This is a little sneak peak from a story about feminism, the power of sisterhood and revenge. There is a lot of blood but don’t expect any kind of remorse (and also cute hedgehogs and I can guarantee they don’t get hurt).
I’m going to submit the story soon so let’s keep our fingers crossed.
They started by ripping her nails off.
It had been predictable, even if extremely uncomfortable but they had forgotten one. A lonely, all ragged edges, miserable looking nail on her left little finger. She was using it to cut herself open now. Just a tiny bit, where the skin was thin, and the blood ran dark and fast. Dark drops fell into the mix of dust and soil and the ground absorbed it with an almost inaudible sigh of satisfaction.
She dug her index finger in the softer part of the wall. Fierce heat spread from the tip of her finger to the bones in her wrist but she needed it.
The second offering to the earth.
Gifts were not important if they were meaningless. Besides, there was no point in dying if she couldn’t experience some of the pain. Make it a bargaining chip for the River of Souls or the new life that was waiting somewhere on the other side.
She took a deep breath between her teeth, firmly clenched on her lower lip and dug in all five fingers this time.
The scream was the loudest that had ever pierced her brain.
It stayed firmly inside her head.
She would have been proud if she hadn’t been busy blinking through silent tears and visualising tiny sprouts of green through the stone wall. They had grown since the night before.
She had started calling for them on the first night, but growth always took time. At least, it had been a rainy spring. She didn’t know how she would have managed with dry weather.
Her knees dug into the soil and dust mixed with a bit of her blood. All the better. They said a corpse was heavier and ready to fall into the earth once the soul had left the body. She was only half dead but that served her well. She needed the proximity of the earth.
She kept on visualising the luxuriant thick vines, brown and green and sturdy, pushing at every stone until they reached her. Her aim may not be good enough for her part of the wall, but it didn’t matter. From what she had gathered, there was only a broom closet next to her.
Soon enough, she heard the sound of thousands of vines pushing through nooks and crumbly mortar on the other side.
They had pierced the broom closet.
“Good thing I don’t believe in a god, or I’d sure believe I’m cursed.”
“Of course you don’t. All the gods are worthless, craven creatures. It’s only the goddesses who matter.”
The voice came from the broom closet. There were only two choices possible; either believe a broom was talking to her or that it had never been a broom closet at all.
Lobelia had decided quite firmly she wouldn’t suffer hallucinations when the Anti-Magic faction had abducted her.