Chapter 4

The cabin door creaked open, and Mama Maeve stepped in, her eyes sharp, taking in the scene.

Pa, a shriveled thing on the floor. Lily, radiant and powerful. Me, holding the dark charm.

"Well, now," Mama Maeve said, her voice calm, as if she walked into scenes like this every day. "Looks like the weaving was successful."

She glanced at Pa's husk with disinterest. "Jed always was a greedy fool. Got what was coming to him, I reckon."

Lily smiled, a predator's smile. "He provided... generously."

Mama Maeve nodded towards the charm in my hand. "I'll take my cut. A piece of that, or something of equal value."

She was an opportunist, always. No loyalty, just business.

Lily gestured to the charm. "Annie can decide what to share. It is, after all, her father's legacy."

The words were a cold splash of water. My father's legacy. A charm made of his stolen dreams.

I looked at Mama Maeve. "What do you know about Dreamweavers, Maeve?"

Maeve shrugged, pulling a flask from her pocket and taking a swig.

"Folk tales, mostly. Women who can spin luck, good or bad. Heard they take a bit of themselves to do it. Looks like the tales got that part wrong."

Lily laughed, a low, musical sound that held no humor.

"The tales are for children and fools, Maeve. We don't give. We harvest."

She looked at me. "Your adoptive mother, the one who raised you, Annie. She was a Dreamweaver."

My breath caught. Mama? A Dreamweaver?

"She knew the true way of it," Lily continued, her silver eyes fixed on mine. "But she made a choice. A foolish one, some would say. She chose not to harvest. She chose to protect you, to raise you, even though it meant her own power would wither."

Memories flooded back. Mama, always a little tired, a little sad. Her hands, so gentle, sometimes humming old songs I couldn't quite place.

"Dreamweavers cannot bear children once they truly begin to harvest," Lily explained, her voice dropping, becoming almost confessional. "If they do, or if they already have them, those children become... vulnerabilities. Or successors. Targets."

She paused, a shadow crossing her face. "My own 'mother,' the one who taught me, she was ruthless. She saw me not as a daughter, but as a future harvest. A way to amplify her own power."

The air in the room felt heavy with unspoken horrors.

Mama Maeve watched us, her expression unreadable. "So, this ain't just about luck charms, then. This is about power. Life itself."

Lily nodded. "The essence we take, it's potent. It sustains us, empowers us. The stronger the dream, the stronger the life, the more potent the harvest."

She looked at Pa's remains. "Jedediah's dreams were crude, full of greed and bitterness. But strong, in their own way."

I clutched the charm. It felt like a living thing in my palm.

"My mother... she gave it up? For me?"

"She shielded you," Lily said. "A rare thing. Most Dreamweavers would see a child, especially one of their own blood, as the ultimate source."

The implication hung in the air, cold and sharp.