As the dark oak doors swung open, propelled by unseen hands, Elyza and Alex stepped into Marrow, a realm of culinary enchantment. Instantly, they were enveloped in a symphony of fragrances, a delightful departure from the town’s pungent air. Alex led her in, their footsteps against the polished marble floor echoing as he approached the lone podium standing beneath the chandelier swaying above, its soft light able to illuminate the entire area with ease.
Unlike most of the top restaurants in the country, many of which he had visited with Elyza, the feeling radiating through the air was of calmness, perfectionism, control. The clinking of utensils against ceramic plates, the quiet roar of people’s conversation, the noise that he was used to in a restaurant, were all but muffled through another pair of doors facing the entrance.
As Elyza joined him to wait at the podium, the doors creaked closed behind them and the one opposite to it opened in unison. The noise of its patrons bled into the room as the host slid between the doors to greet the two.
With a warm smile, Alex extended his hand to the host, who reciprocated the gesture. Except the smile on his face seemed off, somehow feeling like every single smile Alex had ever seen, seemed almost too perfect, replicating the warmth of hospitality. The host’s hand almost collapsed as he shook it, as if it was a facsimile of how a hand should feel, an imitation. Moreover, it lacked the warmth of a life, the flow of mana that was present seemed too insignificant for the man standing in front of him.
With each passing moment, Alex’s perception of the host became increasingly surreal. Every subtle movement, every nuance of expression, each breath, each tug of muscles, they all seemed exaggerated, yet oddly artificial.
But as the seconds passed, the ‘mistakes’ became harder to spot, except, as Alex stared into the host’s eyes, it felt like there was nothing behind them, as if they were a reflection in a mirror, or a hyperrealistic painting.
Alex maintained his composure, concealing his suspicions behind a religiously practised smile. The host turned his attention to Elyza, extending a hand in greeting while delivering his message with a calm and friendly tone.
“Unfortunately, Marrow closes early on Sundays, to allow for the staff an extended break,” the host explained, his voice a melodic cadence, “Fortunately, we have a special service before we do, and while it has just started, we can easily adjust both of you into it, if you two are interested.”
“What is so special about this service?” Elyza asked, a look of unease spreading beneath the smile on her face as well, her eyes flicking to Alex’s as their thoughts aligned.
The host's demeanour seemed to brighten at the question, his posture straightening as if infused with a sudden surge of enthusiasm. “I'm glad you asked,” he began, his voice tinged with a newfound vitality. “We have a new four-course meal planned every weekend that utilises our edible leftovers from the week, and this week it is incredibly divine if I say so myself. And, since we would be using leftovers, we can offer you both our delicacies for a lone gold coin.” His smile grew as they thought about the offer.
“I think that’s delightful,” Alex admitted, flipping a gold coin at him, which he caught without even looking at it, his eyes drawn to the glimmering circle way after his arms shot to intercept it.
“Great! May I get your names?” He asked, opening the ledger, hidden in the podium.
“Nemo and Penelope.”
“Alrighty…” The host muttered as he jotted something else along with their name into the paper, looking up as he continued, “If you could follow me.”
The doors into the inner chamber swung fully open this time as the two were led in by him. As soon as they stepped into the main chamber, it was like they had stepped into a grand hall. The white marble beneath them soon faded into a kaleidoscopic array of coloured marble circling around the centre of the room. Four massive chandeliers appeared to float above the tables, slowly moving in unison, radiating a warm hue for the guests sitting beneath. There was a strange scent present in the air, but neither of the two could point to what was emitting it.
Tables adorned with fine linens and delicate tableware formed an elegant arrangement, with intimate settings for two positioned near the windows, their view obscured by heavy purple curtains. Larger tables dotted the remainder of the chamber, save for one solitary table positioned at the geometric centre of the room, the one the two were being escorted to.
