SIXTY-SIX | THE WITCH'S CURSE

Lily

“No,” someone hissed – a female voice, croaky with disuse, which Lily only vaguely recognised. “I won’t do it.”

The words tickled something deep in the far recesses of her mind. She had said those words before, once a month, every month, on the eve of the full moon. She felt a strange, distinct kinship to the woman that had spoken, and a spark of herself drifted down from the stars to land in her lap.

Lily looked at the endless rows of boots. She looked out to the sun, ethereal and hazy, and she thought of the world she had come from, and the person she had left behind, a little more of herself leaving with each day she spent in the cells.

“Yes,” said Apollo, and Lily could hear the mild, tight amusement in his voice even from here. “You will.”

“I can’t,” cried out the woman, and it clicked then – it was the witch, Eryne. “It