Page 5 of Echoes of the Banshee

If I give in, we won’t be saved. We’ll die together. Two souls bound in ruin, scorched by a world that never wanted us.

“Thea…” His voice splinters. “Please, love... don’t make me watch ya suffer like this.”

“No beginning.”

“No end.” The words echo, full of grief. “I love you, Thea.”

“I trust you,” I cry.

“Until the next life.”

His keen yanks on my soul and I let go, feel myself torn away.

My soul goes to Lazlo. It’s strange, like stepping into a memory of warmth and light, a feeling of home.

“No!” The word comes from everywhere. Even without ears, I can hear them. “Give me her soul!”

“Never,” he tells them without fear. Defiant forever.

He wails, releasing me.

A crack, sharp and unmistakable, follows.

Lazlo’s lament echoes through the void, a jagged knife that rips through the tether holding me to the present. The pull is sudden, violent, and absolute. My soul cast into a vortex of cold, unrelenting nothingness. A stillness so profound it feels like the breath of time itself has stopped.

Thea

Please Hold, Rebooting Soul

Awrenching gasp tears from my throat. My heart hammers violently against my ribs. I jolt upright. Horror and dread collide as my mind scrambles to understand. My limbs are sluggish as I search frantically for burns, for the charred flesh that should be there.

The familiar clutter of my dorm room greets me. Everything is eerily still, painfully ordinary. But it feels wrong; sharper, louder, brighter. Mocking me with its normalcy.

A laugh from the hall has me fumbling through my nightstand for my dad’s old goblin blade. I sit holding it like I know how to use it as the seconds pass. My breathing becoming erratic.

The room feels too small. I need fresh air. Without grabbing shoes, I open my door and peek into the hall. The fluorescent lights give nothing away. On tiptoes I head to the stairwell, out into a parking lot.

No, I need nature. Rocks bite into my soles as I rush to the small park and fall to my knees. I rip at the grass until I smell it.

Real. This is real.

I’m alive.

Tears splash down my cheeks as I gaze at the moon. I wipe them away. The cold from my bracelet jolts up my arm.

It was a gift of friendship from Anita. But she was never my friend. It was always a shackle.

With the blade still in my hand, I attempt to unfasten it. When it doesn’t come off, I try to pry the fastener with the knife. Still nothing.

A sickening hum vibrates beneath the surface, leeching into my bones. It wasn’t there before. It’s fighting me. Trying to get me to stop.

I brace my arm against a rock.

“Please work.” My hand shakes as I bring the blade down to my wrist. The first strike sends a brutal jolt through me, the blade skitters off the metal with a desperate clang. Sparks flare, and a searing cold shoots through my arm, making my muscles spasm and my breath hitch.

“Come on!” I cry, choking on the frustration that burns in my chest. I swing again, harder this time, but it fights, pulsing against the blow. The enchantment surges through my arm, numbing my fingers and dulling my grip.

The next strike is wilder, reckless. I pause for a moment as the blade wavers in my grasp, my trembling fingers barely able to hold it steady. I could miss and stab myself in the wrist. The risk is worth it. I swing again. The clash of metal echoes through the night, layered with the rising whine of the shackle. Another strike. A frantic roar splits the night.