To break his family's curse, Faolan mac Domnall seeks to marry the beautiful Saoirse, princess of Mide. Spirited and outspoken, the wild Saoirse wants nothing more than to escape the life that's been decided for her. Determined to outmaneuver a twis...
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She meant to destroy the mirror, to shatter it into a thousand pieces. It would have been safer to destroy all temptation of trading the princess's life for her own.
He wanted to stay, her heart whispered against the agony of self-inflicted isolation.
She had been powerful enough to send him away, but she could not cut the last thread of hope that he might return, that she might see him again. The longing, the regret, they burned in her eye, echoed in her chest.
Go to him, each heartbeat sang.
Leave Otherworld behind? The last masterpieces of the Dreamweaver hung from the rafters. In its repairs, the cottage bore the subtle touches of Faolan's lingering thoughtfulness. Her few bright childhood memories touched the world with golden nostalgia. These last weeks had bloomed with more happiness than Siofra had held in years.
She wondered if Caorthann had shared this dilemma.
The chance to survive in an unfamiliar world or the certainty of peace, surrounded by happy memories.
"I won't break the curse," Siofra rasped at her stubborn heart. Though that temptation still lingered, she forced the words from her lips. "The cost is too high."
Go for forgiveness, then. For love.
"No! If he knew the truth, how could he forgive me?" she argued, pacing the cottage in a stilted circle. It pained her to limp from wall to wall, but Siofra was too restless to tolerate idleness. The dull thunk of her heavy wooden leg countered the frantic melody of the pulse in her ears.
The crooked leg mirrored her gnarled hands, the horrible claw-like fingers, the spindly branches from her chest and shoulders. Considering her actions, could Faolan still see beyond the curse? Could he forgive such a monstrous creature?
How will you know if you don't try?
The circuit through the cottage brought her before the age-flecked mirror. Nearly consumed by the inevitable growth of the rowan-curse, the sharp heaviness of tears crept into her throat.
"I'm afraid," she whispered to the creature on the other side of the glass. Fear of the unknown, of unrequited love, of isolation, of regret. The truth of it seared. It turned smoke solid, heavy and cold as iron.
Her heart had no reply.
A broken moan ripped from her throat as she turned from her reflection. Her single eye burned with the predestined hopelessness, the frustration of her position, the shame of cowardice.
Turning to resume the punishing circles, Siofra's gaze fell upon the loom, the carefully folded fabric next to it. She moved toward it, arranged her wooden claws to pull its velvety comfort to her last piece of human face.
The work had been slow, but Siofra had finished the stardust weave before her last fingers also succumbed to the creeping petrification. The last rows were her sloppiest weaving, but they were done. She had completed it. For the gift of a name, she finished the three magical weavings.
