Andi of Unhinged has decided to try her hand at an online series. Plotting, worrying, and over-thinking what she writes hasn’t worked out so well, so she’s going back to the way it was when she first began writing. She is totally winging the writing of this story, and has no idea where it’s going to go or how it’s going to end.
This is the second part. If you’re interested, the beginning is here.
The numbness spread as my heart slowed its push of blood through my veins.
Something touched my cheek.
My spine arched–
–as oxygen tore down my throat and filled my lungs with intense heat. I gritted my teeth against the pain of it, surprised that rebirth hurt when death had not.
My heartbeats grew stronger, impossibly strong, until there was no pause between beats. No room to catch my breath, to swallow and soothe my burning throat. Teeth still clenched to keep from screaming, I curled over into a ball.
When I could think long enough to string two coherent thoughts together, I concentrated on slowing my heart again.
It was more difficult than dying, but maybe that made sense. Living was supposed to be harder than death. Maybe this was another test to see if I was worthy. Anyone could die. Everyone died.
I tried to will my hyperventilation into submission. When I was twelve and obligated to demonstrate an example of Illyria’s Power before The Council, I’d had a panic attack and fainted. What I felt now was similar, and the memory made it impossible for me to control my breathing.
“Don’t fight it.”
Through the black wings beating at the corners of my mind, I heard the voice.
“Or do. And die for real this time.”
It had to be the troll who guarded the gold. Who else would have such a mellifluous voice, strong enough to soothe me in spite of the words he’d spoken?
Why was he still here?
Why was he still alive?
Why was I?