Page 2 of Sweet Silver Bells

"—all seem to say, throw cares away," Olivia continued singing.

She threw out her arms, and the tree mimicked her. Branches exploded outward, thick and wild, ripping through the marble at every level. Guests stumbled and fell. They ran out of the dance hall and out of the estate.

She spotted the boy she had danced with. He had fallen on the stairs in his escape. He stared up at her, horrified, as if he hadn’t believed in witches.

Not really.

Not until now.

"Christmas is here," she sang.

She wouldn’t stop. They had seen it. They knew now.

"—bringing good cheer."

"Olivia!"

Her father gripped her shoulder. His face was inches from hers as his eyes pleaded.

The kindness there, the love, had stopped the following lyric from leaving her lips. She shuddered.

Olivia felt ice cold. Her body shook.

She looked around, eyes wide and wild. She only saw ruin and fear. There were people still inside who hadn’t managed to escape.

"I told you," said her blond suitor. He stood now, steady on the stairs. His beautiful eyes burned with fury. "She’s a witch."

Olivia’s hands smoothed the top of her corset. She clutched her skirts and looked down at her feet, weighing what came next.

Because the boy was right.

“Olivia, are you okay?” her father asked.

“Tell Mother I’m sorry,” she said through a sob. Tears streamed down her face. Shame burned inside her, but worse than the shame was the hate. The hate for who she was. For what she was.

“Olivia!” her father cried, reaching for her.

But she grabbed her skirts and ran up the stairs and out of the dance hall. Her heels echoed through the foyer.

Guests gasped and froze. Eyes tracked her as if waiting for something, waiting to see what she’d do next.

All she could do was run.

Get away from them all.

Run, Olivia. Run.

“Olivia, stop!” her father shouted again.

The chase began.

Now, in the woods behind the estate, her body screamed. She was exhausted. Her legs dragged, breath ragged.

She knew she couldn’t go much farther.

Olivia splashed through a stream, crying out as icy water soaked her ankles. Mud clung to her hem. Snow latched onto her bodice, her shoulders, her hair.

And still, she ran.

Her father was nearly behind her now. The gap between them had almost vanished. She couldn’t let him catch her. She couldn’t let him hug her, love her, or change her mind. She had to keep him away.

They will be better off without you.

They were better off without the whispers from high society and without the shame of having a daughter no suitor would touch. Olivia would be alone with the flowers, roots, and dirt.

You love the dirt.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

But first, she’d need to sever a few threads of the heart. It would hurt. God, it would hurt. Her parents would heal. They might even have another daughter. Her mother was still young enough.

This is what is best.

She dropped to her knees. Her hands hit the cold ground, pine needles and stones biting into her skin. Olivia turned.

Her father stood there, chest heaving, hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.

“Oh, good God. You’ve come to your senses,” he said, half-laughing.

“If you don’t go, I’ll have to make you,” she said. Her voice shook; even her soul didn’t believe her.

His head tilted. The slight smile faded, confusion taking its place.

“I wouldn’t just leave you out here, Olivia. You’d freeze.”

“Father, go,” she said.

A final plea. One last hope.

Please don’t make me do this.

“I will not. Not unless you come with me.” He stomped a foot into the snow. His chin lifted with that familiar, stubborn pride. He wouldn’t yield.

But she wasn’t being silly.

“You’ve left me no choice. Why can’t you just go?” Her voice broke. “Leave!”

She sucked in a breath. And then she sang.

I have to protect them , she thought. I have to protect them from myself.

“Hark ... how ... the ... bells,” she sang, slow and broken. The melody warped, no longer a hymn. No longer holy. It became a curse—a threat.

“Olivia,” her father whispered.

With each word, his face collapsed. His pride crumbled. Fear filled his eyes.

"I will not leave you."

She wasn’t supposed to sing. She had promised him when she was small. The memory was blurred, filled in by stories her parents had told her. But the promise had been real.

“No,” he whispered again. Tears welled in his eyes.

But the earth had already begun to respond.

Her boots trembled against the ground. The dirt shifted, thickened, and churned like quicksand. Branches, snow, and ice moved with it.

“Go,” she yelled. Her voice didn’t waver this time. “Go!”

The land between them pulsed, crawling toward him.

She could scare him away. She had to try.

It’s for his own good.

He shook his head again but stepped back a few more feet.

“ Sweet silver bells , ” she almost yelled. The smoothness of the song crashed against her throat. Cold coated her voice. Tears streaked her cheeks. Fear and pain swallowed her.

This is the only way.

Her father opened his mouth again, but she didn’t let his words in.

“All seem to say, throw cares away.”

Branches burst from the soft earth between them, thick and dark. The scent of fresh bark filled the air. It gave Olivia some comfort, just enough to hold her focus.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch.

The ground shifted again. Branches cracked, stretched, and grew.

He’ll run, she thought. He’ll go.

“Christmas is here, bringing good cheer. ”

But then a shout tore through her focus. The trance shattered.

She listened for his breath. For his retreating steps.

But she didn’t hear them.

He left, she told herself. He yelled goodbye. He went.

She opened her eyes.

Branches and vines coiled around her legs. They lifted her and wrapped her. It felt like protection, like armor.

She was a warrior. The forest was her army.

A gurgle snapped her attention forward.

It came from the one person she had hoped and prayed wouldn't be there.

The one who still was.

She gasped.

Her father stood wrapped in vines. But not like she was. Not like armor.

It was an execution—a guillotine.

The forest had risen around him. Branches curled tightly. Thorns, wet from snow, cut through his jacket. Red bloomed beneath the fabric.

A single vine slid up his chest.

Wrapped around his neck.

I can’t stop this.

She didn’t know how.

She wasn’t singing anymore.

“Stop. Please stop,” she begged.

But the vines had made up their mind.

“Father!” she cried. She threw her arms toward him.

Fight. Please, fight .

He was bound too tightly.

The vines climbed higher. Thorns slashed his face. Forced his mouth open. His eyes widened. His gurgles were low. He choked.

Olivia could hear her heart shatter. Her father’s skin turned white, then red, then gray.

He suffocated.

I murdered him.

The branches didn’t stop. They arched up over his head until she couldn’t see him at all.

He was gone and hidden inside. The forest had claimed him.

Her breath came in gasps, fast and shallow. She nearly collapsed.

It was done. The very thing she had tried to prevent.

Her mother would never know what happened to either of them. Olivia would never face her again.

Grief surged. A sob broke free. Then a wail.

A sound she had never made before. Deep and raw, a siren’s song. A witch’s mourning.

Her song.

It rippled around her. The forest responded. Trees grew taller. The moon vanished behind their limbs.

What Olivia didn’t know was that sound traveled.

Miles away, her mother stopped along with the guests still around her. Eyes glazed and thoughts disappeared. Their still bodies moved, the song luring them.

Olivia’s wail ended. Their thoughts returned, and hundreds of people blinked. They were confused and all facing the same direction.

Like her father, vines surged around Olivia as she caved into herself, arms wrapping into a hug. The vines did not attack; they did not grow to kill. They grew to keep.

The forest encased her in bark and root. Her sorrow and song transformed into her tree.

She was safe.

Her mother would be safe, too.

As long as Olivia never left the forest, no one else would be harmed.