Page 72 of Witch Unbound
No.
The world melts away and I’m sitting on a blanket with a plate of blueberry pie in front of me.
“Do you remember the garden?”
I look up at the woman with hair like moonlight, but her face is blurry.
“Do you remember it, Blossom?” she asks softly, as if she can coax the memory out of my mind.
I know this voice. I recognize the scent of pomegranate. I feel safe and at peace.
“Do you remember how we would play?”
I don’t remember the games, but a sense of excitement washes over me. “I remember…something.”
Pain.
No. I don’t want that.
“No, Blossom. It doesn’t have to be that way. The pain is over now.”
I shake my head, pulse racing. “Please…” I’m not sure what I’m asking for.
A yellow ball bounces across the grass and rolls onto the blanket to nudge my thigh. “Will you play with me?”
The woman sighs. “We can play all you want when you come to stay, Blossom, but now isn’t the time.”
Sorrow fractures the peace in my heart because I recognize the truth of this statement. As much as I want to play and eat blueberry pie, there is somewhere else I have to be.
The blurry-faced woman gently grips my palm and strokes it with her thumb. “You’re special, Blossom.”
Something winks in the periphery of my vision and then a blade slices open my palm. I cry out even though there is no pain, and snatch my hand away, cradling it to my chest.
“Why did you do that?” I stare at her accusingly. “You said no pain.”
“Look at it, Blossom. Look and remember what we hid.”
I’m annoyed but also intrigued. I lower my hand and unfurl it to stare at the bloody wound. But there is no blood. Silver liquid stains my palm instead.
“You see,” the woman with no face says. “You see how it is. You see what you are.”
A soft buzzing fills my ears and I feel her smile.
“And it is done. It’s time to go now, Blossom. It’s time for you to breathe. Are you ready, child?”
Ready to wake up. Ready to live.
Cora!
My chest is suddenly tight, cold and frozen, lungs begging for inhalation. My eyes bug, pain lashing at my face and wrists.
I’m dying, being crushed. The tree…the branches.
I need to breathe. I need—
* * *
CORA