Standing lone, separated by seemingly kilometres, was a table for two people, situated in the geometrical focus of the room, and where the design in the marble converged into a focus. It was, by far, the most illuminated area in the room, and it was in view of every single other table in the room. The other guests were already enjoying the first course as the duo both settled into the silk lined thrones, which were much more comfortable than the chairs at Rexham, so they did not pay attention to the new inclusions.
“Apologise for the inconvenience, but we can bring the first course, which is a pleasant tomato soup, only with the second course, which we will be serving in a moment's time,” The host proclaimed, turning the wine goblets for the two.
Suddenly, a waiter materialized from behind the host, her presence as fleeting as a whisper in the wind. With fingers adorned in frost, she carried an uncorked bottle of white wine, pouring its contents into their waiting goblets, before walking away with the host, leaving the two to converse.
Elyza reached for her drink, but Alex pulled the tablecloth towards him before she could grab the glass. “Take this first,” He instructed, tossing a small sliver of paper tied with a string of yarn towards her, taking out a similar one for himself, downing the powder held within. But he didn’t swallow, instead taking a deep breath till he coughed, a puff of glittering dust escaping from his mouth, and some from his nostrils.
She stared at him, contemplated asking why he was the way he is, and then poured the contents into her mouth. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as horrible as her mind imagined it to be, but it felt like fireworks in her mouth, a numbing heat rolling over her tongue after a while. The strange sensation distracted her enough for the powder to travel down her throat as she breathed normally.
“Do not swallow that,” Alex warned, swirling the wine around in the glass before taking a sip. Immediately, she forced herself to cough, orange dust shooting up her nostrils, clearing them immediately as they escaped from her body. For a moment afterwards, it felt like she could taste everything in the room, before it quickly reversed, settling into a slight tacky feeling in her mouth. She reached for the glass to clear her throat, and as the wine touched her tongue, the taste of alcohol was overshadowed by a burst of fruity richness, and the aftertaste of the sweet poison was gone as well.
“I gather you have a reason for this?” Elyza shot him a questioning glare, her annoyance evident in her gaze.
“First of all, we’re working, so we shouldn’t be drinking anyway,” Alex started, grinning, continuing his explanation, “Second of all, the powder weakens the effects of particularly strong toxins, which is likely how people are vanishing around here, and unfortunately, alcohol is a toxin to our body. Thirdly, it also enhances the flavour of whatever you eat…”
His explanation trailed off as a door at the back of the chamber swung open, unleashing an explosion of aromas that permeated the room. A procession of waiters glided in, each balancing two plates, with small bowls meticulously centred on each dish. They moved with the elegance of ballet dancers, seamlessly diverging to attend to their respective tables.
Their waiter, somehow, was instead carrying in one arm two bowls, her left arm busy in balancing the plate on her fingertips. With a flourish, she placed the plate at the centre of the duo's table, twirling it for a touch of theatricality before deftly transferring the bowls to their proper places in front of Alex and Elyza. She offered a courteous bow, her voice smooth and inviting, “I hope you enjoy the food.” With that, she retreated back into the kitchen, along with the other waiters.
The larger bowls contained a viscous deep orange liquid, what appeared to be classic tomato soup, except it was cold, there was absolutely no heat being emitted from the liquid, the bowl itself chilled. Surrounding the smaller bowl in the centre of the platter was a bed of mixed fresh greens, dew drops clinging to the leafy vegetables, providing support to four muffins. The muffins, with bits of red chillies embedded in the eggy mixture, were encased in thin, crispy pastry that had browned to perfection. The central bowl held rings of pickled onions, speckled with flakes of black pepper.
Alex picked up a soup spoon and dipped it into the soup, which was garnished with a swirl of cream and a sprinkle of parsley. Reflexively, he blew on the spoonful before bringing it to his nose, attempting to smell the cold liquid, and finally brought it to his lips, expecting the deep warm comforting richness of smooth tomato soup. Instead, he was met with the cold tart sharpness of fresh tomatoes, curbed slightly by the slightly bitter taste of olive oil and the burn of fresh garlic. It wasn’t as smooth as normal tomato soup, having the familiar crunch of cucumbers and the slight mush of breadcrumbs, but it didn’t need to be, the fresh ingredients refreshing his soul as he swallowed.
