Page 109 of Eldritch
He squeezed his own eyes shut, the tension burning in his face as he fought to unsee that final image lingering in his mind. Zevander shook his head, desperate to relieve himself of it, but it remained there, branded in his thoughts.
Her hand reaching out for him.
Help me.
His eyes shot open, and he inhaled a sharp breath. Distraction. He needed distraction. He lifted his gaze to the surroundings. Dark, almost black, cobblestone streets, sparsely populated with only a few villagers. Rain clouds looming overhead. A stretch of small shops at either side of the road, leading up to the town square and a stone fountain.
Caligorya, he suspected, but he saw no sign of Alastor. Perhaps he’d been slipped an elixir to have arrived without invitation.
Standing outside of a seamstress shop, the girl he recognized held a basket at the crook of her elbow, her long, midnight hair dancing over her shoulders. She carried herself with a mystical grace, reminiscent of the moon goddesses he’d studied back home, as if she’d stepped out from the pages of those sacred texts.Lunamiskza.The beautiful moon witch about whom he so often dreamed.
An overwhelming feeling of warmth surged through him, and he drew closer to her, desperate for that comforting embrace of familiarity she exuded. Zevander intended only to observe, to remain there for a while.
He couldn’t stand to imagine his reality.
No, it was safer in Caligorya.
With her.
A white cloth covered half the basket dangling from her arm, the other half peeled open, and she stared down toward whatever might’ve been inside, not bothering to look up at anyone passing by.
Curious, Zevander approached from behind, so close he caught a whiff of sweet citrus. He couldn’t recall many scents from Caligorya, but hers was distinct. Memorable. Like the fresh, ripe starshade fruit his mother sometimes brought home from the market. A strong citrus tempered by sweet vanilla that he used to devour.
Peering over her shoulder, Zevander caught sight of a book tucked inside the basket, the pages of which she held open before flipping to the next. He glanced toward an older woman, whose wrinkled face twisted to a grimace as she approached the girl.
The older woman offered a wide berth, stepping into the street, in an effort to avoid her, it seemed.
A gentle breeze caught the errant locks of shiny hair that caressed the girl’s delicate neck. So badly, he wanted to run themthrough his fingers, to feel the softness of her hair. Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled her, wishing he could bottle that delicious scent. Lips mere inches from the column of her throat, he dared himself to whisper in her ear. To tell her she was the most magnificent creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Well, look what crawled out of the grave.”
Zevander turned toward a young girl who seemed roughly the same age as her, with light brown, almost sandy colored hair and blue eyes. A boy with similar features walked alongside her, a younger sibling, judging by appearance.
“The lorn,” she spat.
The dark-haired girl quickly covered her hidden book and turned to face them, her expression souring. “I’m in no mood today, Lilleven.”
“Awww, she’s in no mood today,” Lilleven said, turning to her brother, who sneered. “The lorn is having a bad day.” She glanced up toward the shop and back to her, eyes raking over her in appraisal. “What could you possibly want with the seamstress, when the only clothing you’re permitted to wear is the same ugly, black dress you’ve worn your whole life.”
She pressed her lips together. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m waiting on my sister.”
“Oh, yes, the village whore.”
Fists clenched, the girl stepped toward her. “Don’t talk about Aleysia that way.”
“Or what? You’ll turn me into a toad with one of your spells?”
“Why are you so detestable? What have I ever done to you, to earn your hateful attention?”
“You exist.” Lilleven hissed.
“Mother says she should’ve been left by the woods,” the boy beside her taunted, before dragging his tongue over the blue lollipop clutched in his hand. “We’d have been better off.”
“I think she should be burned,” Lilleven sneered.
“You do not want to know what I think of you, Lilleven.”
“Tell me, you wretched witch. Tell me what evil thoughts plague your mind, so my baby brother can hear how awful you are. So awful, not even your own mother wanted you.”
