Page 79 of Torn Ivy
His words should sting and make me angry, but I just feel numb. “So, what if I am? Maybe this is better. No messy emotions getting in the way.”
Death takes a step closer, snow swirling around his robed form. “Is it better? Look at yourself, Tate. You can barely control your magick. You feel nothing for the woman you once would have died for. Is this truly the existence you want?”
I shrug, averting my gaze. “It doesn’t matter what I want. What’s done is done.”
“Nothing is ever truly done,” Death says, gesturing around him. “There are always choices to be made, paths to take. The question is, are you willing to fight for what you’ve lost?”
I stare at him. “How? How do I fight for something I can’t even remember?”
Death’s skeletal hand points at me, and I shiver despite myself. “This reality is wrong—all of it. The three of you, in your desire and haste to bring back the woman you love, have altered perception. This is not the world you were in before you did the ritual. Don’t you see it?” He waves his fingers, and an orb appears, shining bright red but with a fleck of darkness in it. I recognise it instantly even though I’ve never seen it before. “Your soul, young Blackwell.”
I blink, processing that. “Why do you have it?”
Death laughs. “Why do you think?”
“I’m dead?”
“In the reality you are supposed to be in, yes, you died during the ritual. Ripping your love out of your soul for Ivy Hammond killed you.”
“So why am I still here?”
“You aren’t. At least, you are, but in this world where things are… different.”
“Are you saying we created a new dimension or that we were transported to one?”
Death closes his hand over the orb, and it vanishes. “Neither. And both. The ritual you performed tore at the fabric of reality itself. It created ripples. Distortions. This world you find yourself in now is a fractured reflection of your own, warped by the chaos you unleashed.”
I struggle to process this information. “We’re in some kind of alternate timeline?”
“In a sense,” Death says. “But it’s unstable. Incomplete. Look around you, Tate. An empty campus in the middle of term? Snow falling months too early? Your own magick, wild and unpredictable? These are symptoms of a reality that’s coming apart at the seams.”
A chill runs down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the snow drifting down the collar of my shirt. “What happens if it falls apart completely?”
Death’s voice grows grim. “Oblivion. For you, for Ivy, for everyone in this fractured world. Unless you find a way to set things right.”
“How?” I demand. “How do I fix something I don’t even fully understand?”
“You start by reclaiming what you’ve lost,” Death says, gesturing to where my soul had been moments before. “Your love for Ivy wasn’t just an emotion, Tate. It was the core of who you were. Without it, you’re adrift in a sea of chaos, unable to anchor yourself or anyone else.”
I shake my head, frustration building. “But if we uncreate this timeline, am I not just going to be dead?”
Death regards me silently for a long moment. Finally, he speaks. “Death is not always the end, Tate Blackwell. Especially not in a reality as fractured as this one.”
I frown, trying to make sense of his cryptic words. “What does that mean?”
“It means that the lines between life and death, between one reality and another, have been blurred by what you and your companions did,” Death explains. “Your physical form may have perished in the original timeline, but your essence—your soul—persists.”
“So what, I’m some kind of ghost?” I ask sceptically.
Death shakes his head. “No. You are very much alive in this distorted reality. But you are incomplete, unanchored. By reclaiming your soul, by fighting to restore what was lost, you may be able to bridge the gap between what was and what is.”
“This is insane. How am I supposed to fight for something I can’t even remember? How do I reclaim a love I don’t feel?”
“By choosing to,” Death says simply. “By acknowledging that this emptiness inside you is wrong, that there should be more. By being willing to face the pain and grief that comes with loving someone, rather than hiding in this numbed state and by seeking out what you are really after.”
“Which is?” I ask, but he’s gone. “Oh, fuck you, you complete bony, arsehole.”
Death’s laughter cackles all around me, and I shudder. If what he says is true, and I died during the ritual, was it my death that did this, or was it the ritual? Was it Ivy being whole again? Was she supposed to stay scattered?
