Nightmare Game
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 71
The cup steamed before him, golden and alluring, jasmine whispers laced with rose—enough to stir the appetite, no denying it.
Sensing his hitch, Tela turned toward him, a kind smile curving her lips. “No harm meant to outsiders. A visitor deserves the best leaves. But if it’s not to your taste, no one’s twisting your arm.”
No dodging now. Snake pendant hummed neutral against his chest—safe enough, life-wise.
And Tela? She radiated ease, no undercurrent of threat.
Ethan trusted that gut; it came sharpened by Snake and Fox’s endless drills, forged in mock crises and cons.
He lifted the cup. Fragrance bloomed at his lips, crisp and alive. A sip, and it unfurled on his tongue—subtle sweet, elusive floral notes, a riddle of petals he couldn’t name.
She caught the sound, smile deepening. “There.”
“Back to your exile—you mentioned a taboo. Mind sharing? We’re outsiders, green on the customs. Hate to trip a wire and rile Madam Arachne.”
Tela paused, then dipped her head. “You sipped my tea, took my welcome. Fair’s fair—I won’t hold back.”
Her words unspooled slow, weaving the village’s buried threads for him.
Born to the priestly line, Tela grew in a house of two daughters, elder to a wild younger sister.
As firstborn, duty wrapped her young: rituals drilled into bone, blessing chants memorized by dawn, arcane symbols unlocked like forbidden doors.
To most, gibberish and haze; to her, the tether binding Arachnis to the flock.
Her sister? Oil to her water—scorned the old ways, the village, Arachnis herself.
At first, mere teenage fire: she swept her room bare of spiders.
Blasphemy’s edge, sure, but priest-blood bought leeway. Folks waited for sense to dawn, duty to claim her.
Arachnis and the village indulged. But mercy didn’t bend her; it fueled the blaze. Humans and spiders cheek-by-jowl? A sick twist, she spat.
Her noise escalated—spiders banished, Ceremonies disrupted. Grumbles swelled.
Yet allies bloomed too—not every heart beat in lockstep. The young, raised on elders’ tales of Arachnis’s grace, saw scant miracles themselves. Awe thinned to doubt; some chafed at the invisible fence.
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