Chapter 47
But beneath it—and through it, too—something new was added. It wasn’t the scarlet magic of the erasing ritual, or the balm of Leandro’s voice. This pulsed with a different energy, more frenetic, more ethereal. It felt familiar, but I wasn’t in control enough to put my finger on why. I only knew it was other, not mine, not Leandro’s, not a part of the spell to sever my immortality from the terrestrial plane.
The place of my creation sped closer and closer. I was the dart, and it was the target, the bull’s-eye at which I’d been aimed. Hit it, and I would be done. Gone. My deeds would be meted out to those who remained so the world order could be maintained. I had no family to fix, nobody to miss me when I was gone. I had spent centuries walking through the terrestrial plane, and the only ones who would care about my absence had long ago been erased.
Not all.