But more importantly, there was no taste of any added chemicals in the liquid, and as he glanced at his partner, who had already gone through half of the bowl, a look of satisfaction on her face after a day of salted meats, her eyes corroborated his thoughts.
She was the first to reach for the muffins, the crispy pastry surrounding it crackling under her touch, using a fork to lift a batch of vegetables to place upon the baked goods. As she bit into the muffin, she got a mouthful of a cheesy custard-y eggs instead of soft, dense bread, the spice of the chillies cutting through the savoury filling. The hard crunch of the flavourless pastry combined with the slight crunch of the cold tangy greens created an absolute divine texture. Yet, there was nothing unfamiliar about the taste, it just tasted like a well constructed dish. They both worked on wiping the plates clean, signing an unspoken pact to just enjoy the food for now, finishing the wine in between bites. Before Elyza could bring up the topic of toxins, they were interrupted by their waiter appearing at the table, her silent steps rivalling the table of assassins.
The waiter retrieved the plate in the centre, with only a puddle of condensation left, replacing it with a platter that fulfilled the wants of Elyza’s heart and a growing need of her stomach. Orbiting a cylinder of pink fresh salmon were paper thin slices of beautifully marbled beef, and a slightly darker purple meat, a strip of fat bordering each slice, as they acted as a plate to the onions and capers resting upon them, streaks of oil adorning the entire plate. She placed a smaller plate besides it, which held thin slices of baguettes, each toasted to golden brown perfection.
They both reached for the carpaccio first, selecting a slice of beef to scoop up some of the accompanying dressing, before swallowing the savoury package whole. The natural umami of the beef and the saltiness of its fat melted on their tongues, giving way to the sharpness of the onion and the brine of the capers, all mellowed by the slightly sweet walnut oil. Going for the purpler meat next, as soon as it touched Alex’s tongue, he instantly recognised the game-y metallic taste of duck meat, which provided a much sharper contrast compared to the beef cuts. Finally, Elyza picked up the slice of bread, using it to spoon the salmon tartar into her mouth. The salmon was remarkably fresh, its taste much mellower than the rest of the meats, which were elevated by the tiny beads of ginger in between the cubes of fish, providing a bitterness to the fish’s sweet taste.
The platter was left in the same pristine condition as the previous dishes, only streaks of oil remaining on the ceramic surface. But still, Alex was unsettled, there was no other way people were disappearing without a trace, without someone from outside hearing an altercation, except if they were knocking the guests out. And a form of toxin was the only way to do it stealthily, yet, the food was clean, and delicious, there was nothing that was being concealed by the flavour.
Elyza shared his unsettled scepticism, her eyes mirroring his thoughts. Something felt off, there was something strange in the air, something that didn’t feel right. The smell when they first entered the chamber was much stronger now, maybe a side effect of the powder, making their nose much more sensitive. Before they could dwell further on their suspicions, the waiter reappeared, gracefully interrupting their thoughts with the grand finale of their dinner.
Their waiter reappeared by their table, her movements fluid and precise as she placed a large, flat bowl at the edge of the table, covered by a bronze cloche. She expertly balanced it, ensuring it didn't topple, as she removed their previous plates, then slid the bowl into their focus.
That was when the duo realised the cloche over their dessert wasn’t metal, but transparent. The swirls of white smoke trapped within danced in intricate patterns, refracting light through the brown-stained glass, making it appear like bronze.
But the most intriguing fact was there wasn’t a handle to lift it off, and as the waiter placed a gravy boat next to it, the questions were building up in Alex’s mind, till he finally asked, “What is this?”
The waiter replied with a smile, “A chocolate Bombe cake covered with whipped cream, surrounded by some maple wood smoke which has been trapped with a shell of bourbon infused sugar.”
