“A dungeon.”

Gruna sighed, “This, you have said.”

Phoebe kicked the stone beneath her feet, “She sent us to an actual dungeon!”

“Correct.”

She glared at the unmoving orc, “She killed Ghost!”

“Ah. Incorrect.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes, “Just because he came from some spell doesn’t mean -”

“She reversed his summoning, that is correct.” Gruna interrupted before taking her hand and squeezing gently, “However, and this is most important, woman that I love… Ghost… Will only be as you dare to imagine him.”

“I don’t know magic. I can’t bring him back.” Phoebe snapped, nearly bursting into tears again.

The orc blinked, “Perhaps. However, it is also true that I am a holy knight. I am a representative of a deity. I can provide guidance in horrible circumstances such as these.”

“You can tell me how we can kill the fucking witch?”

Gruna sighed heavily, and took Phoebe by the shoulders. “I know what it is to experience pain. There is a truth to what you are suffering, that no one can relieve. I say this, as I prepare to state something that I know may cause your heart to break, and for you to reject me forever.”

“They’re… Dead.” Phoebe almost burst into tears, again.

Gruna leaned in, touching their foreheads together, “Close your eyes… Breathe deeply. Smell the rat droppings in this undesirable place.”

Phoebe burst out laughing.

“Continue. There is a scent of candles here, though they no longer remain. Wax melted and fallen into the cracks of the rock. Left forever, unable to be removed even by the most attentive servant.” Gruna continued, unabated.

She sighed and tried to focus on the words. Exploring the environment around them. It was exactly the kind of mindfulness trick that all the psychs back home attempted to teach.

“See the candles now, lighting this hall. Hear the footsteps of the servants shuffling by. Picture it, see it, hold it firm in your mind.” Gruna’s voice became more commanding.

“See the one who came along with the little bell on the end of a pole. Lifting and snuffing each in turn. Extinguishing the wick, and moving from one to another. The darkness welcoming in, until the hall is empty, as you know it now.”

Phoebe fought back a yawn, feeling her panic having faded.

Gruna pressed their foreheads harder together, “Dig deep, now. Light the path with your soul. Reach out, and push back the darkness.”

“It’s… Not happening?” Phoebe said in confusion as her own imagination fought her.

“Fight it!” Gruna commanded, “You will not be some petty wench. You are not no one. How dare the darkness tell you what this world should be? You were brought to this world because it knows that you belong. If you are forced to dwell here, then let it be on your terms! Prove it! Show me that you are worthy of the soul you now carry!”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Phoebe clenched her fists, hardening her jaw, “I’m not… A… Witch.”

“I didn’t say cast a spell. I said enact your will!”

Phoebe shoved her back, eyes flaring open, and nearly being blinded as the entire hallway lit up. She blinked, and cut short the slap she’d been planning for her new girlfriend, as she stared at thousands of tiny tendrils of blue flame, floating where she’d pictured each of the candles.

Gruna gave a satisfied smile, “That… Now that is indeed the woman I fell in love with.”

Phoebe frowned, “I… Still don’t get what I did.”

The orc shrugged and took her hand, before planting a very gentle kiss on her cheek, “Is it truly a thing that matters? Or can we simply discard the encyclopedia and take the path that is opened?”

She clenched her hand around the woman, and then hesitated for a moment, “I… I thought… I thought you were going to help me bring them back. Ghost. Drektanion. Elion.”

“Death… Is a mistress not easily guided.” Gruna said with some regret, “But of those number, Ghost is within the realm of possibility. Truth be told, to summon a creature such as he, even once, speaks of a magic quite considerable. Abusing the mind of a dragon into chaos is simple besides the act of life.”

Phoebe planted her feet raising one hand and grabbing one of the tendrils of fire. She set her jaw as she pulled it to her. Sparks spewed out of the object, and a wind whipped out as it resisted her. She glared at it, before pinching the top of the flame with her other hand.

She could feel Gruna’s eyes on her, neither astonished, nor judging, as she ripped open the top of the flame. As if it were a flower. A bud that had not yet blossomed. Equal in delicacy to the real thing, as she tried to drag out the colour that it contained inside.

There was a pop and an explosion.

Phoebe hissed and fell to her knees, staring at the shrivelled and red skin of her burnt hands. Gruna was instantly by her side, pouring some oily liquid down onto her palms and making Phoebe’s eyes water.

The orc rested a heavy hand on her shoulder, “A heavy price, is yours. All the same, I am impressed by your efforts.”

“No!” Phoebe snapped, shoving them aside and standing up again. She ignored the pain as she grabbed another flame. The heat immediately flaring the burns. She tightened her jaw and focused.

Gruna watched with concern as she slowly fought and dug into the blue flame. It belonged to her. She had created it, and she would twist and bind it until it did what she wanted. She needed to focus, to see it. To believe in it, with all the strength of her soul.

It burst, again.

She hit the ground, but before Gruna could assist, she was back on her feet and grabbing another. Forcing the flame open, a tiny fraction at a time. Balancing some sense of things instinctively, trying to work out the right way. The only way.

Phoebe bit her lower lip, ignoring the searing pains of her hands. The tightness she could feel wrapped around them. None of that mattered. The world could burn her and scar her, and she didn’t care. If the world had to be as crap as all of this, then she would take every scrap of light she could foister and beat the darkness to death with it.

A small shape squirmed within the heart of the flower. The blue leaves quivering as Phoebe delicately held her breath, trying so hard to reach in, without destroying what now held the delicate new little life. She grounded herself in the hardness of the flow. She stole the flexibility of the wax nearby. She took the darkness and sharpened it, using it to prod and pry with a surgeon’s scalpel.

She found words dancing in her mind, of cinnamon, silphium, oak and ash. She took the ashes of her past, where she found the buried remnants of her lost pet, and scattered them in front of her. Burning each speck in the flame, igniting and growing what lay within the heart of it.

She heard her favourite song in her head, of keeping fighting and standing tall. Taking each note and plucking it out of the air. Feeding it to the small creature inside the flame. Filling its tiny stomach and igniting the dormant mind that lay within.

A timid little yelp sounded out in the hallway.

Phoebe sniffled back a tear, tearing the rest free and hugging the tiny puppy to her chest. She spun to face Gruna, holding the now young little Ghost. “I got him!”

The holy knight was nowhere.

Phoebe stared, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, as she realised that not only was Gruna gone - she could see evidence of a fight. They had fought to protect her, whilst she was busy messing around with magic. She’d saved her dog, and lost her girlfriend.

“Fuck… That witch!” Phoebe swore, losing her temper instantly.