Page 123 of Rage

The world goes black.

Chapter Two

The Beast

Darkness has become my playground, that comfort blanket in the darkest night. It’s the only thing keeping my anger company that my rage finds solace in.

All the other emotions have come and died upon my sorrow.

Time has no measure. Though the sun comes and goes, sprouts and dies daily, the stars and moon and nothingness wilt and blossom in days that feel like seconds.

Every memory I used to have has faded into the dust of this place. Fragments of my broken mind relinquish bouts of sadness here and there, but for the most part, it’s my anger keeping me warm, my rage for what was taken from me sharpening my jagged edges.

I can’t even remember what I used to look like, and though this form feels comfortable, I can’t bear to see myself.

Every mirror in the Gothic mansion has been covered.

And while the sun seems to rise and fall often, no light touches the grounds.

Hecate Manor has been the place I’ve been bound to for longer than I know how to measure. Filled with dark furnishings, every wall is painted black with red accents.

The clang of the trap outside is what roused me awake.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent meal.

Slipping out of bed, the patchwork of my skin and fur glimmers golden from the candlelight, shimmering and catching the light like a predator in shadow.

Caw! Caw!

Quill, my raven, swoops in from the open window.

I sweep my robe over myself, covering my gnarled fur and hold out my hand, the long black talons stretching out to the darkness. “Hello pretty girl. Come to mama.”

Quill’s silver-tipped feathers glisten as she cascades toward me, landing on my outstretched finger. “In shadowed halls, I dwell alone, my name unknown, my fate my own. My captor’s heart is cold as stone, yet power is mine, mine to atone. Though walls confine, my spirits fly, my voice is soft, but never die, release me, and the truth is clear, but at a cost, you’ll learn to fear. What am I?”

“Oh, bird your riddles will be the death of me.”

I kiss her on the beak and release her. She flies out the room and into the house.

“We have company,” I announce to the ghosts.

The air feels heavy as I glide down the sprawling staircase, the flickering candles cast shadows that crawl along the walls. My talons click against the polished black-wood steps, a sound that echoes through the silence. Quill’s riddle gnaws at the edges of my mind; each word laced with an ominous truth I’m not yet ready to decipher.

The trap outside.

I haven’t seen a soul brave the forest in years—not since the stories of what lurks here grew teeth sharper than any warning. My hunger stirs a pang that makes my chest tighten. It’s been so long since I’ve fed properly. My rage sharpens it, fueling my steps as I cross the grand hall.

The house does what it can to keep me fed, producing magick breads, cheeses, and stews, but meat is something it cannot give me and I am in need of a delicious, juicy steak or even something else for the manor to put into the soup.

I am sick to death of bone broth and carrots.

The manor creaks as though it, too, is curious. The chandeliers sway slightly in the draft of unseen winds, and the painted eyes of long-forgotten ancestors seem to follow me. Quill perches on a rail above, her silver-tipped feathers catching the dim glow as her dark eyes glitter with mischief—or perhaps, foreboding.

I reach the iron-bolted door that leads to the outer grounds. The trap lies just beyond, hidden among the thorn-covered maze that encircles the manor like a crown of despair. My heart quickens as I grip the cold iron handle.

What waits for me beyond this door? Prey to satisfy my hunger, or something far worse? Something that might remember what I was before I forgot myself.

With a deep breath, I swing the door open. The rain pours in sheets, thick and unyielding, drenching the ground into sludge. The world beyond the garden’s boundaries is hidden, shrouded in mist and darkness. But the trap…

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