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

The crisp scent of fallen leaves filled the air, a hint of magic that added a sickly sweetness that caused her to recoil. Fruit rotted in her visions, and the eyes on her palms twitched.

“Lurking in the shadows?” she called back, swallowing her fear. “Hardly intimidating.”

“The shadows are my home, changeling child. It’s you who are unintimidating, standing in the light.”

A shiver rocked her body forward violently. She splashed a few steps in the water to gain her footing, then raced to the small incline out of the water.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I think you know.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew, faerie.” She took a shot in the dark. He had to be Fae, otherwise he was something far more dangerous.

“Good,” the voice replied with a deep chuckle. “That’s a start.”

Aisling curled her hands into fists. “I am here for the waters from Swan Lake.”

“Why would you want that?”

“To break a curse.”

Wind buffeted her back, pushing her forward again. She whirled too late. Whatever had rushed past was already gone.

“A curse?” the deep voice asked. “What kind of curse?”

“A binding curse.”

“Odd thing to want the waters for.”

“I was told it was the only way to break a binding curse.” She tried to peer through the darkness. There had to be a shift in the shadows, something that would reveal where this creature was. “Were they wrong?”

“You trust me enough to believe my words?”

“I trust no one, but I also know you cannot lie because you are most certainly Fae.”

The voice growled directly in her ear, “So are you.”

She spun again, lifting her fists to strike him in the jaw, but there was no one behind her. Smoke stirred around her raised hand. Aisling took a steadying breath. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“You know.”

He chuckled. “You’re a forward child, I’ll give you that. What do you think I am?”

“If I had a guess, I wouldn’t have asked. Tell me what you are, or tell me if this is Swan Lake. Those are the only words I am interested in hearing you speak.”

“So rude,” he tsked. “You already know what I am.”

Out of the darkness above her, a single raven feather floated down to rest upon her raised fist. As dark as obsidian, it gleamed nearly blue in the dim light. It felt like velvet as it touched her knuckles, slid down her hand, and drifted onto the water.

“Raven King,” she gasped.

“The one and only. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

A fluttering of wings made her glance up from the feather drifting away. Her breath frosted in the air, the fog obscuring her vision for a moment. The instant it cleared, she saw him.

Ravens poured from the darkness. They shrieked and screamed as magic drew them together, splicing their forms until he was nothing more than a mass of squirming feathers and gnashing beaks. They settled as one and revealed a man larger than life.

He looked like…

“Bran,” she gasped.

The Raven King arched a brow, and his lips quirked into a smile. “Close, but not quite.”

Aisling could see the differences now, although they were slight. This man was much older than Bran. His nose was more hawk-like, and the feathers spread across his face were much more pronounced. Wrinkles fanned from his eyes and deepened the grooves around his mouth.

He wasn’t quite Bran, but he wasn’t something else either.

The Raven King floated above the water, stepping toward her without creating even the slightest ripple from his movement. Feathers spread from his shoulders in a quivering cloak that shone emerald and sapphire. He advanced with purpose, a knowing grin on his face.

“You look just like him,” she whispered, stepping back until her heels struck water.

“He looks like me. But the resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?”

The Raven King paused before her, and she stared up into his gaze and noted the differences. His raven eye was red, not yellow. His jaw was a little weaker, his nose a little longer, but he was right. They could have been brothers.

“Family trait?” she asked.

“Not a drop of blood relation.”

“Strange.”

“Not when you factor in magic.” He reached forward and twirled a strand of her wet hair around his finger. Steam rose from the tendril that touched his flesh, then magic pulsed up the strand, drying as it went. “You are not as I imagined you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Hardly.”

She watched him through narrowed eyes as he circled her. The cape billowed behind him, raven heads stretching for freedom only to be slammed back into the fabric by an invisible hand.

Aisling didn’t know what game he was playing, but it wasn’t comfortable. His eyes looked her up and down, measuring her worth, finding all the flaws in her features. She felt the gentle nudge of magic and had to force herself not to retaliate with whatever spell she could think of.

“When they chose you as my consort, I wondered what you would look like as you aged. The last time I saw you, you were just a little twig.” The Raven King held up his pinky finger. “All limbs and eyes. You were strange looking, but I could see you would become an intriguing woman.”

“You have no right to comment on my looks.”

“Don’t I? I’m your husband.”

“Not yet,” she growled.

“There is no other for you.” He frowned, winged brows drawn down severely. “It’s a shame you can’t see that, but there will be time.”

She had no plans to remain here. The Raven King could follow her to the ends of the earth if he wished, but she would never stop running. He could capture her, but she would escape. He could chain her to a wall, but she would chew off her hands to run from this dark creature.

His laughter filled the air with dark promise. “I can see your thoughts clearly, changeling child. You should know the chase only excites me.”

“Good to know,” she replied. “I’m glad at least something about me will entertain you. Perhaps you’ll keep me longer than your previous consorts.”

“There were no