She walked in a ring of ash and silver dust.
Margo in the center, bare feet, bruised skin and tattered dress of fighting in the tunnel. Her feet were set on ground that pulsed with a heartbeat. The people gathered around her, they were chanting—a strange mixture of screams and moans. A dirge and a lullaby.
Sally was at the edge of the ring, blanketed by a cloud of red vines and moths.
From now on, Sally spoke, her voice sounding off the cold stone walls, "you're no longer blood of your blood. You are ours. You will come with me when I summon you. You will obey. You will serve."
On Sally's fingertip, there flashed a burst of blue flame like fire before she sketched a sigil in the air. It sputtered like ice into Margo's breast.
"I don't want it," Margo gasped, shivering. "Please.".
You don't have to want," Sally said to her. "You just have to be. And you will. through me."
She felt a blinding agony slice across her back. Her vision was fading. Her voice was gone.
Somewhere far away, outside the dark walls of the room, Gabriel screamed. The scream was remote, muted—but real.
He was trapped. He realized what they were doing to her.
He fought with vines bound around his wrists, blood marking the marble. "NO! MARGO! LET HER GO!"
Sally did not hear.
Out of darkness, a figure emerged into firelight.
Mara.
Her flesh glowed with otherworldly light. Her smile was lovely and cruel. She danced around Margo like a lion encircling beside a mortally wounded doe.
"Little poor human," Mara slurred. "You thought he loved you. You thought you were special." She laughed—a laugh of shattering glass shards. "You're just a clone of me. A phase. An experiment. He'll forget about you too."
Margo put her hand up and attempted to punch her—but her muscles were frozen. Sally's spell had immobilized them. Her arms were locked in place.
Mara did not so much as blink. She smiled instead and punched her in the face.
Then a slap.
Then a punch in the stomach.
She pulled Margo's hair back and yanked it, growling, "You don't belong in our life."
With one hard tug, Mara ripped the fabric of her dress. "You're props for his act of defiance."
Margo wept.
Then—
"STOP IT!" Mike shoved Mara away with some force, slamming her onto the floor. "Cut it out, you psycho!"
Mara growled but did not fight.
Mike knelt next to Margo on the floor and wiped the blood off of her lip. "Are you okay?
She sniffled, nearly nodding. "I think so."
He touched her, helped her up.
The world was quiet that night.
The stars were shrouded in a cloud. The house was too quiet—silent. Even the birds were quiet.
They ate at candlelit long stone tables. The food was like from another world—purple roots, silver leaves, transparent meat that shook.
Margo sat between Mike and Mara, who had not said a word since the circle. Sally sat at the head of the table, her face impassive.
Gabriel screamed once more, far inside the house.
Margo's head jerked.
"Don't mind him," Sally said coldly. "He'll get tired someday."
Margo struggled to hold back her tears.
She chewed the strange meat. It was bitter and had the taste of grief.
Later that evening, Margo was led to her new bedroom.
A huge door groaned into a room that looked as though a jungle were unleashed inside of it.
Vines wrapped round the edges. Glowworms luminescent in the walls. Trees shooting branches up toward some distant glass ceiling. Amidst it, the bed of moss and gargantuan flower petals.
So beautiful. So vibrant.
And she felt imprisoned.
She buried herself in the bed and sobbed herself into sleep.
The next day, Sally presented her with a silver purse.
"Bring what I specified in the marketplace," she told her. "And no mistakes."
Margo nodded and left, racing pulse. The village was not quite right. The sun moved too fast. The shadows were too long. Everybody seemed a bit… wrong.
The marketplace was raucous, with clanging voices and smoke. Strange beasts haggled for bones and meat.
She was almost done when Mara stepped in her way.
Margo bumped into her.
"Watch where you're going," Mara snarled, her eyes narrowed.
Margo backed off. "I didn't see you."
"Of course you didn't," Mara snapped. "Because you're blind. Stupid, weak, soft."
"Move," Margo instructed.
Mara pushed her. "Make me."
Margo's hand struck before her mind could intervene—SLAP.
A crack split the market. Mara's cheek went red.
People stood frozen.
"You bitch!" Mara screamed.
Margo sprinted, her heart racing.
Behind her, Mara wailed. "She hit me! She hit me!"
Dozens of villagers turned to Margo, growling and shouting. "She hurt the beloved!"
"She cursed her!"
"Stone her!"
Margo sprinted back to the estate. The crowd followed, shouting.
Sally flung open the doors with a scowl.
Margo sobbed. "They're coming. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
Sally raised her hand. "Enough."
Then she summoned the creature.
It came out of the garden—ten feet tall, hair that was like rotting silk, horn curled like some deformed crown.
It screamed—like a hundred birds torn apart.
And then it charged.
The people screamed. Bones cracked. Blood spattered cobblestone.
Those who tried to run were trampled. The market burned. Mara alone remained, as being accompanied by a guard brought her home.
Sally said not a single word to Margo that night.
She just stared.
The air grew cold.
A punishment was owed.