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

sight. There were energies she could use in this world, but only one would make a lasting curse. Aisling poured her life into a single pinprick in her palm. The eye tattoo shifted, pulling at her skin in a blink she could feel. “Flesh will tear, bones will break, and you shall feel every ache. I bind you raven, here and now. I bind you, Fae, from feet to brow.”

The spell sizzled through the dark ink on her hands. It burst from her fingertips and struck him in the chest so hard he stumbled back. He pressed a hand against his sternum, then stared at her in disbelief.

It was a dangerous spell, one she’d never cast on a person before. Binding spells should never be used unless in the direst of circumstances. They harmed more than they helped, but they could protect the spellcaster in strange ways.

Blood trickled down her cheek, cool compared to the flames licking her hips. Her abused body ached, pain sparking behind her eyes even as tears fogged her vision.

“Now we’re in this together, faerie,” she slurred. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, her lips numb from pain and shock. “If I die, so do you.”

The world tilted to the side, or perhaps that was her head. She tried to stay awake, wanting to remain cognizant as long as possible. It was her last view of the earth. And if that vision was of people who hated her, then so be it.

Cool wind brushed her cheeks. The tree branches rattled like bones, the corpse of a once green thing cradling her against its side. They would go together even though it was only a shell giving her comfort.

The moon burst from behind clouds and flooded the clearing in silver light. Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile as her eyes drifted shut.

It was a good night to die.

Bran wasn’t supposed to be here. He should return to the Unseelie court where he was greatly missed, rather than meddling in the Seelie kingdom and now here in the human realm. There were more important things to do than watch humans in their daily toils.

And yet, he flew through the night sky surveying mortal lands. Again.

He always found himself wandering the human world when his thoughts grew too chaotic. Humans were a simple folk. Easily convinced of superstitions and arcane wickedness when they should remember who first brought magic into this world.

A raven croaked in his ear, tilting its head and staring down at a gathering in the wood. It was unusual for humans to be out this late. They feared the dark almost more than they feared the unknown.

Furrowing his brow, Bran landed in the thicket and crouched to watch the screaming men and women.

They’d tied a woman to a tree while brandishing pitchforks at her. A man stood in the center, feeding the frenzy with callous words and a tone filled with fervor.

Witch hunter.

Humans always wanted to grasp just a little more power before their souls fled the shells of their flesh.

Snorting, he glanced at one of his ravens. “Why are we stopping?”

Again, it croaked.

“It’s the same story as last time. A woman burns, a crowd finds peace, and then they return to their sordid lives to find another witch to blame.”

The corvid shuffled his feet and clacked his beak. Something was bothering the beast, although Bran couldn’t figure out what.

He smoothed a hand against the shaved side of his skull. “We aren’t here to save a witch. We’re here to forget meddling women.”

It wasn’t his job to help those in need. They could save themselves, or rot for all he cared. He’d meddled enough in the Seelie court to last a lifetime, and to give himself an honorary Unseelie title for the rest of his days.

Bran shifted, placing a knee against the ground and resting his arm on the other. “What is it you see? Show me.”

The corvid spread his wings and took to the sky. They shared a special bond because these birds weren't real; they were a part of him. Bran was an Unseelie with two natures, that of a Tuatha de Danann and that of a predatory bird.

It unfortunately warped his form into half man and half beast. His face was twisted on the left side, and glossy black feathers encircled a raven eye that moved on its own. His left leg was thinner than the other and had a taloned foot that clicked as he walked. Feathers sprouted from the side of his head that he plucked every week to make it look as though it was shaved.

He exhaled, covered his human eye, and let his raven take control of his sight.

They soared through the skies for a moment before the beast landed on a branch near the crowd. It tilted its head to the side and stared at the woman strapped to the tree.

Flames crawled up the pale fabric of her shift. She wore little for a human woman, and his gaze halted at the outline of her legs. Pretty, long legs, shapely waist, strong muscles that were unusual for a human. Usually they were soft. And if they weren’t soft, then they were crude and base creatures made for working in fields.

But she wasn’t muscled like a farm woman. There was a grace to her beauty.

Who was this witch? What a shame she wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.

Her dark hair stuck to the rough bark like a spiderweb. The dark tangles seemed to absorb the light, falling in front of her face in ragged curls.

Bran drew in a harsh breath, and the raven spread its wings in surprise.

Her face.

The witch tied to the tree didn’t have a face. Magic blurred what he was certain to be a vision. Why didn’t she have a face?

“Corvin, return to me.”

Bran shut his raven eye, refusing to see her anymore. He didn’t want to know what kind of creature she was. The temptation of a challenge, of a story