Page 6 of Chains of Nightshade

You might be useful after all, human.

The connection strengthens with each passing moment. I can almost taste their dreams, their fears. Their desperation. A smile cracks my lips as I settle deeper into concentration. This human might be my key to freedom, and I intend to make full use of this unexpected gift.

I slide through her dreamscape with practiced ease, my serpentine form casting long shadows across the barren landscape of her mind. The human stands alone in an endless expanse of nothing – fitting for one who sees herself as nothing.

My coils ripple as I circle her, staying just out of sight. She's even more pathetic up close. Her blonde curls tumble over her hunched shoulders. The perfect prey. The perfect tool.

"So small," I mutter, testing the boundaries of this connection. "So broken."

She doesn't move, doesn't even flinch at my voice. Her resignation bleeds into the very fabric of this dream-world, turning the air heavy and thick. Dark clouds roil overhead, matching her desolate mood.

I rear up to my full height, finally allowing her to see me. My shadow falls across her slight frame, and still, she doesn't look up. Interesting. Most humans would scream, or run, or at least show some sign of self-preservation.

"You don't even care that death stands before you, do you?"

The human – Vera, I pluck the name from her surface thoughts – merely shrugs. "Death would be a mercy."

Her voice carries the weight of years of abuse, and something stirs in me. Not sympathy – I shed such weakness centuries ago – but recognition. I know what it is to be trapped, to wish for an end.

I lower my face to her level, studying the hollow look in her hazel eyes.

Something flickers behind those dead eyes, catching my attention. I lean closer, my forked tongue tasting the air around her. There's power here – raw and untamed, like lightning trapped in a bottle. My coils tighten with anticipation.

"Tell me, little human, have you ever felt different? Special?"

She shakes her head, blonde curls falling forward. "I'm nothing special."

But she's wrong. The power radiates from her in waves, invisible to her but blazing like a beacon to my senses. It's unlike anything I've encountered in my centuries of existence – not dark elf magic, not human sorcery, not even the ancient powers of my own kind.

"Look at me." I grip her chin, forcing those hollow eyes to meet mine. The contact sends a surge through my arm, like touching raw magic itself. "You really don't feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"The power burning inside you." My fingers trace her jaw, following the current of energy that flows beneath her skin. "It's there, waiting. Sleeping."

She tries to pull away, but I hold firm. "I'm weak. Everyone knows that."

I bare my fangs in a cold smile. "Your body may be weak, but there's something else entirely lurking behind those eyes of yours." The magic pulses stronger, responding to my touch, to my words. "Something that could burn this whole mansion to the ground."

The power swirls around us both now, a maelstrom of untapped potential. It's wild, primal – dangerous. Perfect. If I can just figure out how to wake it...

"And what if I offered you something better than death?" I ask, my voice a silken whisper. "What if I offered you purpose?"

Her blank stare irritates me. Such a waste of potential, this human who radiates power yet cowers like a wounded animal. The magic within her pulses stronger with each passing moment, responding to my presence even if she remains oblivious.

"My purpose is to serve the dark elves until I die." Her voice carries no emotion, just acceptance of her fate. "I have nowhere else to go. No family. Nothing."

Pathetic. Yet I need her, so I soften my approach. "You are more than what they say." I let my voice echo through her mind, a gentle caress rather than the command I wish to give.

Her head snaps up, those dull eyes finally showing a spark of something – fear, confusion, life. My coils shift in anticipation.

"Who... who are you?" Her voice trembles, and she takes a step back in this dreamscape we share.

I gentle my voice further, though maintaining the edge of authority that comes naturally after centuries of command. "A friend. A teacher."

She wraps her arms around herself. Her collar bone protrudes from beneath her translucent skin, a futile gesture of protection. I resist the urge to scoff at her weakness.

"You are not weak. You are not worthless." The words taste bitter in my mouth – empty platitudes to win her trust. Yet as I speak them, that dormant power within her flares brighter.

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