Page 21 of The Awakening of Essensia

She shook off the thought. Maybe she would take a walk under the stars. It was a habit of her father’s when he was restless and couldn’t sleep, and she’d picked it up not long after he had passed.

She sat up stiffly, pulled on her boots and padded to the kitchen.

A loaf of bread sat on the counter. It was stale, but she tore off a chunk anyway, chewing mindlessly.

A cat yowled.

A rattle.

The doorknob twisted back and forth.

The door flung open, and Jon stumbled in. His hood was up, casting most of his face in shadow.

The smell hit her instantly. An acrid, putrid thing, like meat that had turned bad. She gagged and turned her face.

“Salts, what is that?” she said, covering her nose.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, swaying slightly. His shoulders twitched beneath his coat.

“How much did you drink?” She watched him more closely now. “You look awful.”

Another low noise came from him, like a groan pressed through clenched teeth. His head tilted, and she saw the glint of something metallic under his cloak.

“Jon?” she said warily, taking a step towards him.

He was in front of her in an instant, his blade flashing in the low firelight.

She barely twisted in time, his knife grazing her arm as she crashed into the wall behind her. Pain bloomed, hot and sharp.

“What are you doing?” she shouted.

He came at her again, his movements jerky.

All wrong.

His arm pinned her shoulder to the wall while the knife sought her throat. She shoved his wrist back with both hands, straining, her injured arm slick with blood. The smell coming off him made her stomach heave. She drove a knee into his groin, but he didn’t even flinch.

A dry, cracked voice spoke. “Little Lira,” it crooned, and an icy chill ran through her. “Little Lira, little Li—”

Vaelira twisted and slammed her palm into his chest.

He stumbled backwards and crashed to the floor.

She staggered away, breathing hard, blood dripping from her elbow to the floor in slow, steady taps.

His hood slipped back, revealing ashen skin tinged a faint grey. Dark veins stood rigid against pale flesh, but it was his neck that made her limbs lock.

A brutal gash cut from ear to ear. Blood had long dried across his shirt, a black crust clinging to the stiff fabric.

She stood frozen, starting at the impossible image before her. Nothing made sense. She was still dreaming, she had to be.

His head lolled as he tried to rise, his spine arching at an unnatural angle. A wide grin spread across his face as his watery eyes fixed on hers.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Jon,” she whispered, but she already knew. Whatever stood in front of her was not her brother.

Agony swelled, violent and overwhelming. She wanted to let it consume her, but she shoved it down, crushed it beneath a rising fury that burned hotter than her grief.

Someone had taken Jon from her.