“Are we meant to break the shell?” Elyza asked, her eyes hungrily burning holes into the sugar dome.
“I think our way may be more spectacular,” she replied, smiling as she lifted the gravy pot and began to pour its contents over the dome. A thick stream of amber liquid cascaded down, covering the sugar shell, which surprisingly held firm under the weight. Just as the strong scent of ethanol reached their nostrils, the waiter ignited a flame from her fingertips. The flame leapt through the alcoholic vapour towards the caramel, setting the entire dome ablaze.
All the waiters retreated back into the kitchen as the chandelier swaying above started to dim, as the sugar shells on each table burned with a mesmerising intensity, the blue flames casting a warm glow across the chamber. As the fire consumed the sugar, it gradually melted away, releasing the smoke within it, but the heat being radiated awakened something in the air, the aroma that had been in the room since the beginning started to get stronger, starting to smell of something the two were deeply familiar with.
The smoke trapped within the dome didn’t dissipate, instead multiplying rapidly, seemingly melding with the thing in the air as it rushed to smother the entire chamber. As quickly as he could, the poison already slowing down his thoughts, weighing down his eyelids, Alex reached into his shadow through his cloak, and pulled out two blue squares. He flicked one towards Elyza, who sluggishly placed it on her tongue before face planting into the table. He tried to do the same, but his body was betraying him, muscles turning lax and unresponsive, as his eyes narrowed, and the darkness overpowered him.
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Elyza jolted from her slumber, her mind unable to pierce the fog that concealed the events from before, memories swirling within her with things that her brain told her were dreams, but her heart knew that could not be, a disorientating mix that left her head pounding. Rays of sunlight stabbed into her eyes, streaming in from the glass hatch above her, lighting up the braided cotton wool that had been woven into a bed below her. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she stared at the dark ceiling above her, wondering why it seemed so familiar.
It looked like her room back at home, the planks above her still bearing scars of when she built the shed. Her mind whirled into attention, a sudden surge of adrenaline accompanying her realisation, her senses expanding as the smell of the evergreen forest and the dew of the wafted in, the sounds of birds chirping joining them. She leapt up to her feet and bolted towards the door, slamming it open, and her muscles instantly froze, the door creaking backwards as she stared at her mother, whose hand was raised, about to knock.
“You’re up already?! Saving me the trouble of slamming you into the land of the living today, eh?” Her mother’s voice was like honey to her ears, her radiant smile sparkling under the sun. Tears welled up in Elyza’s emerald eyes as she stared at her mother’s similar pair. She wrapped her arms around her mother, pushing her face into her ginger hair, her fingers latching onto her shoulders, squeezing her lest she be snatched away. Her mother smelled of all the herbs under the rainbow, her hands felt like clouds as they cradled her daughter’s neck, her gentleness in her touch revealing her surprise at her daughter's sudden display of affection.
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“I thought the days of nightmares plaguing my Penelope were long gone,” her mother remarked, gently pulling her hands back and wiping Elyza’s tears with her fingers before tapping her nose. “What’s wrong Elyza?” She asked, worry emanating in her tone. Yet, as Elyza stared at her mother’s comforting smile, Elyza’s memory failed to recall why her emotions were in turmoil moments before.
“I dreamt of you dying, Mum,” Elyza began, her voice trembling. “I dreamt of getting revenge for you, and then I dreamt of journeys with a friend.” The words should have been hard to come by, most dreams are hard to recall, but instead of fading away as she spoke them, the words forced themselves deeper into her mind, trying to become facts rather than be forgotten.
Her mother’s expression softened as she pulled Elyza into another embrace, “They’re just dreams, Penelope, they’re created by us, allowing us to choose to latch onto their negatives or learn to decipher the truth they’re trying to convey.” Her voice carried a mix of concern and tenderness, before she let go of her daughter, a twinkle of curiosity in her eyes. “I do hope you had fun on your adventures, and I want to know what all you did in them. But today’s your favourite day, so you can tell me about it while we pay the bees a visit.”
