The Moon That Devours Gods

against her body in an effort to stem the searing agony that coursed through her limbs. The palace surrounding her had been a grand testament to King Varick's wealth-gilde

flickering lamplight. Vesper struggled to push a word of reassurance past her lips, but it emerged only a hoarse gasp. A further jolt

to protect the cowering maid from her monstrous self. But the unstoppable force barreled forward. Her vision steadied, then blurred again, and she snarled up an angry inferno that

nd bound, as he became a devotee of the temple. He had been searching for a missing scroll when he heard the panicked screams that brough

in his chest as he moved towards Vesper and the shaking maid. He had read of curses, had heard the whispers of t

ut her teeth stretched, and instead, a guttural bark broke loose. She bucked against the beast; she trembled, sc

his gaze from Vesper's eyes."She's hurting," he said, as if to no one in particular. He steeled himself, sensing the ten

. Her jaw split open, a momentary display of fangs, and then a last, terrible cry tore from her throat

seemed to fold into darkness, and his heart raced with a dread that would follow him for years. Then and there,

s back - Vesper's wet, frightened eyes, her little half-formed claws, and the sound of his own voice trembling in that hallway. His heart p

lingered like fog. Today demanded composure. He was the new High Priest, an unexpected appointment following his prede

nd stared at him warily." Draven grasped at the silver crescent pendant at his neck, refusing to

s moving like silent witnesses. He paused at a tall window, looking into the courtyard, where courtiers in mourning clothes mingled

of coloured light from the stained glass washed across the floor. Draven came near to give prayers that the late king might find peace, but his p

the centre of attention. A cursed princess imprisoned, a freshly ordained High Priest with a heart that could be softened with pity, th

ty. A wave of low murmurs passed through the crowd. He heard snippets of conversation. "The princess... her father died..

said in a low voice. Draven swallowed and tilted his head in return. He steadied himself, remembering a vow

he spectral memory of that hallway gnawed at his conscience, sparking questions about a monstrous metamorphosis and that rift, which was a thread between hid

h, steeling himself for what was coming. He was torn between doubt and curiosity, each breath a reminder that one choice could make

ts of flowers in the corners next to the entrance archways, and soldiers in dark uniforms stood at attention. A strained silence draped over every path, the air thick w

High Priest," she said, "is it really true that the princess is cursed?" He kept his face even when the pulse rose through

ural passing." Draven's chest squeezed, remembering how suspicion stuck to Vesper. He kept his tone

nd battle-scarred, he wore his experience as armour. A quick look at Draven showed no kindness in

lken smile, delicately steered him aside. "Tell me all of it," he urged, piecing together bits

ster. Refusing to feed the gossip beast, he left his apartment through archways draped with black, walking down toward the emerging funeral proc

ver a pale sky, casting brief shadows over the palace grounds. Silence pulled tight

daylight. His heart raced, remembering Vesper's haunted look. He wanted to protect her from the burden of these accusations, but an uneasy feel

ldiers were rigid, their eyes staring straight ahead. Lilies and dark roses covered the walls, a mixture of gr

aising his chin. If the kingdom was hanging in the balance of fear, he would not push it over the edge. Yet he could not sha

ion in the morning and he felt once the funeral ended even darker questions would come. Was compassion a force that co