It Falls Into Place As I Fall Apart

DAISY.

I take a step forward and then another. The grave calls to me, a magnetic force that draws me closer. The mist swirls around my ankles, caressing my skin like ghostly fingers. Each step is heavy with uncertainty, the ground beneath my feet uneven and treacherous. I feel as if I'm floating in a dream.

"Daisy." Bastian's voice is distant and soft, carried on the wind as I find myself moving away from him. "Don't."

I'm torn between the urge to turn back and face him, to break free from the Witch's grasp, and the unsettling curiosity that compels me forward. Because she's right. I am tired. I'm tired of the secrets, tired of the darkness that surrounds us. And perhaps, deep down, I'm tired of waiting for someone else to decide what I get to know and where I go from here.

I want to turn around and hold Bastian, to let him reassure me that we can face whatever comes together. But there's another part of me that's drawn to the grave like a moth to a flame. As I take a step closer, the mist swirls around me, cold tendrils brushing against my skin. The Witch's presence is palpable, her power pressing against the walls of my mind like a probing finger.

"I have to know," I reply quietly, almost more to myself than to him. "I have to know the truth."

Are the words mine or hers?

His hand is suddenly on my shoulder, holding me in place. "Daisy, please." He sounds desperate, his voice on the verge of breaking. "Not like this."

I glance back at him, and for a moment our eyes lock. In his gaze, I see a mixture of worry, fear, and something else, something he's hiding from me. My heart aches at the realization that even now, he's keeping something from me. The mist between us feels thicker than ever, a chasm I'm not sure we can bridge.

I turn away from him and continue deeper into a darkness that might not even be mine, but it embraces me just the same. The grave is just a few steps away now.

I'm not sure if Bastian calls out to me again, but he does not hold me back. Either way, I'm lost in the trance that pulls me in further.

The Witch's voice, a seductive whisper that twists and turns in my mind, taunts me. ‘You know the truth, girl. Now all that is left for you to do is face it.’

I kneel beside the grave. The stones beneath my fingers are cold and damp, the earthy scent of moss mingling with the mist. I trace the lines of time, green, brown, and grey. Some of the stones are more worn than the others, as if they've been disturbed and rearranged.

I can feel the Witch's presence around me, her power pressing against my thoughts like a storm on the horizon. She's close, watching, waiting. And as I lower my head to read the inscription, I'm intently aware of the weight of her gaze on me.

"Who was he?" I murmur, my voice barely more than a whisper. The words feel like a prayer, a plea to understand the story behind the grave, the tragedy that shaped the Witch of the Dark.

‘You know. You've been looking at it this whole time. Now see it,’ the Witch whispers.

Bastian's voice is still distant, but somehow I'm not sure if he's standing far away or right behind me. "You deserve the truth, but not like this. Please."

I close my eyes for a moment. I can feel the Witch's presence, her fingers slipping into my thoughts like tendrils of darkness.

I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and look down at the inscription on the grave marker once more. The words are a mystery, a puzzle that could hold the key to unlocking the truth that's been right in front of me this whole time. My fingers skim over the uneven grooves, tracing the lines carved into the wood and brushing off the dirt that conceals the letters.

But as I touch the marker, a jolt courses through me, a burst of magic that seems to radiate from the grave itself. Images flood my mind, a kaleidoscope of memories and emotions.

The mist thickens, wrapping around me like a cocoon, and suddenly I'm not standing outside the hut anymore. I'm in a different place, a different time. Everything around me blurs and shifts until I'm surrounded by darkness, a canvas upon which memories unfold like vivid paintings, a tapestry of love and betrayal. I watch, captivated and horrified, as the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place.

Before me, a scene takes shape. It's a room bathed in candlelight, the walls adorned with symbols and sigils that pulse softly with light magic.

It's the Witch's hut, only it looks different. Even on the inside, the little house looks newer, cozier. Kinder.

A woman stands in the center of the room, dressed in a soft, pastel blue gown. Beside her stands a young man with curly hazel hair. He is taller than she is, his size imposing and domineering. He watches the girl with an intensity that borders on hunger, his eyes fixed on her as if she's the only thing that matters. He leans in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that's both passionate and possessive.

When she pulls away, I catch a glimpse of her face, and the world falls around me.

The Witch of the Dark looks younger here, healthier. There are no dark tattoos, no circles under her eyes. She must be only a few years older than me, if that. And her eyes... her eyes aren't black and lifeless, but rather a rich and deep shade of green.

I know those eyes. I think, on some level, I already suspected it. I always knew. I just didn't want to accept it.

What else have I been wrong about? What else has been hidden in plain sight but clouded by my affection?

The Witch of the Dark was right. I'm in love with her son.

And it's going to destroy me.