Page 4 of Cursed Shadows 4 (The Dark Fae)

I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t anywhere close to it, because this is nothing like stepping through a bridge.

Suppose I thought it would be the same.

To step through a bridge is to step into darkness. The sort of darkness that would exist in the deepest parts of the ocean. A rush of iciness that rains over me, whooshing and thundering. Then it is over.

This… is different.

I’m screaming.

I know that. I feel the scratch of the constant cry searing my throat, I feel the warped twist of my face. Yet, the hollow cries are silenced, the thundering billow of the darkness has deafened me.

That’s where I am.

Darkness.

But not a sort of darkness I know.

It pummels me.

Like I freefall down the spiral of cursed shadows itself.

My ears ache, as though water floods them; my bones scrape as though clawed at by some shadow beast; the strands of hair at my searing scalp, they pull, arching my neck back—and I fear my spine might snap.

This is no bridge.

This is the drop into another realm.

Place of the gods.

I have this horrible understanding in the fall, as I’m being devoured: we do not belong here .

If there is any humour to be found through the tears that stream from my creased eyes or the silent scream that’s hollow in my chest, then it is this:

I might die before I make it to the Mountain of Slumber.