narration (12)

Just before dawn, the speaker went outside and sat on the cold stairs. They felt powerful and ready to use their power. They created blackness in their hand and it fell onto the marble. They saw snowdrifts and statues in the moonlight. They called out for Nix to help them, but Nix didn't seem to care. The speaker's lineage of women didn't seem to care for their children. Neko sat next to them and told them to go back to sleep. Just before dawn, I rose and crept outside. I settled myself on the stairs to the crypt, bone-chillingly cold, and waited. My power felt strained, tethered, ready to burst from my skin. I willed blackness into my palm, a pool of silky midnight. It cascaded through my fingers, like ink waterfalls, down onto the marble. In the light of the moon, snowdrifts piled against gravestones, statues kept watch. The stars above speckled the heavens like tiny diamonds, ripped from the tiara of a goddess, flung to the sky. Nix. If you're listening, help me. Atropos was Nix's creation, and Nix seemed to care as little for her as Malina did for me. Perhaps it was genetic, I'm used, that none of the women in my lineage seemed to care for their offspring. At least, they didn't care enough to intervene. What's wrong? Neko sat down on the stairs next to me. Go back to sleep.