Page 11 of A Love of Wrath and Rapture

I feel depression start to take hold at being so casually rejected, then try to smile at Idel, the town butcher, whose butcher knife is still bloody on her holster. Out of kindness and a desire to grow her business, she used to offer me free samples. I can still taste the succulent texture of the braised taura.

She murmurs something under her breath as she passes. I either don’t hear it, or I shut it out. She turns her shoulders toward me and proceeds to walk in the opposite direction without so much as another word.

What’s going on?

Rather suddenly, the tone of my very home has shifted dramatically. Now I swear I’m not imagining it. The very people I once considered my family are eyeing me with suspicion, unease, and hatred.

“Evangeline.”

I turn, seeing Ephemera, whose stiff and tall posture always lends her a sense of arrogance. She reminds me of the dark elves but in human form. I often imagine her pulling off a hat, revealing a pair of elf ears and a twisted proclivity for magic. It would make far too much sense.

Her presence is far from comforting. As the council’s messenger, her arrival never precedes good news.

“You’re wanted by the council,” she says curtly, her gaze piercing through me.

Before I can fully react, she turns her back to me, indifferent to my response. She’s already done her job.

“Okay,” I say uncertainly, surprised to hear my voice come out at all. “Just let me get changed.”

“Follow.”

In spite of my rugged, unkempt appearance, I don’t dare protest. Ignoring a council summons alone is cause for exile.

She leads, her long, flowing emerald gown almost undulating in the wind. Her hooked fingers are stiff at her side, her wavy blonde hair falling elegantly over her shoulders.

She looks out of place in this settlement.

As I follow, I catch the uneasy glances one last time. I expect to find kindness, ambivalence… even sympathy in their faces. At this point, I can no longer deny what this is about.

But there are no human emotions among passersby on the way to the council. There is only a desire for punishment—a cruelty unlike anything I’ve ever known.

I don’t attempt to make conversation with Ephemera on the way. There’s nothing I can say to ease this inexplicable tension.

Surely, they can’t be serious about this urban legend?

“The council will meet with you inside,” she says, gesturing to a familiar, dimly lit door. The knocker on the large door is the head of a batlaz, flanked on both sides by flickering candles. Ephemera pushes the door open, and I feel my feet become lead weights, pushing me deeper and deeper into the hardwood floor.

I step inside, my throat parched. I don’t know if I can even speak.

I’ll just explain myself. It was a harmless prank. I’m sure they’ll understand that.

As I walk forward toward the podium, feeling the enormity of this very small room, I look at the elders, whose faces are marked by severity and focus.

“Welcome, Evangeline,” Harold says, his long, bushy beard drooping onto the table.

His tone is far more cordial than I’m expecting. Perhaps this is entirely unrelated to what happened in the forest.

“Thank you,” I say, hearing my voice crack unexpectedly.

For a solid minute, Jeremiah rifles through papers on the table. I wonder if there’s anything written on the papers, or if he’s just projecting an appearance.

“You were out in the wilderness today with your friend Renee, were you not?”

I’m surprised to see Hilda speaking. I struggle to think of a single word Hilda has ever spoken to me.

“Well, I don’t know if I’d consider Renee a friend, but that’s accurate.”

I feel my knees trembling, the intensity of the candle smells filling my nostrils and becoming a focus in this dim room.

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