Sin
The pale light of dawn slipped through the gaps in the shutters, casting shadows across the ceiling of the servants’ quarters.
Sin’s sleep was restless while flashes of past torment and fragments of angry whispers clashed in her mind, making her even more determined never to live it again. She sat up on her single-person mattress, stretching her arms before standing up.
The room was already waking up—the others moving around to get ready for the day. Maurice and Chloe shared looks that made Sin smile softly to herself. At least someone would find their happiness.
Entering the bathing room to prepare her appearance, she stopped in front of the mirror. Sin examined her scars, tracing them as reminders of her past, lost magic, and captivity. Frozen in place, she stared herself down in the tarnished mirror, fighting the urge to shatter it. What’s a few more scars?
Pulling out the portrait Max gave her, all Sin could see was a perfect version of herself. It took no time to realize this was her mother, and somehow, Max had gotten a hold of the only picture she ever had of her. Tears fell onto the picture, forcing her to look up in shock. Tears were a rarity in her life, having long mastered keeping her emotions in check. Those tears were more than real—they were a reckoning. This mattered to her. For the first time in ages, her life mattered to her, no matterhow sad or enraged she became. Even when she gave up, she still cared. Which meant only one thing: Despite the constraints of her servitude, she pledged to find a way to reclaim her power.
Blonde hair whipped in her peripherals as Jocelyn leaned against the door frame.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to take much longer staring at your ugly face? Gods know I’d rather not since I plan on actually eating. As soon as Tempest Tantrum over here gets a move on.”
She had her arms crossed, brow arched, and a matching sneer to complete the look.
A smirk graces Sin’s face at Jocelyn’s snotty attempt at bringing her down. By now she’d learned that at this point in her life, after everything she’d been through, that just wasn’t possible. Surely not by that sad attempt.
A small sound of amusement left Sin’s throat as she finished her perusal, passing Jocelyn, leaving her fuming at Sin’s dismissal.
Despite her treatment of Sin, or perhaps because of it, Sin actually liked her. She didn’t look at her like a monster or a slave, but another female, another witch.
Sin wondered if this was the experience she’d missed out on during the standard school systems for witchlings.
For that, Sin would happily go toe-to-toe with Jocelyn, even as a daily occurrence. After all, it was the little things in life.
* * *
Sin walked with her back a little straighter than yesterday, making her way down the opulent, gold-and-silver-lined halls of the castle. Moving through the chambers, she carried out her duties with silent resilience. She caught the furtive glances of the other servants, their eyes following her with a mix ofsuspicion, envy, and something darker, their whispers biting at her confidence like unseen insects.
What could they possibly resent her for? She was tortured her whole life, skin mutilated, then mated to the prince and heir, forced to sit back and watch as he married someone else. Someone who is likely to have perfectly smooth, unblemished skin.
Sin’s spine wavered, anger at the thought making her shoulders tighten.
Soft, urgent whispers caught Sin’s ear—servants murmuring in the corners, their voices tinged with fear as they spoke of girls vanishing, and the royal family’s cold indifference.
Her first thought?
Figures. But then, a chilling awareness of the deeper rot and danger lurking within the castle’s walls settled in. Ever since her tempestum first let loose, Sin felt as if the walls had a magical sentience she could speak to if she wanted.
Keeping her eyes open, Sin resolved to tread carefully as she plotted her path to reclaim her magic. She wouldn’t worry about someone capturing her if her magic was freed. The people should worry about what Sin would do to them.
Sin was scrubbing the grand staircase alongside an older, sharp-eyed servant rumored to be a former witch, like Jocelyn. The woman’s wiry frame and rough hands spoke of a hard life, but there was something else—a glint in her dark eyes, a sharpness that hinted at secrets buried beneath layers of servitude. Her presence carried an air of quiet authority, as if she had once commanded power that had never quite left her. Though they were rumors, she had to know.
“So,” Sin began, her voice low, eyes darting around to check for listening ears. “It’s rare, isn’t it? To find another witch here… someone who knows what it’s like, someone with secrets like mine.”
“No,” the older woman croaked, her voice tinged with bitterness. “They just end up dead.”
Sin nodded. “True. True…” Sin paused, her gaze dropping to the ground as if lost in thought. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom lately. About how some of us… well, how we might still have a chance if we just knew where to look.” She glanced up at the older woman, her voice dropping even lower. “I don’t suppose you’ve learned anything on how to free your magic?”
The woman glared at Sin, her whole body tensed as she whispered, “The walls are listening, girl.” The older woman hesitated, her eyes darting nervously to the shadows, her lips tightening as if reconsidering her words. “You want to risk your head? You can find the information yourself by finding one of the castle’s magically hidden libraries. It holds forbidden knowledge, secrets that could destroy you—and your head if they catch you looking.” The woman stomped away from Sin, understandably so. Sin didn’t blame her for not wanting to get caught fraternizing with another witch. Especially one everyone knew killed her parents, deserving or not.
Despite the warning, Sin’s determination to find the hidden libraries solidified. No life was worth living if you couldn’t claim it as your own.
That night, Sin lay awake, watching shadows from clouds moving in the moonlight sway across the ceiling, consumed by her desire for everyone to hurry to sleep so she could find the knowledge she sought. As soon as the heartbeats in the room steadied, no moans to be heard, she sneaked out, moving through the castle’s corridors.
With each step, the walls seemed to close in, as if daring her to keep going. The stone cold as ice against her bare feet, the rough surface biting into her skin, reminding her with every step of how much she risked. Shoes would have echoed throughthe silence, betraying her presence. The consequences if caught would be severe, but she couldn’t stop moving.
