Page 61 of Love and Death
If the Moirai hags refuse to let me climb theirchosen trail, I will cut my own path to them.
Burn my way to them.
Just as I did before, I reach out to break off a thick branch from one of the nearby trees. My hand ignites in blue flame, slowly consuming the dry stick, burning bright and hotter by the second.
Smiling to myself, I take it in my other hand, lowering the burning end to the ground as I begin to climb again, torching the trees as I go.
This time, I do not give it warning. This time, I will watch the forest burn.
My smile only widens as the fire rages, and I hear their silent, crackling screams rising toward the black heavens. Let them stop me now.
The path forward grows clearer with the crashing of falling trees turning to ash and dust before me. I walk through the fire, my eyes set forward as it licks up around me, devouring all it touches with insatiable hunger.
Only my being is left unscathed as I leave the burning ashes of the woods behind me to walk the cliffside path.
Even the mountain itself no longer dares shift to deceive me; its skirt of foliage laid barren and wasted beneath my power.
Finally reaching the summit, save for the silver key at my neck and the rings around my fingers, I am left naked and bare to all, my clothes consumed by my own fury. Mybody glistens with the heat and taste of fire, the ashes of the fallen worn proudly across my skin.
I step forward, the three-eyed ravens suddenly silent at perch. Their tree, as of yet, still untouched by the raging fire below, protected by the mountain cliffs.
But not from me.
I stand straighter, my head held higher, daring them to challenge me as I continue on. Striding toward the rotting shrine that is the Fates’ lair, I scowl at it.
Teetering as it is on the very edge of the cliff, I would like nothing more right now than to send it crashing to the depths below. Perhaps, someday soon, I will.
I step up to the stone wall and pound my fist against it.
“You will not deny me an audience,” I roar. “Choose to do so, and I will burn your tree down, ravens and all.”
A split second of silence, and then the stone splits open with a loud rumbling crack, giving me just enough space to squeeze through.
Sideways.
Even so, I feel the stone try to crush in around me as I force my way through. It is deliberate. They are testing their limits, still trying to stop me.
The rough stone scrapes against my skin, digging in to tear into my flesh. Into every last inch of my exposed body, but it only serves to fuel my rage and, in turn, make me harden.
Pain.
Anger.
The pleasure of them.
Fine. Let them see a glimpse of what I can bear. Letthem be witness to my every perfection. Let them see all that I am.
Exiting the stone, I step into the circular entryway; thousands of ancient, wax-dripped candles cover the walls, unlit and cobwebbed over with dust and decay.
My lip curls up in disgust.
It would appear they intend to not even grant me the formality of illusion. They are trying to humiliate me with disrespect.
I look down and snort, having now risen to my fullest glory over their futile attempts to turn me away. Let them see what defiance and challenge do to me. Let them see how I revel in it, how it invigorates me.
If humiliation is what they want, I will give it to them.
But it will not be mine.
