It had been three full moons since my 16th birthday. The day that was, coincidentally, also the 16th anniversary of the start of the Fae war. This was my third time lighting the wheel, and although I had been prepared for this my entire life, I shivered knowing the consequences, should I slip, would be deadly. Everything had to be perfect. 

Around my neck was a chord with a jagged knife. I untied it and pressed the blade to my tiny feminine hands, wretched hideous hands. Like a small ugly mouse. I winced at the pain. The scar from the previous full moon was still raw. Blood pooled in my palm, and I squeezed my fist over the first cauldron. After a tense moment, a flame burst alight. I breathed a sigh of relief. One out of twelve behind me. I did the math quickly in my mind. Eleven left. Math, along with archery, was a place I could feel safe. Math was certain and patient. 

After a brief moment reveling in the safety of numbers, I knew I had to continue lighting the other cauldrons. The eyes of the wolves flashed brightly as the flames from the first lit cauldron sparked menacingly. 

I took a deep breath and moved my bleeding fist to the second cauldron, then the third, fourth and fifth. I felt myself growing weary from the loss of blood. Even though Blood is considered dirty and impure, the degeneraté are expected to fulfill our duty to the cauldrons. I could feel myself beginning to lose consciousness, I hadn’t been allowed to eat today, as is the custom. My fist was beginning to feel heavy.

By the time I reached the tenth cauldron I could barely keep my lavender eyes open. I had to steady myself,  I knew the wolves would be sensing my weakness.  They are waiting, ready for me to fail. I worked up the courage to raise my arm once again, when I felt the ground fall from underneath my feet. 

Suddenly I can’t tell up from down, left from right. I feel my lungs fill with hot liquid, the darkness envelops me, I attempt to thrash myself free, but I feel so empty. I no longer have the will to keep fighting. I let it take me.

After what could have been moments, hours or days, I awaken. I am in a dark, cool room that I don’t recognize, and I suddenly get the feeling that I’m not alone. 

“Who’s there?” I try to sound brave, while reaching for my concealed  blade.

Quickly I realized what was happening.

I tried to remain calm. Remember my training. The forest is unkind to outsiders. Frequently playing tricks. Leaving victims in a comatose state or luring off the side of a cliff.

Crouching down I steadied my breathing. Closing my eyes I conjured my defensive imagery in my mind.

In training all of us were free to focus on a mental image of our choosing. Sometimes a strong memory, or a particularly potent dream. Mine was never anything specific. Swirling and unfocused vibrant colors. Weaving in and out of one another. It was both soothing and grounding, much to the forest's dismay.

I opened my eyes and found myself surrounded by familiar trees. Not too far off route.

I wiped the blood from my nose with a scowl. Andromeda would have a laughing fit if she heard I was influenced only after one cauldron. Luckily she would never have to know.

Stepping forward the ground beneath me instantly began to swallow my foot, as if covered in a thick pool of black tar. A strong odorous mucus seeped from the ground and quickly pooled around my ankle.

“SHIT!” I thought I broke the spell. I was dead wrong.

I knew my body was back at the cauldrons, but it all felt so real. If I didn’t break out in time the circle of protection would break. What to do. 

The mucus bubbled up from the fuming bog, splattering putrid bits on my porcelain skin. The bogmogog frog. The fae witch’s familiar curse-bound to the 11th cauldron burst forth from the black tar. I screamed, but only a mousy squeak came forth. The bogmogog frog lunged forward with a gaping mouth. It lurched and then as if vomiting, spewed out its vile toungue.

The suction in my pale skin pained me so, I was able to let out a wail, breaking the mind spell just for a second. I opened my eyes.

There before me, the Alfa wolf towered above my lifeless body. The protective barrier had fallen.

Back in the mind realm the bogmogog frog wrapped its mouth around my arm and latched its jaws shut. I remembered my archery. Of all things to include in a curse, item duplication was definitely an oversight. I reached for my bow, but it was impossible to shoot an arrow with one arm. 

With all of my might I brought the bow down into the bogmogog frog’s bulging eye. My arm broke free! But it came out broken. Wincing in pain I was able to open my eyes again. I looked down at my arm, mangled. But the wolves…they were running. A young man appearing from the fog began to chase them away. He turned…and I…slipped into darkness.