In wake of her father's death, Emma Greengrass rejects the hand of a powerful wizard, resulting in a vile curse being placed upon her and her future lineage. The only one capable of helping her reverse the effects of the curse slowly burning her fro...
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two 𖤓 Push and Shove
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A harsh stinging sensation on my cheek jolts me out of my slumber, causing my eyes to shoot open and jerk around my surroundings, taking them in as I struggle to understand where it is I am, and how I got here.
My mother is what comes into view first, her face blurred through my distorted vision. Though as it clears up as my consciousness returns to me, a frown forms on my own expression as I meet hers — one full of rage.
"Tell me it isn't true," she begins the moment our gazes meet.
"Where am I?" I ask, ignoring her bizarre words entirely as I attempt to peer over her shoulder. She is in a strange sort of position, hovering above the bed I have been laid atop as though attempting to conceal the room I am in from view, but I am able to bend my aching body enough to fight against this. Several feet behind her, a plump woman with orange hair has her back to us as she leans over a counter, mixing something into a bowl. Something about her rings a bell in my mind, though my attention is driven away from her when Hilda Greengrass speaks again.
"You have no business asking questions, child," my mother scolds, and I retract my gaze from the mysterious but familiar woman and back to her. Throughout my near eighteen years of life, I have seen her fury spike in this way only a handful of times, and never before when I was too confused to understand what I had done wrong.
The stinging in my cheek subsides, and I glance at her hand, the skin of her palm having turned ever so slightly red. This time, it is my turn to allow anger to rise in me, simmering in my veins as I demand, "Did you hit me before I woke up?"
When she does not deny it, I push myself off of my back and into a sitting position, despite the glare she shoots at me as I do. Moving my hand, I go to brush a clump of hair out of my face, to find it damp.
Memories come back to me in short, swift images, so quick and sudden I cannot quite discern if they did or did not truly happen. I recall fire, eating away at my insides. I recall water, the serenity of the summer evening. I recall searching for the sight of the sun through the clouds, and coming up with nothing.
