Thief of Souls

Poisons Breath

"Drink."

She stared into the fragile-looking teacup in front of her. Its sides were of a pristine glossy white in contrast to the flicks of black and red magpies on its side. A good omen despite its more ominous contents.

She turned it, marveling at its unending depths, the black glittering substance within shifting with every shake of her leg, rippling out with every tap on the table made by the impatient Poisoner.

It was all too much, the dread building up in her, a deep set sensation in her chest, doubt manifesting in rolling waves of sickness. Could this dark tea really do as the Poisoner said? Could she really risk her life and drink it? She knew that it was truly a  dangerous idea. But the thought had been like poison in her mind for weeks, no matter how hard she had tried to suck it out. It was not for no reason, despite what her obstinate father might think, that she was going to drink the Poisoner's brew. Being here now, in the Poisoners shop, meant she had run out of any other options. No one sought the powers of a Poisoner for benign reasons. And no one drank the Poisoner's tea without paying a price.

Desperation breeds recklessness. It was a war proverb she was quite familiar with, considering Alis had quoted it at her rather often. And yet, she couldn't heed its obvious warning.

She saw her eyes in the tea, dark and glittering. When was the last time she had seen her own brown eyes reflected in anything? The truth was, not for a while. Only she had continued to follow the rites of old, covering the mirrors, stubbornly wearing the black garbs everywhere she went. Because even if she was determined not to let him pass into the next world, the routine of the tradition had felt good. It had allowed her to put her focus into anything other than her pain. It had allowed her to feel numb.

No one else had followed the rites. He had no family and he was not particularly well known so it was understandable but disheartening all the same. Grief had made her ugly to look at, isolating her from the people in the harem, the courtiers within the palace. But she didnt entirely mind it. She had felt alone for most of her life despite being born in a place in which she had hundreds of half-siblings. Alis' flute melodies were a comfort she hummed to herself in her bedroom, so gentle and sweet -like him- they floated through her ears, sifting through the memories she had of him even now in this dark abode. Which were admittedly little.

So few. They were fading, faster and faster each day, funneling like dripping water in a cracked bowl. The crack always became larger, spiderwebbing out, the loss of water doing so at a faster rate. Eventually, she would have none. Slivers perhaps, peeking through at times in dreams and lucid nights at twelve in the morning. But practically none. None that mattered. His memory would suffer, and everyone would forget in time. Even her.

She could not bear it. The pain of his not-death. The silence when she read him his favorite poems and stories. The dullness of his eyes. She could not stand knowing him and at the same time not. That while he was gone from this plane of life, she was stuck here without him to ease her pains. She sniffed, wiping her red-rimmed eyes with her sleeves.

"The gods... they won't realize my deception?" She whispered the question as if the gods she spoke of would hear and strike her down. She asked it knowing the answer already. But it was more a reassurance than a question. The god's wrath... The stories of them were legendary. One did not simply draw their divine attention, so short their attentiveness for humankind, but when they did, there were stories of how severely that person suffered. Once had, their wrath could not be acquitted so easily.

She was just one girl. Not particularly able of mind or body. She had her courage, which had rarely aided her in the mortal realm. In the face of the gods, she was nothing. Their might and glory alone would eviscerate her. She could not risk drawing their attention.