Chapter Two: Secrets
1223 Words
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the pain.
The second was the mark.
I stared at the silver symbol glowing faintly on the inside of my wrist.
A crescent moon wrapped around a crown.
It hadn't been there yesterday.
At least I was fairly certain it hadn't.
I sat upright so quickly that the room spun.
My bedroom slowly came into focus.
The familiar wooden dresser.
The crooked bookshelf overflowing with worn novels.
The bundle of wildflowers my mother had left on the windowsill the night before.
And beside them...
A small wooden box wrapped in deep blue ribbon.
My birthday gift.
Today.
Today was my eighteenth birthday.
A hollow feeling settled in my chest.
Most girls woke up on their eighteenth birthday thinking about celebrations, presents, or finally being considered an adult.
I woke up with bruises I couldn't explain...
A pounding headache...
And a glowing mark burned into my skin.
I rubbed my thumb across the silver symbol.
It felt warm.
Almost...alive.
A strange pulse spread through my arm, disappearing beneath my sleeve before fading away.
I jerked my hand back.
"What are you?" I whispered.
The room offered no answer.
My stomach tightened.
The last thing I remembered was running through the forest.
The cloaked witches.
Their voices rising together in an ancient language.
The silver light swallowing everything around me.
After that...
Nothing.
A knock sounded at my door.
Before I could answer, it opened.
My mother stepped inside carrying a tray with tea, warm bread, and a single candle flickering beside a honey cake.
She smiled when she saw me awake.
"Happy eighteenth birthday, sweetheart."
Her voice was warm, but tired.
As if she hadn't slept.
Relief flooded her face.
Then her eyes dropped to my wrist.
The smile disappeared.
The tray trembled in her hands.
The tiny flame atop the candle danced wildly.
The color drained from her face.
For one endless heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Neither of us breathed.
Then she whispered something so quietly I almost didn't hear it.
"...It's time."
"What?"
She blinked, as though she'd forgotten I was there.
"N-nothing."
But I had heard her.
And suddenly I knew something I had never known before.
My mother wasn't surprised by the mark.
She had been expecting it.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not like this.
But somehow...
She had always known it would come.
My mother's fingers tightened around the edge of the tray.
The porcelain cups rattled softly.
It was such a tiny sound, but in the silence of my room it felt deafening.
She recovered almost instantly.
Too instantly.
Her face softened into the familiar smile she'd worn my entire life, but now I noticed something I'd never seen before.
It didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You gave us quite a scare," she said quietly, setting the tray on my bedside table.
My throat felt dry.
"What happened?"
"You collapsed."
"In the forest?"
She hesitated.
"...Yes."
"How did I get home?"
"We found you."
"We?"
"Your father and I."
Something in the way she answered made my stomach twist.
She wasn't lying.
Not exactly.
But she wasn't telling me everything either.
I looked back down at the glowing mark.
"What is this?"
Her gaze lingered on the symbol for only a heartbeat before she looked away.
"I don't know."
The lie landed between us like a stone.
I'd lived with my mother for eighteen years.
I knew every expression she made.
Every nervous habit.
She only tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear when she was hiding something.
She did it now.
Twice.
"You do know."
"I said I don't."
"It glows."
Silence.
"It appeared overnight."
More silence.
"I almost died in the woods."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
I could see the battle raging behind her eyes.
Tell me.
Don't tell me.
Protect her.
Hide it.
Finally, she reached for my wrist.
"May I?"
I nodded.
Her fingertips barely brushed the mark.
The instant she touched it, the silver crescent flared brilliantly.
A pulse of warmth rushed through my arm.
My mother jerked her hand back with a sharp gasp.
The tea cups rattled again.
"What just happened?" I whispered.
She stared at my wrist as though she'd seen a ghost.
"It shouldn't have..." she murmured.
"What shouldn't have?"
She looked at me.
For a long moment she simply looked.
Not as a mother.
As though she were seeing someone else.
Someone she'd known long ago.
"You have your mother's eyes," she whispered.
I frowned.
"I have your eyes."
Her expression crumpled.
"Yes," she said quickly. "Yes, you do."
But she'd already said too much.
A cold weight settled in my chest.
Questions I'd never dared ask began clawing their way to the surface.
Questions I'd buried years ago because every answer had always been the same.
You're ours.
You were chosen.
Family isn't about blood.
Only now...
Only now...
I wasn't sure I believed any of it.
Before I could speak again, my father appeared in the doorway.
He stopped the moment he saw me sitting upright.
His shoulders sagged with relief.
"You're awake."
Then his eyes found my wrist.
His relief vanished.
His jaw tightened.
His expression became carefully blank.
Too carefully.
I watched the exchange between my parents.
A look passed between them.
One that lasted barely a second.
But it spoke volumes.
She knows.
It's happening.
We can't hide it anymore.
My father stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him.
The soft click of the latch echoed louder than it should have.
No one moved.
No one smiled.
Finally, he spoke.
"How much do you remember?"
"The forest."
"The witches."
"The light."
"I remember someone saying my name."
Neither of them answered.
I stood from the bed.
"I deserve the truth."
"You do," my father admitted.
My breath caught.
He'd never admitted that before.
"But not yet."
Anger flared inside me.
"Not yet?" I repeated.
"When exactly were you planning on telling me?"
"When I turned eighteen?"
"I am eighteen."
"When I finished school?"
"When monsters started chasing me?"
"When glowing marks started appearing on my body?"
Neither of them answered.
I laughed bitterly.
"So that's your plan."
Silence.
"I've spent my whole life feeling different."
My voice cracked despite my best effort.
"I never looked like either of you."
"I've never been able to explain why strange things happen around me."
"I hear whispers no one else hears."
"I dream about places I've never been."
"And now this?"
I held up my glowing wrist.
"Tell me what I am."
The room became impossibly still.
My mother's eyes filled with tears.
My father closed his eyes as though the question physically hurt him.
When he opened them again, they seemed older.
Wearier.
"The answer," he said softly, "will change your life forever."
My pulse thundered.
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat.
Slowly.
Carefully.
When his hand emerged, he was holding an old leather pouch bound with faded silver cord.
He placed it gently on the bed between us.
"I prayed," he whispered, "that I would never have to give this to you."
I stared at the pouch.
Something inside it pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then, as though it recognized me...
It began to glow with the same silver light as the mark on my wrist.
- Writer
