Page 41 of Watch Me Turn
"Hemadeit happen." La Madre sounds almost pitying now. "Men like Lazaro will always find a way of getting what they want. They're predators, Sophia. They study their prey. Find weaknesses. Exploit them." She walks toward me. "And you—young, impulsive, and desperate to prove yourself—you were a better mark than he could have ever hoped for."
The sobs tear out of me then. Great heaving gasps that shake my whole body. Because she's right. About all of it.
I was played.
Manipulated.
Used.
And I gave Lazaro exactly what he wanted.
My voice shakes. "How do you know I did it?"
She picks up a letter opener from her desk and runs it along her palm, leaving a trail of blood. "Because of this," she says, holding her hand up to the light. "Our blood is blessed, and I am the only one given the honor to pass it on. I feel it in every one of my daughters. It calls to me. It used to be so beautiful...but now? Now I can feel it inhim."
She closes her fist.
"You will be punished for this."
I look up at her through my tears. "I deserve it. Whatever it is."
"Get up."
I rise on shaking legs.
La Madre raises her hands and closes her eyes. The candles flicker as a cold draft blows through the room and licks at my face. "Quedas congelada bajo mi voluntad."
And just like that, I'm frozen. Feet rooted to the spot, pulled by an invisible force. An icy sensation crawls up my ankles and forearms—like something metallic coiling around my wrists and biting into my calves. Four invisible chains locked to each extremity, wrenching me wide open so my arms and legs are splayed. I open my mouth to call out, but it's like screaming in a nightmare. My voice locked away and buried somewhere I can't reach it.
La Madre raises her hands, palms facing me, and begins to chant. A low, throaty hum that comes from her chest. I can't make out the words, but each word pulsates through me. A low-frequency thud that penetrates my bones.
No. Please no.
It starts in my skull and trickles down. Bones crack. Feathers sprout. A beak forms. It's painful, violent, and feels deeply wrong. Like something sacred has been violated.
And then I'm a crow, standing on the floor of her office, unable to move. Held in place by her powerful magic.
I twitch and glamce up. From down here she's gargantuan, mythic. She leans down to scoop me into her hands, and I'm powerless in her palm. She's not rough, but she's firm with her touch, holding me steady as she walks over to her ornate dressing table. She drops me down onto the polished wood top, and I'm stuck facing my reflection.
She pulls out a pair of golden shears from the drawer, and I watch in horror as she fans my wings out and places the open scissors at the tip.
No, please, not that?—
"Sophia, over these years I have given you much freedom—some would say too much—because I believe in trusting my children. I always wanted you to have the space you need to thrive." She snips a feather, and as it falls, it takes a part of me with it.
She's really doing it.
"But I have been too lenient, and too distant, and I have paid the price for your betrayal. So now you must too."
I study the mirror as she swiftly and methodically trims my feathers back one by one. It’s not physically painful, but it tears at me somewhere hidden. Each cut severing a piece of my soul with it. If I could move, I would be wailing, screaming, and raging until there is no fight left in me. I would kick and bite and howl.
But all I can do is watch.
"Unlike what you did to us, this is not permanent. Your clipped wings will grow back eventually, but you will not be able to fly for some time." She moves to the other wing and does the same on the other side. "I think that's more than fair. Don't you?"
I try to cry, but all that comes out is a broken caw.
When she's done, she releases her magic, and I slide off the dresser and collapse onto the floor, shifting back to human without meaning to. I'm naked, shaking, my back burning where the wings connected.
