To ruin an Omega

Chapter 250: Eyes that see 1

FIA

I stared at Elder Moira, my throat tight. The question burned in my chest, demanding to be let out.

“Why does she favor me?”

The words came out raw. Desperate, even. I hated how much I needed the answer.

Elder Moira’s expression softened.

“When I saw her…” I paused, choosing my words with care . “She spoke in riddles.”

She gave me the “Of course she did” look. Like it was basic knowledge that the gods would never make anything simple for anyone.

“I do not know myself.” The elder’s pale eyes held mine. “But the gods give favor to who they will give favor to. Who are we to question it?”

I wanted to argue. To demand a real answer. But what good would that do? Luke Elder Moira had said, Lady Selene had her reasons. Whether or not I understood them was apparently irrelevant.

I nodded.

Elder Moira studied me for another moment, then glanced around the library. “You must be here for a reason. I should leave you to it.”

“Right. Thank you.”

She turned to leave. Her silver hair caught the moonlight streaming through the windows, the blue beads woven throughout glinting like tiny stars. Her footsteps were silent against the floor as she moved toward the corner.

But the question clawed at my throat. The dream. The memory. Whatever the hell it was.

“Do you…” I swallowed hard. “Do you have prophetic dreams?”

The woman stopped. She then slowly turned, and her expression had shifted into something curious. She seemed interested in what I said and I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to elate me or not.

“Did you?” She threw back.

I wouldn’t know what to call it. The words tangled in my mouth before I could get them out properly.

“I wouldn’t know if that is what I would even call it,” I admitted. “But it was the oddest thing. Like I was in the skin of another and seeing through their eyes. It was like a memory.”

Elder Moira walked back toward me. Not all the way. Just enough to close some of the distance between us. She tilted her head slightly, considering.

“Well…” She drew the word out. “That doesn’t feel like a prophetic dream. If anything, it is what you said it was. A memory.”

“The memories are not my own though.”

I said it quickly. Too quickly. Like I needed her to understand that I wasn’t losing my mind. That this wasn’t just my head playing tricks on me because of some accident that I magically healed from by the way.

“Have you ever heard of the term blood memories?”

Blood memories. The man from my dream had said something about that. The first time I’d had it. When Athena’s body had been strapped to that table and he’d been examining her like a specimen.

“What is that?”

The elder clasped her hands in front of her. The gesture was calm. Measured. Everything I wasn’t feeling right now.

“It is believed that like water, blood has memories.” Her voice took on that teaching quality. The one that made you want to listen and learn. “It is why children inherit features of those before them. And sometimes those memories can be actual memories.”

My stomach twisted.

“Perhaps that was what you felt and saw,” she continued. “You did just go through something very traumatic. That could be why your blood recalls something equally traumatic. Even if they are not… your memories.”

I wanted to dismiss it. To shake my head and say that was ridiculous. But I couldn’t. Because as much as I didn’t want to take what she said seriously, I couldn’t deny something solid was there. A ruling Nocturne woman… The Luna had said I looked suspiciously like some girl. And now I was having dreams about that girl.

What were the odds?

“Do you have more questions?”

Elder Moira’s voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at nothing. I was still processing and trying to make sense of blood memories and goddesses and dreams that felt too real.

“No. Thank you.”

The elder smiled. It was warm as it was genuine. Then she turned and left, her footsteps still silent as she disappeared through the library door.

I stood there for a moment. Just taking slow and purposeful breaths. Then I looked at the book she’d put back on the shelf. The one I’d picked up for her after we’d both startled each other.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I went toward it and pulled it from its spot. The leather was worn but well cared for. I opened it and immediately realized it wasn’t actually some book. It was a guide. A guide she was writing about her spiritual practices. It even contained the uses of certain herbs.

I scrolled through the pages. It had diagrams of plants even I didn’t recognize. Descriptions of rituals and ceremonies. Notes written in careful handwriting that sometimes dissolved into rushed scrawl when a thought had clearly hit her all at once.

Then I paused at one.

Mourning Moon.

I wondered why that would be under what she would term a healing herb. The name alone sounded ominous. If you even ignored what it was capable of.

I read what the elder wrote.

Sometimes poison is mercy for the doomed. There are situations where even the best of your herbs cannot fix what is wrong and a peaceful death is the way to go. The Mourning Moon can be a dangerous and painful way to leave the world. But in the right hands, it can bring a painless death.

Something cracked in my chest.

A tear rolled down my cheek before I even realized I was crying. Then another. I pressed the heel of my hand against my eyes, trying to stop them. But they kept coming.

It had been suggested when my mother’s rot got worse that she be given something similar. That it would take her out of the world. I had been repulsed by it. Fucking euthanasia. That’s what it was. And the only reason my mother had refused to even nurture the thought no matter how much she hurt was simply because I was so vehemently against it.

I thought back now. At the truth that I had cured my mother at the end of the day. And Isobel had still killed her with a fucking pillow.

My hands shook. I wanted to scream. To break something. Reading this reminded me that regardless of the fate that Hazel now has, it still couldn’t be enough. Because I had wanted a life for a life. For Cian’s sake and my own selfish sake. But that was done now. I couldn’t dwell on that. Not now. Not when I had questions that needed answers.

I wiped my eyes and put the book back where it belonged. Then I kept looking for the genealogy section.

When I found it, my breath caught.

The genealogy section took up an entire wing. Row after row of leather bound volumes organized by pack and region. Some of the books looked ancient. Others were newer, their spines still intact and legible.

I moved through the rows until I found the northern ridges area. Then I found the pack called Nocturne. Isobel’s original pack.