Page 70 of Malicent
My nerves are already frayed. Inside, the chaotic energy I fight to keep contained stirs violently, like rats clawing for an escape. We follow a familiar path. Leaving the warmth of the residential wing behind, we cross into the Academic building. Our footsteps echo throughout its silent halls.
Then down.
The staircase spirals, the light from above thinning into nothingness. Soon, we arrive at the network of cavernous halls. I furrow my brow as we pass the chamber that houses the pool of that foul-tasting, black liquid. We always stop here. Always.
Not tonight.
“A new lesson today. The next lesson.” Nora’s voice resonates through the corridor. The torches flicker against jagged stone and earth, casting shifting shadows that seem to stretch and breathe. “In nature, Millicent, you can be a wolf or a sheep. Sheep exist to be devoured. They are necessary, but not all are worthy.” Her steps are slow as she moves in circles around me.
“To remain strong, wolves select their prey carefully. They do not waste their time on the weak—the inadequate.” She pauses, letting the words sink in, then asks. “Are you a wolf or a sheep?”
The question is rhetorical, yet I still answer. “I am a wolf.” I keep my voice steady, but the confidence is a lie. We press forward. The corridor breathes a faint draft, and soon, a door looms ahead. A bitter chill seeps from beneath it. Nora pushes it open.
Iron grates against iron. The hinges groan in protest, but they do not deny her. In front of us is a cavern, but different from the one she typically takes me into. Beyond the threshold, thechamber’s ceiling vanishes into the open sky. The full moon hangs above a ghostly twin reflected in the still lake below.
The lake glistens, its surface too smooth. The outlines of distant trees emerge in twisted forms warped beyond recognition. The bark coils in tight, wrung-out spirals that unfurl into unnatural, horn-like protrusions. They are barren, lifeless, as though they were never meant to bear leaves.
Nora’s grip tightens around my wrist. Wordlessly, she commands me forward. The shoreline, an uneven bed of cold, smooth stones, crunches beneath my feet. Each step grows heavier, my body resisting—
The voice returns.
It’s the one only I can hear—the one that has lived inside my mind since drinking from the black waters. “Come, my child.”
It is a siren’s call: soft, yet shifting, as though spoken by many voices at once.
“Come, sweet child, come.”
Her voice slithers through the chamber—soft at first, coaxing, almost maternal. Then it shifts. The cadence distorts, deepens, as if layered with another voice beneath it. Something does not belong.
Nora drops my hand. I barely have time to process before she raises her hand to my back, unzipping my gown in one motion. The fabric pools at my feet. “We will see if you truly are a wolf, Millicent.” She murmurs. “Walk into the water.”
A tremor ripples through me. “That…that is all I must do?”
She strips my clothes from me, and I am bare before the cold can fully register. Goosebumps rise on my skin, sending a shudder that rolls down my spine as the air bites deep. My breath escapes in faint plumes, curling before me like smoke. The chill settles under my skin—into my bones. Yet, I do not argue; the chambers are always cold.
“That is all you must do, little star.” Her voice softens—an old, familiar trick. A lullaby of control. And like always, it works.
Little star.
Mother used to say I would never be afraid. That I was too clever for fear. I cling to the thought.
One step. Then another. My bare feet meet the smooth, wet stones of the shore. The lake awaits me, too dark, too still. The water laps at my toes. The unsettling sensation is immediate. A slippery,oil-slickedcold seeps into my skin, coiling like something alive. It’s the same feeling that slid down my throat when I drank from the chalice.
“Get in the water.”The voice claws into my mind, its talons scraping. It doesn’t shout—it commands.
My legs obey before I do. Each step feels less like my own. I am walking toher, I realize.To it.I stop. A tremor ripples through me as nausea churns in my gut, threatening to rise and burst out.
There’s no time for that. Nora’s voice cuts through the chamber like ice splintering against stone. “Continue. Do not hesitate. Wolves do not hesitate. You…your weakness is an infection. We will rid you of it.” She waits—barely. “Does strength come from gentleness?”
“No Nora,” I recite, the words spill out as a reflex. “Strength comes from enduring.” A lesson that is seared into my mind—burned into my skin. A lesson I have bled for.
Her tone sharpens, slicing at me with a cold finality. “Great power begets great sacrifice. What is it to sacrifice fear? To kill the instinct of hesitation? You are to be perfect. Flawless. Relentless. A lamb has no place here.” She pauses. I can feel it coming. “Your mother would be ashamed to see such weakness.” Her words hit harder than the cold.
And I hate myself for hesitating.
My back is to her. The water stills at my ankles. Weak.
I was too weak to save my mother.
