The Witch of Storn

Chapter 18

Several hours after the horrifying ordeal that still left her shuddering whenever she thought back to it, Rey sat propped up in bed by several pillows, a heavy blanket over her lower body. She had a hot bowl of tea clasped between her hands, the strange scent wafting up to her nose in lazy spirals of steam. The first time she had taken a sip she had scrunched her whole face up, her taste buds hating the sour taste of the tea. Zaria had given her a very evil eye when she did so, so instead of spitting it out she had gathered her courage and swallowed it, shivering intensely as it went down her throat. It left an aftertaste that made her throat itch, but Zaria just rolled her eyes at the wincing girl, saying something about ‘finicky Revonans’ and ‘it’s not even that bad’. Even now it still made her facial muscles contort, but she had gotten used to it.

Zaria had left the room some minutes before with severe instructions to drink all the tea with not one drop left over. Rey grimaced at the memory but took another sip anyway. It was best to get it over with; also, she was halfway to the bottom of the bowl. Her eyes wandered the room as she forced the liquid down her throat. It was fairly small for a bedroom, approximately half the size of the living room of her previous apartments. It looked unused: there was not one speck of dust in the room, but the sheets on the bed were new, like the pillowcases. There were no personal items she could spot – it seemed that the room was used as a storage space instead, shelves stuffed with jars and containers of all sizes, trunks and boxes piled against the wardrobe in the corner opposite the window. She brought the bowl to her lips again, so deep in thought she took a large gulp without even noticing the taste. Where was she? The last thing she remembered as Rhaenar was the scary man in grey, and the cliff…Malra!

I hope she’s alright. That man had said she would be fine, but he also tried to kill Rhaenar—me. How do I know he wasn’t lying?

Just like Helene.

The thought of Helene made her feel a strange mixture of emotions, all of which were negative. She didn’t want to think about it; it hurt too much to do so. Besides there were much more important things to spend time pondering.

A minute voice far, far in the dusty, dark corners of her mind squeaked that sooner or later she would have to think about it. The shrill voice warned her she would have to face it someday and the sooner the better for her.

Of course, Rey ignored it. There were more pleasant but less easy things to consider, such as where she was for one. Another was who she was. Was she still Rey, but just in Rhaenar’s body? Where would she go next? What was she to do?

Rey wished for a pencil to write all of her worries down—did pencils even exist in this place? She thought so, but she didn’t remember anything like that. Rather, her body didn’t have memories of pencils. This brought her back to the pressing question: who was she?

 Rey brought the bowl to her lips, engrossed in thought. When she didn’t taste anything she drew back, staring at the bowl. It was empty, and only then did she realize that the aftertaste had been absent from her tongue for a while. She reached out and placed the bowl on the table next to the bed. Her hand shook a little as she dropped the bowl, and it landed with a dull thud. The sound wasn’t loud enough to alarm Zaria, but Rey stared at the door all the same. Her door remained closed though. She recalled then that Zaria had said she was leaving the house to carry out some errands.

Rey relaxed, leaning back into the welcoming pillows. Her eyes grew unfocused again as her mind worked. So much had happened in such a short period and now it was time to sort it all out.

The first issue: was she Rey or Rhaenar? Rey wasn’t sure what had happened to Rhaenar’s soul. The girl shouldn’t have just passed away in her sleep — not when she was fated to be the villainess who would try to break up the true love that Sylphia and the prince had. Unfortunately the question hadn’t come to her mind all the times she had been in that place and so it would remain unanswered. It was more than a little eerie though, how no one seemed to notice any anomalies in her behaviour. Helcin had made a comment on her informal greeting to the Duke, but it seemed to just be regular Helcin behaviour. Even Malra, the person supposedly closest to Rhaenar hadn’t said anything or looked at her funny. Alone this line of reasoning wasn’t very convincing, but when she added to it the fact that she knew and felt instinctively what Rhaenar would, or that so much of her likes, dislikes and personality traits matched up with Rhaenar’s, it helped her make up her mind.

Rey had died in her old world (for reasons she still didn’t want to think about). Rhaenar too was gone from this one. Now Rey possessed her body. What if Rhaenar came back? Rey wondered, but it was only wondering. Somehow she knew the other wouldn’t be back. Also, the beings she had met would have said something. Instead they had spoken like her soul being in Rhaenar’s body was permanent and immutable.

In a nutshell, Rey would be in this body for a long time (conversely, it could be a short one, depending on how long Rey was able to stay alive). Rey placed her hands together in front of her like she was about to pray. She closed her eyes and wished Rhaenar’s soul a peaceful afterlife and a great reincarnation. She stayed that way for a while, opening her eyes and putting her hands back on the blanket over her thighs. There was no feeling of release or peace or anything special, but she didn’t need it.

Rey Brien did not exist anymore. Taking her place was Lady Rhaenar Aera, il Tsaen.

As the room darkened around her, the sunlight falling into the room turning red, Rhaenar smiled widely. It wasn’t the best situation, and there was a giant, gaping hole in her knowledge that needed to be filled, but she was alive.

Anything could be done as long as you were alive. Rhaenar intended to live a long life, and this time, she was going to enjoy it.