The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

She followed the shimmering mass of mist to a cave carved into the side of a mountain cliff. She hadn’t remembered there being mountains in this part of the Unseelie lands. Perhaps she had missed it.

She stared up at the great monoliths and doubted herself. This wasn’t in the Unseelie-controlled lands. This might not even be Ireland anymore.

A tiny hand tucked into hers, rough palm abrading hers.

Aisling startled and looked down at the tiny horned creature holding her hand. There was a puff of sparse hair on top of its head, large eyes blinking up at her with blue irises filling the space from side to side. It grinned and sharp, filed teeth filled its mouth near to bursting.

“Hobgoblin,” she grumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“Escorting you to the mistress.”

“I didn’t agree to be touched.”

“Wouldn’t want you to run,” he replied. His voice was the quiet scratch of nails on flint, hard and painful to hear.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“One can’t be too careful.”

She wanted to punch him in his little frog-like mouth. The hobgoblin had no right to drag her into the cave like she was someone’s expected pet. This was her grandmother! She knew how to enter like a lady and not piss off the woman who cursed her.

Water dripped from the ceiling of the cave, splashing against her shoulders in icy droplets. This was an old place, an ancient place that radiated pain and heartache.

Was this where her grandmother spent her days?

“Not far now,” the hobgoblin giggled. “You’ll soon see, little changeling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s what you are.”

Aisling leaned back just enough to eye him. He was about the right height to kick across the room. She might even be able to hook a toe underneath him and send him flying through the cave into the wall.

“Granddaughter”—a familiar voice stretched toward her from the darkness—“be kind.”

Feeling chastised even though she was an adult, Aisling shook off the hobgoblin’s hold and started toward the sound of her grandmother’s voice. “Oh, come now, that’s not how you raised me.”

“I raised you to be human.”

“They are not kind.”

Her legs still ached with the burn of a bonfire set by men and women too afraid of magic to consider it to be good. Her back remembered the beatings, the thrown stones, the sticks tossed that left bruises decorating her body like a patchwork quilt.

No, humans were not kind. They did not know how to be generous to those they deemed different.

“Come here, child. It has been too long.”

Light bloomed in the darkness like a rose unfurling its petals. Aisling stepped through its silver light into a small cavern lit by magic and fire.

Her grandmother was crouched next to the golden flames, her speckled skin like that of a sparrow’s egg. She glanced up, mismatched brown and blue eyes glowing with their own power. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face, which only served to highlight the severe angles and aggressive snarl curling her lips to the side.

“Come sit by my fire, granddaughter.”

She could not say no to Badb, the war crow. The Tuatha de Danann could turn her inside out, upside down, and right-side out if she wished to. She was sister to Morrigan, creator of fear on the battlefield, the woman who feasted upon warrior’s souls.

Aisling sat when she was told to.

The warmth from the fire sank deep into her soul. Badb offered a stone cup filled with herbs that smelled of earth and healing. Aisling drank deeply, cupping the handcrafted vessel carefully with her pale hands. “Thank you, grandmother. It is a great honor to be brought here.”

“Is it?” Badb’s lips twisted in a sneer. “We both know you don’t believe that.”

“I couldn’t lie about it either.”

“Don’t take me for a fool. Changelings can lie through their teeth once humans teach them the darkness in their souls. Your soul was darkened the moment I left you in the arms of that witch.”

Lorcan had been a terrible father figure, but then he’d been a child then, too. Aisling bristled on his behalf. “He did his best.”

“And his best was to turn you into one of them. The witch knew what I thought of his kind.”

“He also knew you left me in the arms of a stranger rather than keep me where I belonged.” It wasn’t the first time she’d spat the words at Badb. “He did what he had to for our survival.”

“Have you survived? In a sense, I imagine. You’re still alive. Your heart is still beating.” She leaned forward and rapped a long-nailed finger against Aisling’s chest hard enough to hurt. “But what’s in there is no more Fae than your cat. You have to learn everything all over again.”

“I’m trying,” Aisling whispered. Pain shot through her body, and not from her grandmother’s harsh thump. She knew she wasn’t a faerie, never had been, never would be accepted in their arms as one of them. What she didn’t know was why she’d been left to die in the forest all those years ago.

Changelings were unwanted faeries. Old creatures who wanted to die causing mischief with their last breath. Ugly children their parents were ashamed of. And though Aisling hadn’t seen herself in the mirror since she was a little girl, she knew she was neither.

Her childhood self had been passably pretty, if not a little awkward. Her legs were like that of a newborn foal and her eyes as large as the moon. Perhaps she asked too many questions, her curious mind devouring information like she was starved. Or maybe it was as simple as her family not wanting her.

“How are they?” Aisling asked quietly.

Badb knew of whom she spoke. Aisling always asked about her family, the people who left her behind with little care to even check in on her. It didn’t matter they didn’t care.

She would care enough for all of them.

“Surviving,” Badb grunted. “Your mother is slowly sinking into her own madness. Your father is