Poisoned Lips

36: Puppeteer

Felix's pov:

I liked to think sometimes of who I would've been if King Osiah hadn't adopted me.

Angelina purred in my lap while I stroked her fur.

An explorer?

An astronomer?

A sailor, perhaps?

Dead.

No, I would've been slaughtered just like the rest of my village. They were right.

Wouldn't it be better to be dead than to do what you do, boy?

"What I do? What you do!" I exclaimed. The audacity of these spirits.

Their laughs echoed in my head, bouncing off the walls in my room. Angelina scurried away.

You let us, boy. You let us use you. You are evil, just like us.

"Leave me alone."

They laughed in unison.

Fool...we leave, you die.

Some shrieked in mockery, mimicking the voices of the very people my hands murdered.

You cannot die, boy. We own you.

That was the price your sweet beloved mother paid.

They laughed again. Only this time, their shadows began to grow in the corner of my eyes.

She was such a prrrecious soul.

Delicious, another added.

My vision was growing darker, their shadows nearly covering the last ray of light piercing through my eyes.

Give up, give up, give up, give up, they whispered.

Let us free you, free you, free you.

Give us your soul, soul, soul.

Let us out to play, play, play.

I reached into my pocket, bringing out my mirror. My beady eyes stared back at me. Shrieking, they slithered across my eyes back into my mind. I exhaled. That should shut them up for some time.

I met evil when I was only a child, innocent and oh so trusting.

While they possessed my body, they could not possess my mind.

While they could dominate and use me to satisfy their blood thirst, they could never take my soul. I refused it. The whole kingdom would burn if I let them.

Ironic, isn't it? The jailer being jailed.

But, the cure could set me free. I could finally die. I could finally be free. Free of myself, of the spirits, free of my father, of my responsibilities.

The silly girl, Freyja, thought it was for Lucian. I practically laughed in my head. Little did she know. Before I died, I needed to kill her. She would be my first kill. And my last, conveniently. Freyja needed to pay. If the skies wouldn't punish her for her sins, I would.

Resolved, I opened my window and brought out my arm. A crow flew down and perched on it, digging its claws into my flesh. I brought the creature closer to me, whispering the ancient language. It cawed, ripping itself from my arm. Blood poured.

Follow her. Report back when she gets to the island, I'd ordered.

Just as the spirits could speak to me, I could speak with the evil creatures like the crows and howlers.