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I swallowed.
“You’re the witch,” I whispered. “The one who left her coven.”
She smiled, then sighed. “The one and only.”
I floundered with this information. As if I shouldn’t be thinking at all, my thoughts moved sluggishly.
“Am I dead?” I asked.
She shrugged. “That’s up to you.”
I ran a hand through my hair. Though I couldn’t see myself, I still sensed all my body parts. The longer I spoke to my ancestor, the more awake I became.
“You really are a witch,” I muttered. “You speak in riddles.”
She laughed, and it echoed into the void that surrounded us.
“I can help you get back, child,” she promised. “Even in death, I’m not completely without power, though it has to be your choice.”
I stared into the darkness until images formed in their depths. The arc of a flaming sword. Dad’s strong embrace. The fluid gait of my horse. The sun as it set on the skyline, and the world flared with color. Trees as green as Cadence’s eyes. The lift of my fearless sister’s chin when anyone dared challenge her.
Sunshine that burned as vibrantly as Freya’s hair. The curve of her smile she reluctantly let take shape on her face when she thought no one was looking. Little did she know, I was always looking at her.
I couldn’t help myself.
“Can I see them?” I asked.
Gwendolyn shook her head. “Not like this. You can rest and dream, or you can return and be among them.”
Her voice was free of judgement. I deserved rest after all. All my life, I worked and worked and fought just for the next day. Cadence wouldn’t judge me for wanting some damn sleep.
Freya would.
A smile tugged on my lips.
“I want to go back,” I said, then added, “please.”
“Know your life will not be without great pain,” she warned. “I can’t even promise I won’t see you again here soon.”
A real optimist, I thought.
“Better then than now,” I said.
She peered at me for a moment longer, then grinned.
“Have a safe trip back.”
Into the fire, I returned.
