Page 25 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
But the mist only tightens, and with it, the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury come flooding back. The nights spent curled up in a corner, nursing the pain and trying to hide the tears because crying made it worse. The endless cycle of fear, manipulation, and the crushing belief that I wasn’t strong enough to leave, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t… enough.
"He’s not here," I tell myself, but the doubt crawls deeper. But what if he was right?
The mist twists and swirls, pressing the thoughts into my skull like nails. "You’ll die out here, just like you would’ve died without me. Useless. Weak."
My vision blurs as my legs tremble beneath me, the weight of the whispers crashing over me like a tidal wave. The invasion of the whispers comes with a sharp pain radiating through my skull. "He’s gone. He’s gone, and I survived," I remind myself, but the memories have claws, and they dig in deep, refusing to let go.
I can’t breathe.
My knees hit the ground, bone shards stabbing into my skin, but the pain doesn’t register. All I can hear are those words, those venomous whispers.
"You were nothing without me, and you’re nothing now."
A sob bubbles up in my throat, the fight draining out of me as the mist curls tighter, squeezing, suffocating, dragging me down, down into the weight of my past. I can’t—can’t shake it, can’t push past it. The fear, the helplessness, it’s all-consuming, just like it was when Henry had me under his thumb.
"You’re still that scared little girl, hiding in the corner, hoping someone will save you. But no one’s coming. Not this time."
The world narrows, the edges of my vision darkening. The mist thickens around my throat, my chest, cutting off air, cutting off hope.
"I’m nothing," I whisper, my voice breaking, because maybe that’s the truth I’ve been running from. Maybe this maze will eat me alive because, deep down, I’ve always been the girl Henry said I was. Weak. Dependent. Disposable.
But then, through the fog, a flicker, something small but sharp, like a spark in the dark. A memory, not of Henry, but of the moment I left. Of walking out that door, of running into the maze.
I left.
I’m surviving.
Something inside me hardens and solidifies. My hands clench against the bone-littered ground, the pain bringing me back, anchoring me to the present. "You don’t control me anymore" I whisper, my voice trembling, but stronger this time. “I will not die here!” I yell into the void though the air in my lungs is swallowed by the mist. “Get out of my fucking head!”
Finally, the mist recoils, hissing like a wounded animal. I push to my feet, every muscle screaming in protest, but I stand.
"I survived you," I snarl, more to myself than to the mist. "I can survive this."
With each step forward, the mist thins, the whispers fading into distant echoes, furious but powerless. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my legs shaking from the effort, but I keep moving, forcing myself through the fog, through the fear, until finally, it breaks.
I stumble out of the mist, my chest heaving, my skin damp with cold sweat. The silence that follows is deafening, but it’s a silence of victory. Of survival.
I survived again.
I look ahead, the path still long, the dangers still real, but now, the voice in my head isn’t Henry’s anymore.
It’s mine.You’re not that woman anymore.
I keep moving, each step heavier than the last as the chill of the mist lingers on my skin. My breath still fighting against me, but I push forward, determined to put the horrors of that fog behind me. Just as the bone-strewn path clears, the oppressive quiet of the Quadrant gives way to an eerie hum, like the earth itself is holding its breath, waiting.
And then I hear it—another voice, soft but chiling, threading through the stillness like silk over stone.
"That was quite the show back there."
I stop, every muscle in my body tensing. Slowly, I turn to find a figure stepping out from the shadowed rocks. Her skin is stone—literally—etched with cracks that pulse with a faint light. Her body is shaped as though carved from marble, but there’s nothing rigid or lifeless about her. She moves with a liquid grace, the faint glow of her skin making her seem almost otherworldly.
Her hair, twisted vines of black, hangs down her back in intricate braids, and among them are tiny bones, some dangling, some woven into her hair like macabre decorations. She’s dressed in rugged, battle-worn clothing that clings to her like a second skin, strapped with bone weapons; jagged and deadly. The glow from her cracked skin dances over her body, casting shadows that accentuate her every sharp, dangerous curve. A necklace made of what looks like finger bones hangs around her neck, each piece clicking softly with every move she makes.
The grin on her face is wicked as she eyes me up and down, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"I’ve seen the mist take many," she says, her voice laced with amusement. "Few come out of it on two feet." Her glowing eyes flash, taking a step closer. "But there are far worse things herethan a little smoke." Her hand slides to the hilt of a bone blade strapped to her thigh. "Like me."
My heart pounds in my chest, but my body reacts before my mind can catch up. I stumble back, my eyes darting to the ground, searching for anything, anything, I can use. She unsheathes her weapon with a metallic hiss. The blade gleams, its jagged edge dripping menace as she steps closer.
