“What can you do?”
There he was again. Nosy as always. I had my heart locked up tight. But something told me I could trust him. So, I took the leap. I spoke to him. The first time I’ve spoken to someone in three years.
“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” I asked. His expression was beyond surprised, he was utterly baffled. He’d always spoken to me before. As if I would answer. But I never did. He kept talking to me anyways. Maybe that’s why I finally spoke. He recovered faster than I expected. He gave me a smile. No sarcasm, no hidden meaning. Just genuine pleasure that I was talking to him. In that moment, I felt so special. So I answered his question.
“My original gift is what some would call compulsion. It isn’t, not really. It’s…more persuasion. People always have the option to resist, if they’re focused enough. It’s why I’m so good with animals.” I demonstrated for him. I looked at a lonely raven, resting on a tree branch outside the window. I didn’t even have to speak. A look was enough. The raven flew into the room, landing lightly on my shoulder.
He looked at me with fascination. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “You said ‘original’ gift. Do you have more than one?” I stiffened. I took the raven in my hands, walked to the window, and gently thrust it into the air. It flew off. I braced my hands against the window sill, my head bent in shame.
Softly, remorsefully I said, “Yes. I have more than one.”
“That’s so coo—”
“No.” I cut him off venomously. “There is a reason I have more than one. The only way to gain a second power is to steal it. And do you know how you do that? Do you?!” My voice was still quiet, but red-hot fury laced my words. He flinched. I sighed heavily. My anger ebbed. Anguished, I croaked, “You have to take their life.”
He looked at me, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face. He spoke, a simple question. “Why did you do it?” Hot tears ran down my face.
All I could manage was a whisper. “I was ignorant. A born-and-raised bounty hunter. She was a good person. I killed her because I was ordered to. My own father told me to. I was reluctant. I hesitated. ‘It’s not a big deal, just do it already.’ He’d told me. And so I did. I took that poor woman’s life. I was only fourteen. It was so easy. Disgustingly easy. I just told her to pick up the knife and stab it through her heart. And so she did. I stole her power, her essence. And then came the irony. Karma. Justice. Whatever you want to call it.” I stopped, barely able to go on.
“What happened?” he prodded gently. I sighed again.
“Her gift was unusual, and extremely powerful. She had power over life and death. She could take and give life as she pleased. The problem with great power is it comes with a price. I could feel every ounce of pain she had felt as she died. I felt the terror of being unable to control her actions. She watched as her own hand thrust the knife into her chest. I laid on the floor in agony, barely able to stand the weight, the anguish. My father called me weak.” I looked over to the corner of the little room, sensing a change coming in the vivitae, the life force. A small spider laid there, writhing, close to death. A wispy, vibrant blue strand that looked similar to smoke, though more substantial. I snatched it out of the air.
I walked over to him, and touched his eyes so he could see the soul. I whispered softly, “This is what I stole when I killed her.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“But it was just from a bug.” I leveled him with a scolding glare.
“All life is sacred. The worth of a soul is priceless. No matter where it comes from.” I absorbed the soul into my body. I picked up the spider, careful to not damage the delicate limbs. I cupped it in my hands, and gave its life back in a breath of blue. Its legs twitched. I put it back on the floor, and let it continue its life. It scuttled quickly away, ready to fulfill the means of its existence.
