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I swallow another mouthful of her blood and relish the visions that flow with it.
Damn, I was right.
She was touching herself this morning. My cold heart pumps with hot desire at the sighs of pleasure she makes. I should unlatch immediately after giving her the venom, but I linger for more.
I need to have more.
The injury from the assassin’s blade has long healed, but I can’t stop drinking her blood. I keep swimming through her memory lane, captivated by the scenes.
What’s this?
There is a reflection of a silver-haired child in the water. I could recognize those lilac eyes anywhere. This is my Nel when she was younger. Dirt covers her face, her hands, and her ragged clothing. She is so small, ghostly-pale, and… skinny.
I watch her as she harvests water into a pail and carries the heavy thing across the forest towards a campfire where another girl awaits. Nel places the water into a metal pot and throws two stones into it.
“Do you think if we boil the stones it will soften like potato?” she asks the other girl.
The malnourished blonde-haired girl stares at a distant for a while. “Maybe.”
And so, the two girls keep waiting for the stone to melt. From morning to evening, from evening to nightfall, from night until it’s dawn again. They wait patiently until the next day, and the next.
The stones do not convert to potatoes.
“Perhaps if it’s just one stone it will go soft,” Nel suggests, removing one stone from the pot.
Her friend seems to know the truth by now, but still she says, “Maybe.”
And they wait by the campfire once more.
Nel pokes at the stones again but they remain unpalatable. Tears stream down her face as she holds it helplessly.
“Don’t cry, Rhianelle. We can just drink the water,” the friend says, stroking her hair. Nel touches her stomach and I feel her hunger deep in my bones. The girl was starving to death.
Another vision flashes.
Rhianelle hides inside a tree trunk from the presence of something dangerous. I feel the bitter taste of fear in her throat.
More piecemeal images flow…
Little Nel is lying in the mud, her body battered and broken. She is so small… so vulnerable, weak, and scared.
Fuck this shit.
Something in me breaks so violently that I finally tear my mouth away from her wrist. My jaw clenches as I look at Rhianelle.
The girl is innocently unaware of the terror that grappled my heart a second ago. I release her from my hold.
“Nel…”
She is safe, she is here with me. No one is hunting her here. I tell that to myself over and over to calm my senses. Those were just memories.
My gaze drops to the commotion below.
“Stop hurting her!” The gnome and the pygmy boar are tackling my feet, telling me to stop.
He is cursing me in faerie tongue. I hardly feel their punches and strikes. My focus remains solely on the girl in front of me.
Rhianelle slips from under my arm and rushes to the small creatures.
