It Isn't Easy Being Queen

28. The Vessel and the Heir

"Sometimes when you step out of your comfort zone, you soar to new heights. Other times you fall into a pile of  stinky garbage."—Rowen Keckilpenny Brown

My high-pitched screams of terror rented through the air. The chill wind whistled past, numbing the tips of my ears. My gown, a frothy black Olivia creation that fluttered in my wake did little to quell the cold. Goose pimples erupted along my arms. Still, I gripped the end of the broom hoping for a miracle.

But let's be honest. Since the advent of science, miracles aren't so common. Okay, yeah, I know I'm in a magical realm, but in Brittlebane, magic is science!

My heart raced faster than a ... well ... a falling witch. And it felt like my stomach had decided it wanted nothing to do with this whole scenario and dropped out of my body entirely. Where was my magic now? I tried to locate it, but it was hard with death looming.

As I fell, time seemed to slow, and a thousand thoughts rushed across my mind.

At least I wouldn't have a boring end. That was the only positive thing I could say about my current situation. It would be painful, messy, and worst of all, stupid. Because only someone extremely idiotic would toss herself out a window on an unfamiliar broom after minimal training. Especially when that person's familiar warned her of said stupidity.

And my poor dads! If they ever became human again, they'd never recover from this. Who would be there to complain about their smoothies? How would they get by without occasional visits from the police investigating Coffin Ridge town hacks? The garden would become choked by weeds because as we all know, my dads never weeded. Their lives would be ruined, and it would be all my fault.

I knew that when death loomed you were supposed to recall wonderful memories. See the faces of your loved ones. But I had so many regrets, the biggest one being that I allowed myself to be blackmailed into traveling to an evil castle run by an evil witch organization that wanted me to take over as the head of said organization.

And now I'd never get to talk to the gossiping trees and find out what my mother was thinking the night she created me. Why she didn't follow the recipe. I had a feeling Petronella should've listened to her Head of Magical Inventory, Calvin E. Dalb. Was I really a monster of untold proportions?

Time sped up once again, and a fetid odor assaulted my nostrils.

It reeked of garbage. It was the sort of smell that was a warning—do not approach unless you wished to contract a horrific disease.

But when one was falling from a tower, one had little option.

So, I gagged.

And prepared for my demise as best I could. By squeezing my eyes closed even tighter.

But then ...

... I smacked into something ...

... soft.