I grow weak with queasiness as the young maiden’s body rots and turns black. Only then does the witch cut the dead Rapunzel down from her hair noose, consume her flesh, and steal away with the bones.
I spin a little more from the hanging thread while my entire right arm goes prickly and cold. My eyes meet more suspended skeletons. I reach again to the thread, tugging and praying the frayed piece will snap.
Another tapestry’s golden threads glisten and weave a story I’ve never seen. The witch approaches a young, redheaded girl sitting near a creek in the woods. When the girl turns, it’s me. No. Although confusion and dread flood through me, I can’t take my eyes off of the tapestry.
The witch hands little me crystals and incense. I happily arrange the gems on the pebbled bank and light the incense. The witch touches my temples, whispers something, and then disappears into a cloud of fog. I don’t remember any of this.
The little version of me turns her head up from the crystals. Her black eyes peer through the tapestry, and she grins. No, no, no. I look away. I must get out of here.
Clawing with my fingernails as my only tool, I scratch at the fibers of the thread until they snap. My arms flail through the air while I careen toward the floor and crash. My head slams against the stones. I roll over, cradling my head in my hands. Blooms and flashes of pain sear through my skull. I stay low to avoid more threads and scoot toward Brahm and my dagger.
I slice through the bloody thread still tightly wrapped around my wrist. Pressing my finger against his neck, I check that Brahm still has a pulse. I slouch against him and wait for the tingling rush of blood through my right arm to stop. I blink my eyes over and over, but the tapestry image of me won’t leave my mind.
Was I right to think myself wicked? Am I like Hexegot?
Stop it, Gisela.
Turning my head to Brahm, I study his face. You can’t be wicked, I tell myself, because of love.
I place a hand over my chest to feel my heart pound against it.
You love Brahm, you love Thora, and you love your parents.
The steady beat of my heart calms me. I’m alive. I need to save Brahm and get us back to our families. I have to do this.
The sensation in my arm has returned, and I assess a path to get us out of this room. I need to avoid touching the crisscrossing threads.
As I plot our escape, I use the snake-leaves to heal my wrist. I should be able to slide Brahm underneath most of the threads, but near the door, there are a few that cross the room very low. I’ll have to lift him over the top somehow.
Taking a deep breath, I begin shoving Brahm’s lifeless body under the threads. About halfway through the room, we meet a low string. I swing Brahm’s legs over first and prop them up on the other side. Crossing his arms over his chest, I lift Brahm and heave him forward without touching a thread. I slide him under a few more until we arrive at the lower threads and a worktable next to the loom.
Avoiding the threads, I lean my body against the table and hang my head. A throbbing pain pulses in my skull. I open my eyes to study the contents of the worktable. Spools and shuttles of various colored threads, bobbins, weaving forks, and large silver needles. The table sits atop many of the low threads, and on the other side is the door. One-by-one, I place each tool onto the floor.
I scoop Brahm underneath his armpits and drag him toward the table. A snapping sound catches my attention, and a thread coils around Brahm’s ankle, jerking him from my arms and toward the ceiling.
The Dark Mirror
BRAHM’S ARMS AND TWISTED LOCKS of hair dangle, while the color of his face grows darker with the rushing flow of blood. Shit. Panic streaks through me as I hop onto the table to reach him, but he’s much too high.
My wide eyes desperately scan the room for something to help. I’d climb onto the loom, but it isn’t close enough to him. The only way to get near him is to get myself snagged in the thread again. I take a deep breath and gather my courage.
Placing the dagger between my teeth, I reach out and touch a thread with my left hand. The thread snaps, coils around my wrist, and sends me shooting toward Brahm and a few skeletons. I use my hips to swing forward and grab onto Brahm’s boot, wrapping my legs around his. I slice at the thread around his ankle until it pops. I flinch as Brahm crashes onto the worktable below.
I saw at my thread until it’s nearly cut and swing my hips once more. Waiting until I’m all the way back in a swing, I give a hard swipe with my dagger. Brahm’s body breaks my fall, yet he remains in a peaceful slumber. I roll over to catch my breath.
With no threads on the other side, I gently ease Brahm from the table and slide down to face another red door.
“Brahm, wake up,” I say for the millionth time, crouching near him. “I need you!”
I’ve kissed his lips, poured water on his face, placed the snake-leaves on his fingers, and kissed him some more—but nothing is waking him from this sleep.
What if I’m really losing him this time? I don’t want to do this alone. I’m not ready to say goodbye to him. I caress his face with my hand, tracing along his hairline, his soft lips, and strong chin.
“Come back to me, Brahm. I love you.”
“Gisela,” a feminine voice whispers inside the next room, startling me.
I carefully open the door and peek inside. There’s no one else here. There’s nothing in the dark room aside from a tall ornate mirror. I kiss Brahm again, and his veins begin to turn black.
“Nooo!” I cry out and shake his shoulders. “No, no, no! Brahm! I need you!”
The black veins spread to his lips, which shrivel and turn black. Guttural cries escape my lungs as I hold him close, rocking back and forth. Even Brahm’s skin begins to crinkle and wilt. Grabbing his hands, I try to suck the spindle-poison from his fingers, but it’s no use.
“Gisela,” the voice says again. “Over here. I can help you.”
The sound is coming from the mirror. A shining light ripples down the glass. It twinkles, beckoning me to look. I scramble to drag Brahm inside the room and shut the door.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper in Brahm’s ear. “I’ll find a way to save you.”
The black frame around the mirror is cast to look like snakes and thorny vines. The looking glass itself is tarnished and spotted with a gray patina. I jump back when I look at myself; my eyes are black instead of green. It’s a frightening sight. No wonder I made the other Offerings, Brahm, and even Bergot afraid.
The Gisela in the mirror also wears the crown of bones instead of flowers. My messy, red hair flows down my shoulders and nearly blends in with the bloodstains on my dress.
“Hello, Gisela,” the mirror me says in a voice deeper and more haunting than my own. “You’ve made it quite far for an Offering. But you are no ordinary young maiden, are you? There is evil in you.”
I look her up and down as her body sways. With her black eyes, she looks past me at Brahm and smirks.
“You are disgusting, Gisela.” She clicks her tongue. “Fucking your dead brother’s best friend. Wilhelm would be horrified.”
“Shut up. We love each other. Wil wouldn’t care.”
“Oh, you really are naïve.” She narrows her dark eyes at me. “I guess that is to be expected from the girl who didn’t even finish school. Here’s a lesson for you: Wil hated every time you read Brahm’s palms. Hated every glance you and Brahm stole. Hated every laugh, touch, or smile shared between the two of you.”