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

tattered threads of her curse and wondered just how much it was going to hurt.

Finally, the last bit of the curse unraveled, leaving her palms like veins pulled from her skin. She opened her mouth and inhaled the stagnant salt water.

Aisling shot up to the surface, grasped the edge of the pool and coughed up a lungful of water and ink. It wouldn’t end. Her eyes widened, she clawed at the stone as more and more black sludge poured from her lips.

She whimpered but endured as her body rid itself of the lingering effects of the curse.

The dark spell sank into the stones. Charred spots marked where she had purged the darkness that had sunk into her lungs and deep within her bones. And though it was terrifying, it was also freeing.

Shaking, she flipped her hands over. The eye tattoos remained on her hands, but they were no longer pulsing with power. The eyes didn’t blink, but the tips of her fingers were now as pale as her skin with tiny half-moons on her nails.

Tears pooled in her eyes. She let out a tiny sob and lowered her forehead to the ragged stone.

“Aisling?” Lorcan quietly asked.

“Yes?”

“Are you done?”

She nodded against the rocks. “I think so.”

“Good, because that was disgusting.” She heard him hop down to the floor. He padded over to her, nails clicking with each step. “You know how vomiting makes me uncomfortable.”

“And god forbid I make you uncomfortable.” Her head felt as though it wasn’t attached to her body anymore. It was so heavy and difficult to lift, but she managed just enough to give him a stare. “Excuse me while I try to be a normal person.”

“Yes, well, if you could do it without all the…” He lifted a paw to his mouth and retched. “Never mind, I don’t want to think about it. It’ll make me sick.”

“Lorcan. How have you practiced witchcraft your entire life and managed to retain a weak stomach?”

“Well, I didn’t do that.”

“Just get out of my way or I’ll get you wet.” She hefted herself out of the pool, flinging water in all directions.

He grumbled and raced to the other side of the room. “You know I don’t like getting damp!”

“Just shut up, would you?”

“I would like food. I’ve been tracking you for a very long time, and I require sustenance.”

“I’ll get you food in a second.”

“I would prefer it now.”

Aisling stared up at the ceiling and muttered chants that would hopefully calm her down. When they didn’t work, she gave up and glared at him. “Can I look at myself for the first time in over twenty years first? Or would you like me to wait on you before seeing how much my life has changed?”

“Before.” He nodded. “I am very hungry.”

“I should throw you out the window, you useless excuse for a man.”

She turned away from him and made her way toward the dressing table in the corner. The mirror was cracked and tarnished with age, but it would be enough for her to see what magic had hidden from her.

A shard, smaller than her hand, remained free from smudges, and she had to stoop to pick it up. She closed her eyes, fearful of what she might see. Was she pretty? Was she a hideous creature? Worse, would she even recognize herself?

Steeling herself, she leaned down and stared into her own eyes.

The woman in the mirror gazed back at her, a creature unlike any she’d seen before. She had thought, perhaps, she would have aged like her family. Aisling knew her sister was more beautiful than glimmering gossamer webs. She saw some of her family in the mirror, but she also saw herself.

Dark curls framed a heart-shaped face, which was pleasant enough. Slashes of dark brows arched delicately over equally shadowed eyes. A finely sloped nose met wine-stained lips over a slightly stubborn chin.

Yet, there were storms boiling in her eyes. Faint lines feathered from her eyes, lines of hardship, strife, and exhaustion that marked her skin for all eternity. A small scar slashed through her left eyebrow from when the children had thrown rocks at her. Her lips were set in a severe line, the expression of a woman marching into battle. She wondered how often she wore the angry look.

Pattering feet stepped toward her and then paused. “What do you think?”

“She isn’t what I expected.”

“You mean you aren’t what you expected.”

“Yes.” Aisling lifted a hand and touched her cheek, double-checking the woman she saw was actually herself. “I hadn’t expected to look so…”

Lorcan jumped up and put his paw atop her hand. “You have always been beautiful, Aisling, no matter what your face looks like.”

She touched a finger to her lip once more and blew out a breath. “Let’s sleep.”

“Are you all right?”

She silently shook her head and sank down next to the fire.

Her face. It was her face after all this time, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. She was beautiful; certainly that was the truth. But she hadn’t expected to look so much like her family.

Aisling had only seen them once in person since they gave her up, and from afar. They’d traveled with the Wild Hunt, racing through the countryside looking for people like her. But they would never come after her.

She had her father’s stubborn brow. She looked at herself the same way he had when he steered the hunt away from her small cabin. Her mother’s bee-stung lips, her brother’s strong jaw, her sister’s stunning gaze, all of them combined to a face she recognized painfully. She looked exactly like her sister.

Lorcan curled up at her side. He glanced up a few times before heaving a sigh and placing his paw on her hand again. “Go to sleep, little witch. It is done.”

So it was.

Trying to hide her shivers, she laid down on the rug with Lorcan tucked under her chin and told herself not to be afraid. She’d made this choice knowing she couldn’t come back from it.

She