The Awakening

Chapter 1

She is just a girl, Thorne. What if she makes the same mistake as Verity?

Elisa, she is far from a girl, and Verity didn't make a mistake. It's not up to us. It is the gods' will. Whoever chooses her will be lucky to do so.

My eyes snap open to the blinding light coming in through my window. I squint at it and my head throbs in protest. The room is far too stuffy and hot. Indentions from my rumpled bedsheets cover my arms and legs. I pad across the room to the blinding window and shove it open, inhaling a deep breath of the salty air from outside.

As I'm leaning out the window, I remember the words I awoke to.

Whoever chooses her will be lucky to do so.

It was a dream. It felt so real. I was so sure I would wake to find my parents standing over my bed, both of them with worried looks on their faces, but of course they wouldn't be.

I leave my window open as I shove my feet through a pair of breeches that are far too large for me, an old pair of Verity's. I lace them as tight as I can and tuck in the hem of my night dress. My hair covers my eyes as I bend over to lace up my boots and after blowing it out of my face for the third time, I reach for the strip of fabric I keep fastened around my wrist and tie it around my long length of unruly hair instead.

I enter the kitchen to see my mother stood behind my little sister Amity, braiding her golden hair and weaving it with flowers and ribbons. The smell of fresh baked bread hits my nostrils and I turn to see the still-steaming loaf sat atop the wooden table beside the hearth.

"Nice of you to join us this morning, Mercy," my father chides as he enters the kitchen with a handful of berries from the garden.

It's then that my mother turns around to face me. Her jaw drops in horror before tightening back into her usual, lipless pout as her narrowed eyes look me up and down.

"Dear gods, Mercy, have you no idea what day it is?" Her voice is scalding, causing both my father and Amity to flinch, but I don't move a muscle. "You should be in the bath, combing out that dastardly rat's nest of hair on your head."

"You're right mother," I drawl, mockery dripping from my words, "the gods won't know what to make of a woman without a perfect arrangement to her hair, and don't even get me started on those who refuse to soak in the bath for hours before anointing themselves with an entire bottle of rose oil. Absolutely preposterous, I say."

My mother's face tenses impossibly tighter, as if every inch of her skin is pulled so taut, it might just tear in two. I almost laugh when I imagine the horrifying sight.

"Mercy," my mother continues, the edge to her voice all too familiar, "would you not be difficult today? You need to bathe, the water in the basin is still good–"

"And ice cold I imagine?" I quirk an eyebrow at her and her scowl only deepens. "Why is it that we have to smell like honeysuckle to enter the temple of the gods? Why must we be hairless, with our skin rubbed raw, and dripping with oil? Do we think they do the same?" I tap a finger against my lips in contemplation before ripping off a hunk of the steaming bread, causing my father to chuckle. "If I were a goddess, I'd turn someone to ash before I ever let them come anywhere near me with thread for plucking or a saltstone for scrubbing."

"Mother!" Amity shrieks suddenly. "She's ruined the crumb of the bread again! She knows it has to cool before slicing it, or rather tearing it apart with her hands."

I turn my head to face her, her perfect blue eyes narrowed on me.

"Indeed, Amity," I nod, wiggling my fingers dramatically, "and now the goddess of bread will surely come down from the heavens and smite us all."