There's only one thing to do, this I know, but a moment—an eternity—passes before I can force the words past the knot of fear blocking my throat, force them into the air, where I know that whoever—whatever—is standing there will be able to consume them.
"Take me instead."
He turns in a violent swirl of fabric that I can't make out the color of and I feel his eyes freeze on me, though I still can't see him. Is it my imagination, or has his breath caught for a moment? I'm vaguely aware that my father has made some sound, some vehement objection to my sacrificial offer, but all of my focus remains on the yet unidentified apparition waiting for me in the shadows. His voice comes to me out of the dark, a low growl that frightens and fascinates me.
"What?"
I square my shoulders, facing him—or at least facing where I imagine him to be—and will myself to take some air into my constricted chest. I throw up around my mind as many walls as I can conjure on such short notice—there must be no fuzziness in my meaning. I need to be taken quite seriously this time, for I don't know if I can say the words again if I fail to convince him now. By some miracle, I have just enough strength to give a firm set to my stance and a quiet, calm clarity to my voice, though on the inside I am falling apart.
"Take me instead."