The Dawn of Eclipse

Chapter 7

The center of warmth shifts and Myth shivers. The wind howls in her ears, which causes her eyes to open. Her head rises, as her hair blows in each and every direction and wraps around her face. Next to her lies Aaron, who had rolled over and unknowingly caused Myth to fall off his chest and get pushed away.

The fire was no more than a few embers, desperate for more fuel. Fighting to stay alive. A soft breeze caressed the embers onto some small wood chips that were not yet touched, trying to coerce life to come back into the dying flames.

Grey ash flakes, softer than silk, swirl and glide around the fire. Whispers of ideas are blown into Myth's ears by the wind. As if the wind is trying to help her, they blow up more dust and ash, revealing something sparkling and silver-like in the place where bold flames had risen. A knife.

Cut it out. Be free. Or stay, and die tomorrow. The whispers were clear. The choice seems transparent to Myth, as she crawled forwards, careful to not to make a sound. She glimpses over at Aaron, as she gingerly wraps her fingers around the smooth, cold oak handle of the blade.

As she pulls it out of the dead dust, the edge drags across the rocks surrounding the embers. A scraping noise, like nails on a wooden wall, intertwines itself with the sounds of the wind.

With a sudden stop, she turn and stares at Aaron. His eyes remain shut, and refuses to open. He sleeps as a young child, not wanting to return to the real world. Starting once again, she gradually moves the blade out from the ring of rocks, keeping her eyes on Aaron's blessed face.

She freezes up, and the hairs tingle and rise at the back of her neck when Aaron groans softly. After rubbing his nose and letting out a soft grunt, he turn to his side and mutters something in his sleep. She sighs in relief and continues to proceed to take the knife.

Pulling it close to her chest, Myth tiptoes over to where the dark of night consumes all light, so it's impossible to see. Going down on her knees once more, she pulls out the sparkly blade for examination. The metal sparkles and glows with possibility, wonder, and anticipation.

It tempts her, whispering. Use me. Liberation is at your fingertips. She nods solemnly and points the tip of the blade at the center of her chest. The blade's edge soon trails upwards and climbs to her collar, as she lowers her shirt line. It looms over the cursed tattoo that prevents Myth from claiming her freedom.

She inhales sharply and pressed the knife into her skin, barely skimming the bone. She grits her teeth to stifle her yelp. The tears push their way to her bottom eyelids, as the blood crawls out of the new found flesh hole and breathe air for the first time. It dribbles onto the solid earth below her. The tattoo begins to burn more, as it feels its being is threatened to be cut out of her body.

Myth's chest rises and falls more rapidly as she breathes harder and harder. In between her breaths, soft groans of pain can be heard. She looks over to Aaron to make sure he doesn't wake. As expected, he sleeps like a babe. A sense of serenity soothes Myth, but is soon washed over by the oncoming reminder of pain.

The moment that her tears fall from her face and mix with the blood on the soil, she regrets her choice. She stares over at Aaron, who is blissfully unaware of what Myth is prepared to do.

But she stops, her mettle fading. The tears are no longer trickling down due to pain, but now due to regret. Before now, she had never seen Aaron as much more than her captor. Him sleeping this deeply gave her a realization. He's a fool! Sure, Myth herself couldn't kill him, but she didn't have to protect him either. Any wild beast could attack at anytime, even if this end of the forest wasn't as dense. His naivety makes her see that he is defenseless. He would blindly follow his master to the end of the Earth, even though it was clear to everyone else that the master was using someone as powerful as Aaron. Poor, sweet Aaron. If he didn't return with Myth, he would be severely punished. And even worse, he would not rebel.

Thud. Both the knife and Myth's cloud of ignorance drops. Before this moment Myth had never even considered Aaron's perspective. It was him or her. But unfortunately, due to this moment, Myth had the power to choose which.

Using her left hand to clutch her bleeding wound, she chooses her right to pick up the still-sparkling blade, that only hours ago was used to slice their dinner. Her hand shakes, as it continues to sway her to choose the path of freedom. She's tempted.

Lowering her left hand, she aims the weapon back onto its intended path. She glances over at Aaron's peaceful face. She chooses. . .