Thalia

You enter a tent, desperate for guidance and following the weakest of leads. Inside sits a mystic tending to a plant that fusses at her as she clips the leaves that have senesced. The woman addresses you without looking up from the plant, unbothered by your presence. However, the plant curls its tendrils around her forearms as if seeking protection, and two glowing orange orbs within the leaves seem to scowl at you.

"You've come for a reading, yes?" Her voice is husky and the tent seems to distort the sound, letting it hang in the air without echo.

You cast a furtive glance at the flaps of the tent that serve as an entrance, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of your stomach. But... you answer anyway, "Yes."

The mystic looks up with a sharp smile already playing at her lips, and it feels as if her yellow eyes are seeing through you rather than looking at you. "Have a seat, I've been expecting you."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Half the village told you The Black Dahlia was a hack. Normally, you'd be inclined to side with skepticism, but the other half of the village had stories that could shake the faith of even the most staunch non-believer. The truth is, it wouldn't matter if they were convincing or not. You need answers, and you need them now.

"What will you sacrifice?" The Black Dahlia asks. You're not quite sure when she managed to free herself from the plant's needy grasp, but she sits before you untethered now.

Many of the village people had warned you her services cost them greatly, though none of them were willing to disclose what they had paid. With a deep breath you pull a small pouch that's filled to bursting with gold pieces from your cloak. "Will this suffice?"

She chuckles. "I asked what you would sacrifice. The gold of others interests me little."

A twinge of anxiety worms its way around your chest. "How can you be so sure it's not mine?"

She levels you with a look, ignoring the question. "Even if it were your gold, I don't seek compensation. My services require an offering. So, I ask again, what will you sacrifice?"

"What, like my soul?" You ask, incredulous.

The Black Dahlia's lips curve into a twisted grin revealing teeth sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Is that what you wish to offer?"

The canvas around you ripples as a breeze cuts through the tent. You brush away the goosebumps that sting your skin and let out a nervous laugh. "I don't think that's something I can just give away."

"Of course it is," she scoffs. "The question is whether or not you're willing to."

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself this time. With distance, the village tales are starting to seem like just that - tales. So, you make a decision. "You know what? Sure. I offer you my soul."

The last word has only just passed your lips when vines whip around your ankles. You barely have time to process what's happening to you before you're completely engulfed by black tendrils and purple leaves. You try to open your mouth to scream, but it's too late. The last thing you see are two pairs of glowing eyes - one orange, one yellow. As they fade from view, obscured by ever-winding vines, you hear the beginnings of a whisper.

But that's when you wake up.

You're drenched in sweat and your legs tingle in memory of the poison vines that twirled themselves around you. But, like most dreams, that memory quickly fades. With a sigh of relief you push your bedsheets to the side and slowly make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The house is cold. It's just shy of uncomfortable now that you're not swaddled in your bed, but the thirst you feel is far more intolerable. You grab a glass from the cabinet and turn on the faucet, your eyes wandering to the window above the sink as you wait for the glass to fill.

"No wonder," you huff. "Left the window open again."

You use your free hand to shut the window, and as the glass slides into place you catch something in its reflection. You quickly turn around, but the house is as empty as it was when you went to bed. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, but you quickly calm yourself. "Heh... still on edge I guess."

As you turn back around to shut off the faucet, you see a lone purple leaf framed by black veins sitting on the counter. Your blood runs cold then, and you know that if you look at the reflection in the glass of the window again you'll see those two orange eyes. You know because you can feel the vines. You know because you can hear her calling out to you, her husky voice asking you what it is you'll sacrifice this time...

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