The Binding
But this book is a map written in a language I feel is familiar but I can’t place it.
I run my fingers over a passage in the middle of the page, the ink humming faintly under my skin. It’s not just a historic passage about magic, it’s a warning.
The binding placed on Elias and I wasn’t just to hide us, it really was to hold us back.
The weaver’s mark—woven with love and desperation by our mother—wasn’t made to be broken easily. Bit it’s unraveling now. And every time another piece comes to life I feel more, smell more, hear more, want more.
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