Three hundred years ago, the Earth split and the sky trembled. And then the monsters came.
The island of Lowynn is cursed. The Veil between worlds has torn, and now, monsters come with vengeance. They can only be placated by the blood of sorcerers...
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Everyone sleeps. Eventually you'd have to. Eventually, you'll learn how to. As night blanketed the world, Ciara wished Tristan's words were true. It felt as though she could never sleep soundly again, the way she had when life was a simple game of ballgowns and betrothals.
But she trusted that she could learn to do it again, eventually. That was the worst part. To reach that same sorry, numb state, with no sense of passion or purpose. To wear bloodstained hands as if they were gloves. Eventually, no matter where she went, it would be easy to ignore suffering. Even to kill. She'd slide further into treachery and villainy every day until it suddenly didn't bother her anymore. There would come a day when she crossed that threshold and didn't even realize. She'd cease to flinch, stop crying, find ways to sleep at night. Her heart would turn to stone, and there wouldn't even be guilt telling her otherwise.
Somewhere in her heart, there was the power to become numb. Numb and happy.
I will go with Tristan, Ciara decided, already hurrying towards the door. She could save them. Ayla would be furious; so would her father. But they would survive, and the war that had weighed heavy on Ciara would be averted. She remembered the terrifying aftermath of the ball. Her first instinct had been to surrender. It took several weeks more, but she was surrendering now. What had stopped me the first time?
The General, of course. His eyes had blazed with fury at the idea of defeat, and she had caught fire under their force. If she went with Tristan, she would never see her father again. And it would be for the better, because if she did, he would spit curses at her. He would revile her in a thousand tongues.
I will never see any of them again, Ciara thought, and the force of her realization made her pause. Sweet Lugh, her nervous, nagging mother.... even her father, much as Ciara hated to admit it. They were her anchors in the dark seas of life, and she couldn't bear the thought of floating alone and endlessly lonely.
My ancestors will mock me. They will call me a traitor. I will blaze into history as a coward, fleeing in the night. And the King--
Ciara appreciated Tristan's promises. Some part of her trusted that he would protect her as best he could. But the scars on his face would soon be writ into her own. Knowledge of what would await Ciara in the Celnaer palace stole her breath and her courage.
Then I will stay, she decided. She knew that it was the weak and cowardly solution. She was going to let other people fight her battle, burying herself deep within the stone where she could not notice. Each day was going to become a test of her blindness and complacency. But it was sweet to be loved, even by monsters.
Ciara was sorry for many things. She was sorry for the thousand beautiful strangers she would never get to know, perished under the Celnaer reign. She was sorry for the lives that would be shattered and destroyed under her Father's own. And most of all, Ciara was sorry that she wasn't brave enough to stop it. But she wasn't a curse-breaker, or a Worldhealer. She was just Ciara. And she could not save them.
