There’s a flash of light, blindingly bright. Colored haloes obscure my vision. They dance and flicker and then disappear, leaving only a rectangle of light boxed in by the dark doorframe.
I see then that the door’s gone and in front of me are people. No…they aren’t people. They have limbs, hair, faces, but they aren’t human. After the first glance, they don’t look even remotely human. They’re pure, painful white, so bright they throw off a glare. They look like they’ve been dipped in glass, smooth and polished, but fluid. And their eyes…they’re a silvery color, like the mercury in the antique thermometer that my mom used to have at the side of the front porch.
When I was ten, I knocked that thermometer off with my wooden kendo sword, shattering the glass. The little blobs of mercury went all over the porch. I was a kid. I didn’t know better. I touched them, prodding the little balls until they joined the bigger blob. My mom swooped down on me and snatched me away, telling me it was poison. It could kill me.
I stare at the things in front of me: the Drau. I can’t look away.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Jackson talking about Medusa.
Don’t look at their eyes.
Their mercury eyes.
They will kill me.
Copyright © 2013. Eve Silver. All Rights Reserved.
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