Page 78 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Seventy-Seven

I stand in the dark cellar alone. The silence is suffocating as my fingertips gently graze the edge of the table, the ornate mirror laying upon it.

Even without light, I know every item in the cellar—I know them as if I’ve spent years in this dark room.

The ornate mirror, with broken pieces so carefully arranged to fit perfectly back into place, almost to be made whole again, save for the jagged lines of the cracked glass.

The fireplace, each chair, every scratch on the table.

My gaze shifts to the stairway as the cellar doors suddenly burst open and a cool draft sweeps in from the outside.

From where I stand near the table, I watch, frozen, as another version of me is pulled down the stairs by an unseen force.

The image scratches at a closed door of my memory. This isn’t right . Where is Cordelia?

I watch myself struggle and wince at every step. Without warning, a brilliant fire surges to life in the grate behind me, quickly brightening the cellar. The flames spill over the hearth, melting cobwebs and catching unsuspecting rodents in its fury.

I watch as my other self scans the room, and her expression falters at the realization that I’ve been here before.

Slowly, she approaches the table, her fingers—my fingers—inching toward the shattered mirror, almost as if drawn to deliberately select the sharpest piece.

I flinch as I watch my own hand quickly drive the jagged shard into my neck, just above the collarbone, before pulling it out and letting it fall to the ground with a gentle clatter.

There’s fear in my glistening eyes as I stumble backward, my hand clamping down on the wound as blood pours from my mouth.

I want to rush forward, but my feet are rooted to the floor—as if it’s my particular curse to witness my own death.

My body crumples, and that is when I see Tristan standing at the foot of the stairs, his hazel eyes wide with a chaotic mix of rage and panic spread across his perfect face.

Seeing him tugs at my chest, and I’m suddenly awash in a mixture of anguish, love, and hope.

How I missed his face. His touch. His scent.

But his sudden movements shake me from my daze.

Without hesitation, he grabs the bloodied shard, along with the shattered mirror, and hurls them into the flames.

The fire crackles violently, as if stirred by some malevolent force, flaring wildly in response and growing even fiercer with the added fuel.

He rushes to my side, dropping to his knees beside my lifeless body.

The rose necklace tightens around my neck like a noose, constricting with each breath I can no longer take.

In a desperate motion, he rips it free and casts it into the raging inferno.

The flames hiss in response, and an eerie, piercing scream rips through the air, echoing in my ears far longer than any natural sound ought to.

I stare at my lifeless body—limp, bloodied, and broken—as Tristan lifts me, cradling me carefully, carrying me from the cellar.

Then, I’m alone again in the dark, cold room as the fire seems to die out on its own.

The silence presses in on me, sluicing down against my chest as I try to make sense of what I’ve just seen.

I did that to myself .

Am I dead?

A sudden, searing pain pulses through my skull as a mirage of me dancing down the dark street appears.

In my nightgown, my movements are light and fluid, my hands loosely gripping the fabric as I twirl and skip along the pavement.

I can hear myself humming the same haunting melody I heard the trees sing when I first arrived.

My body moves of its own accord; I see myself dance all the way to the Black manor, alone under the starless sky like some delirious madwoman.

What was real? Was Cordelia even real?

The ghost of my dancing body soon fades away as my gaze locks onto the dark pool of blood, tracing the trail of Tristan's footsteps that lead up the stone stairs. Slowly, my focus shifts to the orange glow of the dying flames beneath the mantle, their once-fierce light now flickering weakly.

I narrow my eyes, brow furrowing slightly, as confusion settles in.

I can't quite trust what I'm seeing. I hesitate, finding something partially hidden in the ashes.

Among the remnants, I notice a broken shape—something that could have once been human, now reduced to fragile fragments.

The charred remains seem twisted, distorted by fire, with scorched patches that hint at what was once there.

I can't look away, the weight of the scene pulling at me, the air thick with the acrid scent of burnt wood, hair, and something far darker—human flesh.

I stumble backward as ash falls through the eye socket of the hollowed skull surrounded by singed strands of once-golden hair.

My breathing becomes jagged and rough as I quickly take another step back, shaking my head frantically, trying to rid myself of the haunting image now carved into my memory.

My chest tightens as I drop back to my knees, feeling as though something is trying to claw its way out of my chest. I clench my jaw as sharp pain tears through my veins with a violence I have never felt.

Everything goes dark.

Everything goes silent.

At least for just a fleeting moment. In the distance, somewhere far away, I can hear that same haunting melody being sung by the trees, a love song between nature and the wind, carried back as though it had always been meant to find me.

Then, I hear nothing at all.

Not even the sound of my own beating heart.