Blood of the Moon by S D Simper

Author:S D Simper [Simper, S D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781732461185
Publisher: Endless Night Publications
Published: 2019-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

Etolié awoke as empty as she had ever felt.

She pulled herself from her nest of blankets and scarves, the morning light filtering from the skylight above. Birds sang, grating on her senses. She summoned her flask and drank and drank . . .

A ghostly touch lingered, the dream she’d had too strange and beautiful to be real. Yet the signs persisted, evidence she couldn’t contemplate but had to—the slight ache between her legs, the faint scent of sex staining her bed, even her own nakedness.

The last was simple to fix. As she stood up, she summoned the illusion of clothing and nearly stumbled into Zoldar.

“Listen, whatever you saw last night . . .”

But her words trailed off when Zoldar clicked in reprimand; he offered a handkerchief instead. She stared, confused, until he came closer and gently dabbed the dampness beneath her eyes. He placed it into her hand, and Etolié simply stared, even when he skittered away.

She went to the washroom, scrubbing the lingering traces of Khastra’s scent from her skin, slowly feeling her soul settle back into her body. She washed her hair; she brushed it and willed the star-lit locks to dry quickly. When she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror, she saw a thin and sickly woman, gaunt and pale, the outline of her ribs and hipbones apparent. Not so thin as to drop dead—she could thank booze for that—but far from pretty.

Khastra though . . . Khastra thought she was.

And . . . perhaps she was all right with that.

The hollow in her stomach could be filled. Etolié ended up in the kitchen, a very plain and boring slab of toast in front of her, as well as a full glass of wine. For the first time in months, the compulsion to eat actually seemed worth listening to.

Thalmus sat in the corner, ignoring her as he read whatever documents Etolié had neglected and instead mulled over himself.

Etolié took tiny bites, drinking in between, her stomach growing hungrier each time she swallowed. In the burn marks of her toast, she was fairly confident she saw Sol Kareena’s countenance, and she wondered if this were a sign to eat or to definitely not eat her aunt’s face.

She didn’t notice when Sora entered, an unholy amount of bacon stacked on her steaming plate—not until the half-elf sat across from her, her dark-ringed eyes sunken and confused. “You all right?”

Etolié turned the plate around. “Does this look holy to you?”

“If I were starving, it might.”

Etolié lifted the toast and took a bite out of Sol Kareena’s blessed ear.

“Are you all right?”

Etolié shrugged, unable to summon the energy to face her, but now asked herself the same question—what the fuck even were her emotions?

Rather than answer, Etolié took another drink.

“Starshine!”

Etolié spat out her gulp of wine, splattering Sora but sparing the bacon—Sora whipped it aside just in time.

Her wine rippled, then the deep red liquid began swirling unbidden, a small whirlpool that rose and formed a humanoid figure standing no more than six inches high.

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