Beastly (32 page)

The Beast gazed upon the spectacular panorama the world had to offer, for once free to pursue his own destiny. The possibilities were endless and that, in itself, was frightening. But the Beast knew that the chains of the sure and certain were far worse.

He would have his freedom.

“Let’s try the second star to the right...”

The End

Epilogue

Pandora’s bony heels clicked through thin skin as she paced. Fiery anguish coursed through the newly formed veins crawling under her newborn flesh. Captivity offered precious little else to do.

Pace. And remember.

Pace. And plan.

Pace...

The clicks died soon after birth, forbidden to echo. She toed playfully at the cracked floor like a child, ticking years away. In the Gloom, time was as meaningless as hope.

Where a wall should have been, there was an empty stretch of sky. Dirty light poured freely through the panoramic gap, but provided no warmth. Pandora dangled her feet over the side, contemplating another plunge into the jagged mountains below.

Such was her life as prisoner in the Gloom.

Despite the dozens of deaths suffered on the rocks below, Pandora always reawakened in the cell.

She scratched at the ugly skin of her arms, hating its soft pink weakness. Being stripped of her power should have been punishment enough.
But this? Restored of flesh and blood? Ahriman had gone too far.

Just outside the cell’s heavy door, a pair of phantoms materialized into forms nearly human. Ahriman nodded his jeweled horn to the door,
inviting his guest to view the newest addition to his gallery.

“As you can see, this one quite hates the flesh. More so than any I’ve ever seen.”

“Indeed she does, Lord Ahriman. She seems to crave
undeath. Strange for one so young.” The wraith pulled back the hood of its black cloak, leaning closer to the barred portal. Shiny black hair, soft as silk, draped over its slim shoulders. A long scar of fading silver crossed its throat from ear to ear.

The wraith’s hand fell to the
kusarigama at her waist. The chipped blade gleamed at the thought of claiming such a prize. “Why not give her to me? She craves my touch...”

The master of the Gloom shook the prison’s walls with a roar of raucous laughter. It was not often he allowed himself such a joy.

“I am afraid this one is still of use to me. And besides, you have not come all the way from the Nether Realm to parlay for a simple soul, now have you Morgren?”

Morgren’s hand abandoned the eternally hungry weapon. She traced the scar at her throat with timid fingertips, memory of the dagger’s kiss vivid still. The almond shape of her eyes grimly narrowed.

“No, I’ve come on a more personal note. Something of mine was stolen. By someone I should think you’d prefer to see punished for his role in upending your plot against the
Aether”

Ahriman snorted. “Only a fool would endeavor to steal from you.
What lost trinket could inspire such wrath?”

The wraith stepped away from the door, slipping into the soothing safety of a nearby shadow.

“My ship, Lord Ahriman. I’ve come for the Reaper’s Song.”