It had been ages since Elyza had seen the hive, and as they walked through the wild grass, they went behind the main house where her mother lived, stopping by the quaint little garden she kept. The garden was a whirlwind of colours and scents, full of herbs and wildflowers from around the country, all grown and nurtured by her mother. Some to use for her apothecaries, some that she sold to farmers to help with their crops.
Kneeling by some bee balm, which were almost in full bloom, a shimmering glyph formed from her mother’s hand as she spoke the words, “Fás ceann beag.” The flowers began to bloom under her encouragement, their purple petals fanning outwards, curling open, resembling the stingers of the insects that adored to extract their nectar.
“Gather some flowers and leaves, then meet me at the hive,” her mother instructed, and Elyza crouched to do so as she left her to gather the bucket to store the honey. Taking out her knife, she carefully sliced the stems of the flowers and pulled on some darkening leaves, bunching them in her hand. She enjoyed the sweet citrus smell that they carried, that had hints of pepper, almost like some teas she remembered enjoying.
The early winter air carried a dampness, snow clinging on to only the lowest branches of the trees that surrounded her home, unable to stand the warmth that came with the morning light. A cold weak breeze blew through the clearing, carrying the outros of the warbler’s morning calls, yet instead of enjoying the perfect weather, her mind remained preoccupied on what should’ve been a passing thought.
Elyza had smelled the aroma of bee balms thousands of times before, but she had never compared it to any type of tea. The only tea she could remember drinking was the chamomile that her mother brewed when she couldn’t sleep. As she tried to recall where she had even encountered a tea that smelled of bee balm, a memory popped up in her head, of her sitting in a café along with the friend from her dreams. But her mind couldn’t focus on it, as if it didn’t want to recall it, as if something was trying to stop it from trying.
Suddenly, a hat fell on Elyza’s head, her mother’s voice grounding her thoughts immediately. “What’s wrong, Penelope, you aren’t stuffing your mouth with dirt again, are you?” She asked, plopping down the honey brass bucket, the cheesecloth covering it falling within it, as she knelt besides her daughter.
“That happened once Ma, and I was five,” She replied, her ears drooping with embarrassment as she pulled the hat’s veil down as she rose to her feet, her mother chuckling as she handed over the bunch of flowers.
“I can never be too sure with you, and you’ll always be a child in my eyes,” her mother proclaimed, scrunching up the petals and stuffing them into a bottle full of poultice. She smashed the fresh ingredients against the glass with a long pestle attached to the bottle’s cork, mixing them into the mush already inside.
They began again, walking past the garden and a bit into the woods behind it, Elyza leading this time, something in her consciousness screaming at her to protect her mother as they traversed through the trees. Her thumb caressed her right index for comfort, which felt unsettlingly empty at the moment, her mind waiting for something to pop out of the treeline, to feel the heat of a raging fire, yet those thoughts disappeared as her eyes settled on the beehive.
She remembered making it with her mother, cutting the wood, hammering her fingers and eventually the nails. She remembered when she cared for the queen bee, when she harvested her first batch of honey, the first time a bee hugged her finger. She remembered its burnt remains, fire raging around her, her bees lying dead at her feet, she remembered her mother’s silhouette. The visions were snatched from her, her mind forcing her to stare at the pristine birch house, the white wood gleaming under the patchy sunlight that streamed in through the branches of the crooked tree that stood behind it.
She hated that tree since her mother decided this was where the bees should live, wanting the sunlight to reach them unimpeded. A longing sadness washed over her as she stared at the sight, happiness replacing it as she observed the bees travelling through and from their home. But there was work to be done. Her mother nudged her forward, handing her the bottle of poultice, which she hung on her belt, adjusting her bee hat as she walked towards the hive’s home. The bees were quiet for the moment, only a few guards hovering around, prepared to sound the alarms, and sound them they did.
