my spine.
Heat.
Something warm and sticky spreads beneath me.
Blood.
The pounding in my ears slows.
