Page 69 of Snatched By the Sandman

I find the same tortured black mirror. He showed me the fragments of his guilt. But disgust engulfs my chest, withering my breath.

You’re not supposed to be his rehab, that still voice says inside my mind, louder than ever.

“Are you going to open it?” Phantasos distracts me from my overwhelming thoughts and emotions.

I look up but lock eyes with Morpheus, managing a soft smile, and he returns with tender shadows curling along the edges of my body, his wings curving toward me. The God of Dreams has let my mind and heart roam free in his world, freeing me to dream and weave and wander. When my name means “guest” or “stranger”, he has welcomed me and possessed me.

And Hecate…a steady heat nurtures me and quickens my pulse at the exquisite Goddess of Magic with her thick, knotted braids sweeping to the floor, her light bronze skin, and aged eyes, wild and seductive but also wise and authoritative.

I glance at the plate next to the book, brows scrunching at the pulverized tart. I remember tapping most. Feeling all eyes on me, I scoop a few spoonfuls of the tart, needing the sweet and tangy taste to ground me.

Deep breath, Zenya. It’s time…

Some of that sounded like me, some sounded like someone else.

With a shiver rushing up my spine, I open the book.

And smile.

A wave of emotion crashes over me. Tears glisten in my eyes.

I recognize all the different types of flowers she drew on the page. My floriography language.

My breath seizes at the first flowers: black roses scattered over a sketch rendering of a grave and bones—followed by a winding road with scattered rocks. I slowly trace the lines. A fuzzy tingle raises the hairs on my body. I don’t know if it’s her making me feel that or just the awareness of how her fingers touched the same place.

A sketch of prison bars and a black dahlia. Oh, god…Betrayal. But it’s upside down which also means loyalty. Tansies surround the rendering, signifying a declaration of war. My declaration.

I hurry to the next page where cyclamen blooms at the end of the road, forking into two. I cover my mouth, feeling the burning tears in my throat at the simple scratch of three peaks. Mountains. And a few trees. My new path.

A dandelion blossom with some seedlings flying into the sky while the other half is whole. A stitched heart lies in the center. I don’t quite understand that part.

Soon…she says.

I sigh, scoffing. She drew a rhododendron over Nyxion’s name. Warning. Danger. A poisonous flower. Too bad I’m already inoculated.

I smile, warmth filling me at the shadows and feathers leading to Morpheus.

She scribbled night jasmine next to Hecate’s name and a torch—symbolic of romance and mystery, protection, and a lasting bond. Liquid fire fills my veins as I slowly lift my eyes to Hecate, who merely smiles.

It’s the first time I’ve lifted my eyes from the pages, but it feels painful. Too much longing and teardrop stains on the paper. The others are giving me time and space to process this. Only Morpheus’s shadows brush along my skin to soothe.

My heart quakes at the next sketch. A hoarse, a crude scratching of the reavers, and deep purple roses all around the three. I purse my lips, understanding the significance, of royalty and someone to be respected. But the other flower in the midst of it all…a marigold. They symbolize several things, but I read between the lines with the association of purple roses.

She is divinity, strength, and a guide for souls. Similar to Hecate. No wonder heat fills me and colors my cheeks whenever I eye the Goddess. Marigolds also cure ailments, and they ward off evil spirits.

You’re…I tread carefully, tiptoeing in my mind to confirm.

Angel to some, demon to others. Your protector. Helper. Shield.Her strength engulfs my chest and raises my posture like a queen.I am a monster. But onlyIget to call myself a monster.

Message received.

“What’s this?” I whisper.

Two pink hyacinths border the namesLinnyandGinny. Echoes of giggles, fits of laughter, and dancing ripple through my mind. Pink hyacinths symbolize playfulness and positivity. I faintly saw them, felt them when they spoke to Phantasos. The dim image of flying snowflakes and a silver gown flutters in my memory.

I assume there are more, but…the rest of the pages are empty.

I don’t look up yet. I’m too afraid the depth and magic of the moment will break. It’s a strange feeling. Strange is the best way to describe it. Maybe it’s why I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin and why I sought so many tattoos.

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