28. “It’s time to play?”

Chapter 28

"It's time to play?"

ZENYA

"Runaway" by Aurora

"Little Me" by Little Mix Nightcore Version

T hey've escorted me to the edge of a clifftop overlooking the schism, the great cavernous expanse separating Dreams and Nightmares.

My heart pounds with trepidation, disturbing the eerie calm in the air as Hecate and I stand upon the precipice. A swirling mist veils the view below. The only light comes from the ghostly torches surrounding Hecate, casting an ethereal glow on her striking form.

Morpheus twists his shadows along my body, but they don't provide as much comfort or encouragement as usual. They cut through my exposed skin and send chills into my blood.

At first, I wove an outfit similar to my hiking ones: functional, well-insulated pants with pockets—very important—a lightweight shirt over a tank top, and a layered vest. Practical hiking boots.

Hecate assured me I wouldn't need any hiking clothing or gear, and my subconscious kept returning my clothes to raggedy pink jeans and a soil-stained white crop top—much like what I'd wear when I was little. Always playing in the dirt and exploring the woods, climbing rocks and trees, etc.

Hecate turns to me, her voice infused with her ancient power. "This is where your first trial begins, Zenya. You must confront your past and make peace with it to move forward. Not only make peace. There will be a piece you must find."

I peer over the edge, pulse thrashing in my veins. "What am I supposed to do? Climb down?" Confusion and fear shiver up my spine. The drop seems endless, a gaping maw ready to swallow me whole.

Morpheus, Phantasos, and Nyxion, these three immortal Gods of the Dreamworld, remain behind us like silent guardians ready to intervene only if necessary.

Hecate's eyes glimmer with a knowing intensity as her torches crackle. "You must embrace the unknown, face your deepest fears. Trust in the journey."

I take a hesitant step back, shaking my head. Before I entered this dreamscape, I was never afraid to climb anything—not even a great rock face like this. I longed for the challenge, the adrenaline pumping through my blood, and the delicious tremors in my muscles. "What if I fall?" I whisper.

Hecate's lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Then you will fall. And you will rise."

Without warning, Hecate places a firm hand on my back and gives me a gentle shove. My scream pierces the night and echoes as I tumble through the blackness. It sucks me like the force of the temporal storm vortex. I'm Alice tumbling deeper into Goth Wonderland, except the world around me dissolves into a kaleidoscope of memories and sensations.

It's not just a schism. It's another dimension. I'm falling through space and time.

Let go, Zenya, Eclipse's voice chimes in my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and lean into an arch with my face to the precipice and arms curled along the side of my body.

Almost as soon as I surrender into this resurrection-like pose, I land with a thud onto soft grass and a curling thicket. Brushing my hair from my face, I immediately recognize the patch of woods outside my childhood home. We never stayed in the same place too long, but this was one of my more prominent memories.

The familiar scent of pine and damp earth fills my senses.

About a hundred yards away stands the rustic, white farmhouse with its tire swing and cluttered porch.

I lurk behind the trees, my breath hitching as I see a little girl digging around her sandbox, playing with toy dump trucks and shovels. I cover my mouth, choking on my emotion at the eight-year-old in pink jeans with flower patches and a dirty white t-shirt. Light brown hair just like her father. Me. Little me.

Now and then, her wide, innocent eyes stray to her father. He's tall, dark, and handsome with so much charisma dripping off him, it wasn't difficult to charm women into his bed…before he turned them into pretty corpses.

Zachariah Myre aka the Bone Carver. Never Zachary. Never Zach.

My heart seizes, my pulse quaking from the first time I've seen my father in years. The last time was nearly five years ago when I was twenty-four. My gut twists. My heart aches for more reasons than one.

He's always been an imposing figure with that primal magnetism that has always commanded respect. Or fear. If he ran around with a chainsaw, wearing skinned faces, it would have made him less terrifying…and easier to hate.

Tonight was the first night I felt true fear of my father. And no matter how much I hated him, I could never stop the love growing like thorny weeds in my heart. The kind of love that hurts because of how much his violence carved through my soul like he carved his bones.

He was the greatest demon I could never expel from my blood.

With my nails raking into the bark of the nearby tree, I flick my eyes between little me and Zachariah as he digs up the ground on the edge of a group of stones about the size of baby heads. Grim determination sets his jaw.

Ice congeals my blood when he unearths a skeleton with a thin, barren thicket of white strands. A twisted smile forms on one side of his mouth. He looks up and beckons little me closer. "Come here, flower. I have something to show you."

The ache grows deeper as I watch my younger self approach, her eyes filled with curiosity and fear.

Zachariah's voice is eerily gentle. "You don't remember your mother, Zenya, but this is what happens when someone tries to take you away from me."