Before she could remove the top of the house, they were all swarming around Elyza, but none of them stung her. Her movements were slow and predictable, the bees already knew her scent, and they were used to this process. Despite their buzzing loud enough to shake the earth, Elyza felt a serene calm among them, confident they wouldn’t hurt her. She carefully lifted the first honey frame, the white wax obstructing her view through the hexagonal cells. She meticulously scanned the frame for any bees that might have got stuck. With a gentle shake, she encouraged the bees to fly off before handing the frame backward to her mother’s waiting hands.
Scraping the frame down into the cloth covered bucket, the beeswax stayed on the surface of the cheese cloth as the honey sank through it. She continued to scrape till there was nothing remaining to extract, leaning the frame besides the bucket, waiting for her daughter to hand her another. As they continued working, Elyza couldn’t help but find pleasure as she worked, she had missed the song of the bees, missed her mother’s company, it had been ages since she had cared for the hive, or harvested honey.
For some reason, that thought felt wrong. Visiting the hive had been a daily occurrence, checking up on them whenever she went to hunt or forage for mushrooms, and they harvested honey twice a year. The more her mind thought about what emotions were bubbling up inside of her, the more peculiar they seemed, her mind unwilling to tell her why she missed her mother’s company. They were soon returning the frames to the house, Elyza still trying to force her mind to divulge its secrets to her, which somewhat concerned her.
As she was about to slide the last frame into position, holding it in her hands, staring through it, just taking a second to collect her thoughts, as the bees began retreating back into their home, her eyes wandered towards the crooked tree in front of her. Black rot had begun to mar the crooked tree’s already sickly brown trunk, eating its way up through the roots, starting to scrape a cavity into the wood.
Suddenly, it all came flooding back. She saw pools of blood forming among the rotted roots, flowing down the gaping hollow of the crooked tree, almost giving the appearance that the wood was bleeding. But she knew, in the depths of her heart and her soul, she remembered whose blood it was. The memory of her mother’s body strung to, bound to, the branches of the tree, her limbs broken and twisted in ways that were not out of necessity but to incite fear in the ones who were forced to watch.
It was a memory Elyza hoped she had put behind her, a recollection of her past she seldom thought or wanted to think about nowadays. An echo from her past, not unlike the picturesque setting she was currently existing in. As she stared at the sight that set her down this path, rage built within her as Elyza realised that all of this, her mother, her room, her old life, was nothing but another memory. It may have been one of the happiest days before the pain came, but the sheer fact that it was just her reliving it made the rage grow fiercer.
She wanted to wrench the crooked tree to the ground, to eradicate what had happened there permanently from her mind. Reaching for her seed pouch, she grasped at empty air. She looked back at her belt, and there it was, where it always was, roped around a nook of her pants, just behind her pocket. The red embroidered leaves were as bright as the day she and Alex had made it. But it wasn’t there a moment before.
“What’s wrong, Elyza?” her mother asked, putting a hand on her shoulder, her voice worried about her daughter’s odd behaviour.
Her mother’s touch may have broken Elyza out of her rage, or made her mind think about her current reality, but regardless of whatever caused it, a realisation emerged within her mind. The sensation of her mother’s hand, the smells of her home, even the sound of the wind rustling the leaves around, they seemed too focused. All of which she could remember of her dreams, never did one thing within them feel anything other than liminal in nature, as if she was only interacting with their essence.
But here, at the moment, her mother’s hand felt as real as she remembered. Elyza felt around in the pouch as she calmly answered, “Just thinking.” Her fingers grazed past some vine seeds, and as she dug further, she felt a loose bag of powder, her hand retreating as her fingers wrapped around it, along with some seeds.
Tossing the seeds first, Elyza watched as they hit the soil near the roots of the crooked tree. She spoke a single command, “Neartaigh agus ceartaigh.” A runic circle exploded in front of her mouth, a mix of deep green and shimmering purple. The seeds sprouted, sending ivy vines bursting toward the tree. The green tendrils wrapped around its trunk, their roots burrowing into the soil, and then they went to work.
