The first mark had appeared when she was a child, paralyzed by Vivienne’s spell as Sin watched her mother die. Every decade of torment throughout her years of enslavement had etched anew mark onto her skin, and a new line of script in an ancient witch language, Vhaevari.
Tempestum, Magnolia had called it—a form of Wrath Magic that thrived on pain and rage, historically wielded by the most infamous villains now dead. That magic seemed to pulse beneath Sin’s skin, feeding on the negative energy she bottled inside.
The fall air carried a biting chill that made her shiver, and then flinch in pain from the sudden movement.
Sin had barely made it up to the top of the apple tree after her beating from Vivienne, but she would die before letting her stop her from doing things she loved. From dreaming of a future she yearned for.
At this rate, Vivienne may cut her losses and kill Sin anyway before her tempest magic can break free. Sin yearned for that future as well, but also feared it.
Tempest magic was known in history to consume the wielder’s soul and make them do heinous things. Only one other known to have it still lived today. Jafar. And that monster was on the other side of the realm. Soon enough, she thought, she would end up becoming the monster on this side.
Blood oozed from her wounds, soaking into her tunic from the violent jerk of pain.
The pain caused Sin’s mind to drift to the relentless control Vivienne held over her life. The memory of her mother’s death blazed in her mind as vividly as the day it happened, casting a shadow that refused to recede with the sun.
Her father had been little more than a bored bystander as Vivienne glamoured herself as him in her glass stilettos. Promises of atonement for abandoning them so Sin’s mother would invite her into their house, cook a meal with her, smiling with the face of her former lover she did not know was a monster. The poison worked its way into their food, but becauseSin was half-fae, it only paralyzed her, forcing her to watch her mother die.
Rather than simply cut off Sin’s head, or whatever her name was from before that she couldn’t remember, Vivienne decided to keep her for entertainment, and a blood bag of money that would ensure her wealth for as long as she lived.
Sin knew that her birth was merely the product of an affair that made her survival more of a cruel joke than a mercy.
“Witches must look out for each other,” Magnolia’s words from last night echoed once again in Sin’s mind. Her voice was low and urgent as Sin turned back towards the manor. Premonition skittered its way across her bones at her words. “You’ll need everything I’ve taught you when you get out of here.” Because the rune was nearly complete. Perhaps another few years or so, Sin assumed.
Her jaw tightened. The fae’s cruelty had woven itself into the very fabric of society, making her wonder how long they’d held their iron grip over the lands. The thought deepened her resolve to remember every one of Magnolia’s lessons, to silently practice her Vhaevari every day, not just to decipher the script across her flesh. Because no matter what lay ahead, Magnolia promised Sin would have a future, one she would fight to seize, no matter how many more beatings she would take.
The rage within her coiled tighter each day, an ever-present serpent that hissed at the edges of her control. Sin’s nails bit into her palms until the skin broke, the self-inflicted pain a focus away from the rest, grounding her against the tempest threatening to erupt at that moment. If she ever let it out—truly unleashed it—she feared she wouldn’t recognize herself in the aftermath.
Sin’s heart had slammed against her ribs when she’d made it to her room in the early hours of the dawn, the echo of footsteps in the corridor like a war drum pounding throughthe suffocating silence. When her bedroom door burst open, and Vivienne stormed inside, eyes locked immediately onto the romance book accidentally left out on the makeshift bedside table…
“What is this?” Vivienne’s voice cut through the tension like a whip.
Sin had read hundreds of novels like that, slowly teaching herself to read, among other things. For Vivienne to catch her now…
Before Sin could react, or lie, her wrists were yanked above her head, bound by the hook in the corner of the room. The iron cuffs bit into her skin, their chill searing into her flesh. Vivienne’s gaze pinned her still, satisfaction curving her lips as she circled Sin like she were staring at a meal.
“You never learn.”
Sin focused on the oldest bloodstain in the room, the deep maroon decades old, like an ancient witness to her countless punishments since. Her rage bubbled beneath her skin, daring her to release it as if she could with will alone, but she clenched her teeth as if that alone would force it down. Not yet.
The wounds on Sin’s back burned as she decided it was time to climb back down the tree and return before Vivienne found her.
Maurice, another servant in the manor, found Sin as she stumbled her way through a back door, panting and sweating. He had long, wavy, white hair to match his elderly fae age, however many hundreds or thousands of years Sin assumed, though he would never tell her.
“Stars, child. This is a disaster,” he fussed as he unbuttoned the back of her dress to get a look at the wounds. For the next rushed ten minutes, he did his best to clean them up and apply bandages that soaked within seconds. It was all that could be done before she would have to serve lunch.
“Let me go in your stead,” he urged for the hundredth time.
“No,” Sin said firmly. “She will not win today.”
And that was that.
Her back burned as she served lunch, each step sending a wave of pain up her spine. Her hands trembled when she set a tray down, but she stilled them before anyone could notice. The new mark on the rune throbbed, reminding her of the beating, but more so that the rune looked complete, terrifying her more than any lashing could.
Her father’s eyes flicked up, twisting with distaste before looking away. Belladone and Ricina, her two half-sisters, chattered about the upcoming ball hosted by the eldest prince of Asera, their voices shrill with excitement.
“Mother, can we please go?” Belladonne pleaded with the person she knew held the real control. “It’s going to be so much fun!”
Vivienne’s expression hardened. “No. No male will marry you if you keep attending those disgraceful parties. You’re coming with us to your aunt’s.”
