Edna Lorne's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Duchess Edna Lorne laughed, and the crown of thorns drank her blood. She felt the spikes press inward against her scalp. A warm line ran down her temple. The crown always fed when she laughed loud or barked an order, and she did both all day. She had worn it for three years. She wanted it off before it emptied her. She sat alone in the high stone hall of her vine-choked castle. Red-stained thorns wrapped the outer walls. The same thorns circled her skull. She gripped the crown with both hands and pulled. Pain seared across her forehead. The spikes dug deeper and found new skin. Fresh blood slid past her eye. She pulled harder. The crown did not rise one inch. It bit down instead, and her breath caught. She let go, panting, her palms wet and red. "Fine," she said. Her voice shook. The crown took that too, pricking once more. She pressed her lips shut. Her pet raven watched from a perch near the tall windows. Red thorns marked its black feathers, matching her crown. It had come to her the same week the curse began. The bird tilted its head. Then it dropped to the table and hopped close. Edna reached for it. The raven leaned toward her bleeding temple. It touched its beak to the red line on her skin. She froze, expecting a peck. Instead the bird drew the blood away, and a thorn on its own feathers glowed brighter. The crown loosened. One spike slid free of her scalp. She understood in a breath. The crown wanted blood. The raven could carry it. She did not need to pull. She needed to feed the curse somewhere else. "Take it," she whispered, soft so the crown would not stir. The raven pressed closer. One by one, more thorns pulled free of her head and bent toward the bird. Each glowed red as it drank. Edna held still and let it happen. Her hands stayed in her lap. The crown lifted. It hovered, then settled into the raven's claws. The bird gripped it tight. Every thorn on the crown now pointed at the raven, not at her. Edna touched her bare scalp. The wounds remained, but no spike pushed deeper. For the first time in three years, nothing drank from her. She stood and breathed. Then she saw the raven's eyes. They had gone bright and hard, fixed on her throat. The curse had not died. It had only moved. Her loyal pet now held the thing that had fed on her, and it no longer looked at her like a pet. The raven spread its thorned wings and flew toward the castle's dark upper stairs. The crown went with it. Edna wiped the blood from her eye and followed. She could not break the curse while it perched above her, waiting.