23. Only I get to call myself a monster.

Chapter 23

Only I get to call myself a monster.

ZENYA

"I See Your Monsters" by Timeflies - Nightcore cover

"Yours to Hold" by Skillet

"Better Than Drugs" by Skillet

O nce Hecate and Morpheus help me to the table, my trembling hands touch the amethyst-adorned journal. Hecate has shed more light on the situation, giving me more pieces of what happened, but they haven't explained much about my inner monster who suddenly became an outer monster.

Hecate leans in to kiss the side of my head and say, "It is more than normal for you to feel overwhelmed…in the most understated of words. In reality, this journey would progress at a much different pace and in other ways. I can safely deduce that some experiences or encounters have already manifested, perhaps in ways you haven't noticed. Or…" she trails off, and I don't need her to finish.

In ways I have denied. Feelings like floating outside my body. Dreams far too vivid to be of the subconscious. Waking up with different clothes than I went to bed with. Unrecognizable marks on my body.

With a reassuring hand on my shoulder, the Goddess proclaims, "The nature of our world makes this emergence more intense, Zenya, but it also brings with it more opportunity."

Opportunity. I flick my eyes to Hecate's, but the prickling sensation at the back of my neck urges me more toward the fulfillment of that "opportunity." My blood crystalizes at the thought of opening the book left for me.

Hecate hovers her hand above the book, maintaining a respectful distance as if demonstrating how significant it is…to me and for me. "Your fear is natural, our little dreamer. But you are not broken. Fragmentation if you wish to call it. But you are not alone."

"What do you remember?" Hecate asks next to me, her palm steadying the back of my hand as I tread on the journal.

I don't know how to describe the sensation.

The last thing I felt were claws and teeth, blood dripping, breath suffocating from the reavers strangling me before throwing me into the storm. The last thing I saw was this silhouette taking a dim shape and form—someone I recognized from my dreams. The last thing I heard was this voice—no louder than the calm, steady voice I've heard in the stillness of the mountains on a quiet, starlit night.

"It was like falling behind fog, watching from the other side. But fragments slipped through, splinters of the storm, a reaver's scream, the shaking of a mane. I knew my body was moving without me controlling it, but all I could feel was this energy." Like an all-consuming force, black and powerful…and ancient.

Hecate strokes the back of my hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Nyxion—pacing on the other side of the throne room. Revulsion and cold hatred strike me like a crushing surf, and I struggle for breath, confused and abashed because I have never felt that for Nyxion. I wince at the dim memory of reavers attacking him.

Feminine wrath, sexual fury, taunts and tests, threats and violence, yes.

But now, my blood ices with hostility, and I don't know what to make of it.

I pause to observe the God of Nightmares, how he's nothing more than a husk of a skeleton. His black diamond eyes still stray to mine. I remember our last encounter.

What I saw in his eyes—like I was the center of his universe where every nightmare in his essence fell into alignment like dark, celestial bodies orbiting around me.

I find the same tortured black mirror. He showed me the fragments of his guilt. But disgust engulfs my chest, withering my breath.

You're not supposed to be his rehab , that still voice says inside my mind, louder than ever.

"Are you going to open it?" Phantasos distracts me from my overwhelming thoughts and emotions.

I look up but lock eyes with Morpheus, managing a soft smile, and he returns with tender shadows curling along the edges of my body, his wings curving toward me. The God of Dreams has let my mind and heart roam free in his world, freeing me to dream and weave and wander. When my name means "guest" or "stranger", he has welcomed me and possessed me.

And Hecate…a steady heat nurtures me and quickens my pulse at the exquisite Goddess of Magic with her thick, knotted braids sweeping to the floor, her light bronze skin, and aged eyes, wild and seductive but also wise and authoritative.

I glance at the plate next to the book, brows scrunching at the pulverized tart. I remember tapping most. Feeling all eyes on me, I scoop a few spoonfuls of the tart, needing the sweet and tangy taste to ground me.

Deep breath, Zenya. It's time…

Some of that sounded like me, some sounded like someone else.

With a shiver rushing up my spine, I open the book.

And smile.

A wave of emotion crashes over me. Tears glisten in my eyes.

I recognize all the different types of flowers she drew on the page. My floriography language.

My breath seizes at the first flowers: black roses scattered over a sketch rendering of a grave and bones—followed by a winding road with scattered rocks. I slowly trace the lines. A fuzzy tingle raises the hairs on my body. I don't know if it's her making me feel that or just the awareness of how her fingers touched the same place.

A sketch of prison bars and a black dahlia. Oh, god…Betrayal. But it's upside down which also means loyalty. Tansies surround the rendering, signifying a declaration of war. My declaration.

I hurry to the next page where cyclamen blooms at the end of the road, forking into two. I cover my mouth, feeling the burning tears in my throat at the simple scratch of three peaks. Mountains. And a few trees. My new path.

A dandelion blossom with some seedlings flying into the sky while the other half is whole. A stitched heart lies in the center. I don't quite understand that part.

Soon… she says.

I sigh, scoffing. She drew a rhododendron over Nyxion's name. Warning. Danger. A poisonous flower. Too bad I'm already inoculated.

I smile, warmth filling me at the shadows and feathers leading to Morpheus.

She scribbled night jasmine next to Hecate's name and a torch—symbolic of romance and mystery, protection, and a lasting bond. Liquid fire fills my veins as I slowly lift my eyes to Hecate, who merely smiles.

It's the first time I've lifted my eyes from the pages, but it feels painful. Too much longing and teardrop stains on the paper. The others are giving me time and space to process this. Only Morpheus's shadows brush along my skin to soothe.

My heart quakes at the next sketch. A hoarse, a crude scratching of the reavers, and deep purple roses all around the three. I purse my lips, understanding the significance, of royalty and someone to be respected. But the other flower in the midst of it all…a marigold. They symbolize several things, but I read between the lines with the association of purple roses.

She is divinity, strength, and a guide for souls. Similar to Hecate. No wonder heat fills me and colors my cheeks whenever I eye the Goddess. Marigolds also cure ailments, and they ward off evil spirits.

You're… I tread carefully, tiptoeing in my mind to confirm.

Angel to some, demon to others. Your protector. Helper. Shield. Her strength engulfs my chest and raises my posture like a queen. I am a monster. But only I get to call myself a monster.

Message received.

"What's this?" I whisper.

Two pink hyacinths border the names Linny and Ginny . Echoes of giggles, fits of laughter, and dancing ripple through my mind. Pink hyacinths symbolize playfulness and positivity. I faintly saw them, felt them when they spoke to Phantasos. The dim image of flying snowflakes and a silver gown flutters in my memory.

I assume there are more, but…the rest of the pages are empty.

I don't look up yet. I'm too afraid the depth and magic of the moment will break. It's a strange feeling. Strange is the best way to describe it. Maybe it's why I've never felt comfortable in my own skin and why I sought so many tattoos.

Chewing on my inner cheek, I don't let myself wander in my thoughts. Instead, I weave a pen because it's time I answer. She showed me my life, my past, and pieces of my near-present.

Time for the future.

A stargazer lily—white symbolizes the rejuvenation of the soul and the balance of life and death. I don't know how to yet, but I want to meet her halfway.

My whole hand prickles like light needles. I slip behind fog but it's light and delicate—like invisible strings connecting me to my hand so I may still feel it moving.

ECLIPSE

I front…and write—"My name is Eclipse. Ask them about the Trials."—and end with the image of a shield so she doesn't forget what I am.