Page 97 of The Reaping Rose

It’s as if I’m peering into an alternate version of what could have been my life.

When we reach the door to the crypt, Perame pauses, tracing her finger along a symbol etched in it.

“Another raven,” she whispers, tracing her fingers over the stone marking of a raven seated atop a crescent moon.

Four lines drip from the moon, reminding me of the four gods, even if that’s likely not what they represent here.

“What do you think the void will be?” Perame asks, glancing over. “A ring? A statue?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Callum tugs the door, but it doesn’t budge.

Propping his foot beside it, he pulls with the weight of his body, and it’s yet to rattle. Shoving his shoulder against it a few times, dust loosens, and finally, when he pulls again, it creaks open slowly. The hinges scream with the movement. Stone scrapes the ground, which is when I notice there are no leaves in its path; they’ve already been brushed aside.

“Wait.” I hold out my hand, stopping Callum.

He follows my gaze to the ground.

“Someone’s been here.” My stare moves to the pile where the door was pulled wide open. “These leaves are freshly fallen, but they’ve been moved.”

“Careful. Step back.” Callum angles his body between us and the crypt.

The door opens to pure darkness. The kind that has no end, even though the moon casts a glow over the graveyard. Without windows, the only light is what streams in behind us.

Callum is the first to go inside, waving us in once it’s clear.

My nose twitches with the dust clouding the air. A stale stench of death hangs heavy. That, and rotted vines. A cool chill whispers from the depths, warning me to run. But I ignore it, pulling my cloak tighter.

On the outside, the crypt appeared smaller than it is. But inside, there’s a walkway that slowly sinks into the ground. Callum snags a torch from the wall, striking it between the lighting stones until a flame blooms at the tip, casting a warm glow on the walls.

We’re surrounded by names carved into stone. My stomach turns at the thought of how many bodies surround us.

Ahead of us is a staircase leading deeper into the ground.

“The void is down there. I feel it.” The back of my neck prickles.

“Me too,” Perame whispers on an exhale.

The stairwell is narrow, so we stay in a single line until we reach a room larger than the one above. This room isn’t like the other. Instead of names on the stones, there are cups holding dead flowers. A long corridor leads to a series of doors.

“Do you think it’s in one of these rooms?” I eye the first door.

We don’t know what we’re looking for, but I’m hoping that the tension in the object will make it easy to find.

“It must be—” Something rattles, cutting Perame off. “What was that?”

A scratching sound comes from behind one of the doors, followed by shoes sliding over stone. The slow drag has the hair on my arms standing on its ends.

Callum steps in front of me and Perame, but I shift to see what he’s blocking. A door at the far end of the crypt screeches open, and a female steps out.

Her hood hides the majority of her face, revealing only her pink lips and ivory skin, but from what I can tell, she must be around my age. There’s no smile in the corner of her lips. She doesn’t speak. Her black wool dress brushes the ground with every step. A fine bone corset hugs her ribs, pushing her breasts higher and revealing her clavicle through the parted cloak.

Callum moves half a step and freezes.

Everything freezes.

The air, which I thought was still, is now unmoving in every way. I can hardly breathe. Thickness settles around us as my magic halts in my veins.

“Who are you?” I barely choke out. “What are you?”