The Witch of Briar Hollow by Wes Wickley

Author:Wes Wickley [Wickley, Wes]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dread Folk Press
Published: 2022-06-14T00:00:00+00:00

Not Altogether Good

I have tried to take it back. I would. Zachary is a beast, but I did not mean this. What came over me, I cannot say. It felt like a great wave in the distance, its white crest bristled into a tipping point. When the curse came through me, I was not its master. My body felt like a bit of rock on a shore trying to hold back a tidal wave from crashing on the beach.

That it was deserved, there can be no doubt. I do not mind admitting this in writing, little diary, since it seems my mind moves differently now. These words that feel like English tongue I know are not, in truth. The language of the sabbat is a part of me now, at the very wick of me. Yes, he deserved it. He would have ruined me for his own pride and lies. Still, I did not wish for him to suffer so.

Perhaps nothing can be done at all. Or not nothing—a certain something I dare not dream quite yet. No, not yet. Having failed at transferring the curse elsewhere, I shall continue to try the herbs. Chamomile for serenity. Lemon balm for sleep. Passionflower for fits. The twisted root of a black nightshade plant as tall as a man, stuck through with white needles to hold the shadow at bay. These are the charms I work upon Zachary, and though they make little difference in his consciousness, they keep his body from harming itself.

Still, father no longer beats me, and mother speaks to me not at all, which is an improvement. They believe we are to marry, which is partially true. I will marry Zachary’s body, but not his mind or soul, wherever they are. When I find them and return them, perhaps he will have learned a lesson. Perhaps all of this misery will have meant something. Perhaps he will be kinder to women now, if not in decency, then in fear. This is my wish. That all will be well, but he will be better for it.

Ashem sings strange songs now. Blood and hurt are the notes upon his tongue. Most of what he says to me, I no longer understand. Perhaps he has done this. Perhaps I was wrong to think him a kind friend and teacher. He is not, I think, altogether good, but perhaps neither am I any longer. I have signed the black book, after all. Whatever good I manage to do with my life remaining, I am still damned, am I not?

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.