The soil heaved as the vines tugged at the crooked tree, almost as if they were uprooting it. The bark cracked and groaned under the pressure. The tree wrenched upwards, its leaves shaking gently as the hive was exposed to the sun. Slowly the vines lessened their pull, still wrapped around the trunk, some strays climbing along the bark, anchoring the ivy to the tree, hardening as they settled.
Elyza stared at the crooked tree, seeing if she wanted to make further adjustments, when her mother exclaimed, her voice full of pride, “When did you learn to do that?!”
“Alex helped me learn more about Druidcraft,” Elyza replied simply. She tossed the bag at the exposed roots, and spores discharged from within, settling among the dirt and rocks.
“Who’s that? Your boyfriend…” Her mother teased, and before she could correct her, added “or a girlfriend? I’ve, personally, met many beautiful ladies named Ale-”
“He’s…” Elyza interrupted her before her stipulations could go any further, struggling for a bit to find the words that fully encompassed their relationship, “I can’t believe I’m about to say it, he’s my partner in crime, a friend I’ve come to trust, even though there are so many reasons I shouldn’t.”
“I really hope that’s metaphorical, because I really hope you haven’t got in with the wrong crowd.” her mother said, raising an eyebrow.
Elyza sighed, then uttered another command directed at the spores. “Fás agus banna.” A circle of white and purple appeared from her hands as she spoke, the runes glowing softly, pulsing, as the spores grew to follow her commands. Caps of brown popped up among the roots, as the dehydrated roots were turned into a tapestry of fungi, most mushrooms as big as her fist.
“Oh, he’s nowhere near what you would imagine as a wrong crowd, Mum,” Elyza remarked, smiling at her inability to lie even to a possibly imaginary version of her mother. “You would like him, if he ever had the chance to meet you,” Elyza mused, as she looked upon the crooked tree, which now needed a better name, its sickly brown trunk obscured by the fantastic green of the vines wrapped around it. It stood taller than ever before, matching its brethren, its leaves fluttering under the sun. The mushrooms would slow the rot, and aid the tree enough for it to outgrow the mould.
“You could invite him to breakfast tomorrow, it has been a while since we’ve had any sort of guests.” Her mother offered, picking up Elyza’s hat and placing it atop her own, wringing the cheesecloth full of beeswax to ensure no drop of honey was wasted.
Not wanting to promise something that could not be, her rage dissipated as she turned towards her mother, stating calmly, “I need you to do something, but before I do it, I need to ask something, and it would be better for me if you sat down.”
“You’re worrying me, Penelope,” Her mother began, smiling as she sat on the soft green grass, leaning against the honey-filled bucket. “But if I’ve learned one thing since the 24 years I’ve been your mother, it's how to worry about you.”
“I don’t know whether you’re her spirit, a figment of my imagination, or the culmination of my memories,” Elyza began, starting to pace in a circle around her mother, as the swirling thoughts in her head started to connect. “It is clear, however, whatever state I’m in, whoever’s doing this, you’re too real to be something just to trick me…”
“Elyz-,” Her mother tried to intervene, but she wouldn’t allow her.
“So I’m going to ask, maybe hoping that there is enough of you in my memories to allow me an answer, but mostly to get it off my chest,” she continued, crouching in front of her mother, taking her hand as she continued, trying to make sure her voice didn’t break. “After your death, after I’d enacted vengeance on those who caused, after I tried to overco- forget my past, I still doubt if I am keeping up to your hopes, Ma, if you’d be proud of who I am trying to be if you were still here,” Elyza choked out the words, holding her mother’s hand to her cheek.
Her mother’s eyes softened, her thumb gently stroking Elyza’s cheek, smiling at her, “Oh, my Penelope, whatever trouble you’re in, whatever trouble you cause, I know you try your best, and I know that you always tried to do the right things, so if you believe that what you’re doing or what you may be doing in the future is something you want to do,” her mother kissed her forehead before she continued, “then do not worry about what I may think, because I will always be by your side, love.”