Bone-curdling horror grew in her eyes, the same horror I feel now for that little girl who learned what happened to her mother for the first time. After I asked about her when I was six, my father's eyes had turned black as pitch.

He took my hand, squeezed it with a smile, then carried me outside to a tiny wooden shed that used to be an outhouse. His eyes were so tranquil when he nudged me inside, closed the door, and locked it with a chain.

For two days, in the isolation of that small, dark shed with spiders tickling my skin and garter snakes slithering around me, I learned never to ask again. To make sure I didn't get sick, he brought me some burnt toast and a few cups of pumped well water.

Heaviness overcomes my spirit—like rocks sinking in my stomach.

I learned how to dig in that shed. I memorized my father's body language when he locked me inside, knowing how many days he intended to keep me in there. He'd always check on me at dawn, but he never knew how I'd escape at night—just to feel the wind on my face and hear the leaves rustling, the tree branches cracking with their own language.

There was nowhere to go. Miles upon miles of nothing but farmland and open meadows. Nowhere to run where he couldn't find me. The first time I tried, he tied me to his "Bone Tree". Between the clacking bones, like organic wind chimes, and the distant coyote howls, I had very little sleep—broken by intermittent nightmares.

Whenever he'd release me from the shed, he'd give me a handful of lemon drops followed by a home-cooked meal and a bubble bath. I hate taking baths to this day.

The present jerks me back. My father's cold, remorseless gaze turns to little me. She jumps when he snaps the phalanges and the hyoid before he places the bundle of smaller bones in her hand. "These are from your mother. It's time for you to learn how to create something with these. For you and you alone, Zenya."

After placing a carving knife in my younger self's hand, his expression darkens. "Now, practice. And make me proud."

My adult heart breaks for my younger self, the weight of my father's cruelty pressing down on me.

As he starts to walk away, leaving her alone with the corpse and the sandbox, I needle my eyes upon him, watching him head for his workshop. Wrath rears up inside me, electrifying all my nerve endings and triggering my hands to clench into fists.

The moment I turn to follow him, a familiar voice resounds in my head, No, Zenya, Eclipse warns me. You can't change your past. It's not how you'll win the Trial.

Screw the Trial! I want to scream as I dig my foot into the ground while my father closes the door to his workshop. I'm older now, more powerful. If I can stop the weeds from taking root…

Zenya, listen… her voice grows more urgent. Just say one thing for me. Just whisper: it's time to play.

"It's time to play?" I question, giving voice to the words.

The dark and cruel edges of this reality melt into a dreamlike haze. I feel myself slipping through an almost imperceptible veil, a boundary in my mind like I felt before when Eclipse took over.

This time…she's with me in the stillness.

I'm semi-aware of how my limbs are moving, my body returning to the sandbox.

The other half of me is too connected to this inner landscape where it reminds me of one great blanket fort. But a gray netting of fog swirls along the edges, trimming the dark fort in gray.

Eclipse stands next to me. She is similar to what I imagined, eerily familiar like I've met her in my dreams or fantasies, which I probably have.

Her violet eyes seem shrouded in mystery with shadowy eyeliner that fans out from her eyes in soft, delicate strokes. Piercings that resemble fangs decorate her lower lip with a ring in her nose. Her hair is mostly black and short to curl below her ears, but the right side is heavier and longer, falling beyond her jawline. A few curls are white. Most impressive are the white horns growing from her head, their ends curving to the sky.

She's shorter than me but gives every impression of the ‘though she be but little, she is fierce'. Especially when she's dressed in a form-fitting black jumpsuit that emphasizes her tiny figure with her sharp angles…and a strong whip of a black tail.

"While you were sleeping, I helped Linny and Ginny front and adjust to their new body," Eclipse explains and nods to one side.

I glance around, sensing the presence of others around us, but beyond the thin fog before us, I have a vague feeling of my knees hitting sand and the gritty sensation of the particles. I can't help but wonder how my child self feels about it all. Does she recognize me? Or is she simply grateful for someone else being with her?

"Loneliness was the worst feeling," I say softly, meeting Eclipse's eyes.

She nods in understanding.

I consider how my father homeschooled me. Much of our time was spent on the road. And how he never let me have a dog. One time, I tried to bring a stray cat home. He took her from me, went out into the fields behind our house, and he didn't bring her back. I knew better than to ask what he did. But I always fantasized that she found a good home with a family who would give her cream, a scratching post, and a warm bed.

"You became very good at fantasies," Eclipse remarks, her arm brushing against mine. "And playing."

Yes…playing. The tingling in my fingers and the warm, fuzzy sensation at the edges with the hard but smooth feeling of the bones in my hands all confirm I'm still aware.

"Come with me, Zenya," Eclipse nods deeper inside the vast blanket fort. "I'll introduce you to Monroe and a few others. But let them play. Just for a little while…"