Witchwood and Seabound by Ethan Proud

Author:Ethan Proud [Proud, Ethan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Proud Brothers Publishing
Published: 2019-09-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-one

Sniveling, De’lune darted through the forest near her home. She tripped over the roots of the ponderosa pines and skeletons of the past season’s forbs. Her eyes were blinded with tears and snot ran down her face. The sun was blocked from sight by coalescing clouds and the first true snow of the season began to fall. Fat flakes fell to the ground, their crystalline structure visible to the naked eye. Within minutes, the first blanket of winter had arrived.

For the first time in her life, De’lune felt truly alone. The emptiness in her chest could never be filled. She had killed her mother through her violent birth and her brother and father had both been slaughtered in front of her eyes. She had been cursed by the goddess. De’lune felt her knees weakened and found herself crying on the ground. Wearily she wiped her eyes and saw a single henbane plant before her. A plant this vibrantly green did not belong in the fall to winter landscape. Half of the plant’s stems were covered in basket like pods, while the rest still held cream colored blossoms with mauve venation. De’lune felt a tangible hum through the air and knew that this was a gift from the Goddess Mond.

Distraught, she plucked it up from the root and ate it whole. Seeds, flowers, leaves, stems, roots, all, much as Vahrun just consumed the sheriff. She choked it back as the trichomes tickled her throat and her eyes watered even further. She began slavering and held up her hands to stop the trees from falling down on her. Her arms and legs felt a burning sensation that settled into her trunk. She looked down at her limbs and as the minutes passed a purple rash spread across them. Perhaps the plant had been an abnormality and she had made a mortal mistake. Nonetheless, she would meet her family soon in the afterlife. As she stared at her hands in desperation a mouth formed on her hand, a perfect reflection of her own tongue and teeth.

The lips on her palm opened and uttered, “Let go.” They began to sing Mond’s praise and De’lune felt the call of the goddess. Giving herself over to her deity she felt her astral being separate from her body like strings pulled from a sweater as she was elevated into the pantheon.

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