Era of Greed [✔ COMPLETE] (Chrim Chronicles #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Wren of West

The tall posts of the bed duplicated and floated away from one another. A heaviness crept in, weighing down my head and body. My eyelids dropped, pouring down a curtain of darkness into the fuzzy picture. A strip of faces reeled by, the same faces over and over. I knew those faces all too well, all sixty-three of them. The faces belonged to those who had shaped me over the years. Those faces belonged to the demons I carried within me. They always stirred an anger within me, a fury I could only describe as absolute hatred in its most untainted, pristine form. Yet, instead of tormenting me, they were attached to a long queue, waiting to receive judgment inflicted by my hands.

With a deep gasp I opened my eyes and leaped out of bed. My hands flung to my arms, my waist and chest. Through gritted teeth I sucked in deep breaths. It had been a month since my execution but I could still see the flames, smell them, feel them. My fingernails dug into my skin as I remembered the fire burning through my flesh.

Ironically, it was those same flames which had saved me from true death.

When I awoke in my bed, a group of three had been hovering above me. Farren and Frank, and Clyde. They had told me that burning alive was the only way a demon could be awakened. It was Clyde who had performed the ritual, who had seized the one opportunity to save me from death. The residents who already hated us hated us now even more, and those who used to support us had gained a fresh hatred for us. But they couldn't kill me, or the others, for once a watcher was awakened it was too late to kill them. It would disrupt the balance of nature. Clyde had asked me how I felt, and I had told him I was okay.

That was a lie.

Only to myself I dared to admit that something was deeply wrong with me. The thick thirst for vengeance wouldn't leave my thoughts. Oh, those faces in my head, and the faces of those cheering in the arena, every moment of the day I craved to put my hands around their throats and pressure all my strength there, and watch their faces turn purple as the life seeped out of them, laugh at their flailing arms as they desperately tried to grab for air. Sometimes all those awful thoughts froze for a little while, but they always returned. Every day I was afraid of me, sickened by the monster I'd become. If anything, I was definitely not okay.

I stared at the space between the two beds. An image of Eliza covered in blood flashed by. I shut my eyes and inhaled the cold air deeply. The clean white sheets were replaced by a quick image of blood covered sheets. My guts twisted. I swallowed the sour and burning in my throat, twice, but it kept coming back. I ran into the bathroom and bent over the toilet. Footsteps approached me from behind and fingers grabbed my hair. I turned around. Elora gave me a painful smile as she held onto my hair. Another wave, I bent my head into the toilet again. After four more waves of vomit, Elora flushed the toilet and I fell on the tiles. She kneeled in front of me and I tried not to look her in the eyes, but my eyes slid to hers anyway. Gritting my teeth and balling my hands, I tried not to give in, but eventually could not hold myself and began to cry.

Elora gently pressed my face against her chest. "It's okay."

For a long time, she let me cry and didn't say a word as she caressed my hair. When I calmed down I was embarrassed that she'd seen me cry. Afraid to look Elora in the eyes, I rose up and quickly turned to the sink. Sniffing and shaking, I rinsed my face with cold water.

Elora handed me a clean towel. "You should know that I understand what you're going through. My mom committed suicide. I was the one who found her body."

"I'm sorry."

"She lay in the bathtub. The water inside the tub was red. Her blood seeped out from the cut inside her wrist, dripping onto the white tiles." Elora looked at the floor with a sad and faraway look in her eyes. "There was blood everywhere. And I tried to clean it. I scrubbed every single day. Blisters appeared on my hands and yet I could not stop scrubbing. It just wouldn't get clean, so I kept going, scrubbing the same spots over and over." Elora shook her head. "But you can't clean death. It will never get clean. No matter how hard you scrub, the blood will always be there." When she looked up, the sad look on her face instantly turned into a happy one. Taking deep breaths, Elora began to stroke the skirt of her bright pink dress. Blinking her tears away, Elora managed a giggle. "Oh, look at that, my dress is all wrinkled. Wren, you should get ready for the Spring Fest. I'll do your hair, if you want."