A Thousand Lifetimes
A Thousand Lifetimes by Kit Campbell The pathway was long and dark, spiraling into trees that stretched on forever. Snow dusted leaves and grass. Adelia pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the crunching of running footsteps behind her. “Wait!” Her brother, Charles, slid to a stop, just outside her range of vision. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t mind, really. Come home.” She couldn’t turn to look at him, or the thinness of this place would be lost. Without answering him, she dug into her bag, pulling out a heavy key, blackened with age. Charles sucked in his breath, but he didn’t reach out for her. Adelia reached the key straight out in front of her, holding it steady. Then, she turned it. The door—and it was a door, though she had expected something less definite—swung open without her touching it. Adelia replaced the key in her bag and squared her shoulders. Beyond the door there was more darkness and hints of whispers. A breeze stirred her hair as she took a step closer. “Please,” Charles said, though now he sounded more distant. “Don’t do this.” But she had to. Her brother—her town—depended on it, and she would not allow his sacrifice. Not to the darkness. Not to the madness. It would not be enough. Though she wanted to look back, to assure him that she needed to do this, she knew the rules. And you never looked back. The darkness…