Elyza knew the words held no true meaning, but still, she was glad to hear them. She wanted to stay here, wherever she was, stay with her mother for a while longer. But the thought of others falling into the same trap fuelled her ire, and Alex wasn’t exactly a patient man. She knew he would drag her out eventually.
Clearing her throat, Elyza kissed her mother’s cheek before she asked, “Thanks Ma, now I need you to do something.”
“Of course.”
“Slap me.” She instructed with a straight face.
“Elyza…” Her mother began, giving up as she saw the determination on her face, sighing, “Fine.” She tapped her cheek, hard enough for Elyza to consider it a slap if she was still five.
“MA.”
“ALRIGHT,” Her mother relented, sighing as she brought back her hand, adding, “Just don’t argue with me if it was too hard,” before slamming her palm into Elyza’s face.
The impact burned her cheek, almost as if it had struck her soul directly. As she looked at herself, her own body, viewing it from above, Elyza almost believed that her mother had actually done so. Whatever form she had taken, Elyza felt something tugging around her neck, a line leading up into the sky and into an invisible barrier between the bright blue above and an ominous darkness that seemed to have no beginning or end.
Instinctively, she reached for the line, using her fingers to trace the string, as thin as a knife’s edge, taut as steel as well, barely able to feel its paths. Deciding to use it as a guide to reach the barrier, she tugged on it as she floated upwards, and the line suddenly went slack. She grasped the string with both hands, worried that she had snapped it, only for it to suddenly go rigid, almost cutting her fingers off.
Without warning, Elyza suddenly shot up towards the barrier, getting yanked by the string as it whipped in front of her. Struggling to keep her head straight as she was dragged through the sky, she could barely force her hands up to shield her face before she hit the barrier.
It was like slamming into water, slowing to a stop before the line whipped again, forcing her through something her mind could only describe as the plane where light ceases to exist at the depths of the ocean. Her surroundings tried to compress her, pushing against her skin, threatening to crush her until she matched the darkness. Her head grew heavy as it was battered against the darkness until exhaustion overtook her, and everything went black.
Elyza’s eyes shot open, met with a dark hue of blue that burned her eyes as they darted around, trying to understand where she was. She took in a breath, and air flowed smoothly into her lungs, but it refused to be let out, her throat filling up with liquid as she tried to breathe further.
Panic filled her mind, her limbs pushing through the viscous fluid, swinging around to orient herself to her surroundings, desperately trying to find something that could signal her freedom. Then her hand struck solid, a thunk echoing through the fluid, the surface smooth as ice. She banged her fist against the wall, hearing the sound reverberate tenfold, and felt the surface bend under her force. It couldn’t be harder than bronze.
Thinking would have taken too long; a quick doubt in her mind ran down her arm and to her ring, her halberd shooting outwards, ripping through the liquid as it struck the surface and shattered it. The liquid rushed to escape their container, dragging its sole occupant along as it poured onto the hard rock below.
Her hands impacted the floor first, and she started to cough as soon as they did, trying to get whatever was stuck in her throat out. She hacked out blue slime that shone ever so slightly, attempting to take her first free breath only to have pain shoot through her body. Her stomach had something jamming into it from the right side, and Elyza wrapped her hand around the culprit, pulling out a shard of glass streaked with her blood, some of the blue fluid seeping into the gash.
Flipping herself over, she gasped to clear out her lungs, trying to get her senses to give her some direction on what to do next, picking out more slime from sticking to her years. She stared at the ceiling above, till her gaze fell on the contraption that had been holding her captive. It was crafted of steel, half the front was a glass door, about ten mana crystals being fed by it, attached to the base of the pod. However, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw another pod above it, and two more flanking it. Nursing her wound, she sat upwards, her eyes scanning the tunnel she was in.
A tunnel that held pods filled with people as far as she could see. A tunnel that had someone coming towards her.