Once upon a time, in a pile of rubble far away from Sinderella’s coven, lay not the remains of three bodies, but two.
Two witches stood before the sight of Audrira’s demise, where her remains were no longer. Stolen in the night as the castle became a battlefield, the perfect distraction for a princess to take what was left of Audrira away, and the cursed glass stilettos that once belonged to Sin.
The day she and Jocelyn left the castle and Max behind, was the day Jocelyn had told Sin everything. How it was she who released Sin’s magic that horrible day. How Audrira had the shoes with her when she died.
When Sin killed her.
Jocelyn had assumed they would remain there at least until the urgent matters were delt with.
She was wrong.
When they returned to the sight, the only remains beneath the rubble were Magnolia’s and Sin’s sisters. Them, she decided to leave to rot. Magnolia, they’d built a pyre for her. When it was over, they took her ashes and blessed them, placing them into dozens of replicated anklets for all in their future coven, so their beloved teacher would walk with them in their path.
Now, the fallen building had become a meeting spot for her and Jocelyn to come and admire how justice had been served on a platter for the local hungry beasts and vermin.
“You’re going to be gone much longer this time, aren’t you?”
Sin exhaled as she considered Jocelyn’s question. She was always smarter than most realized. “You will continue to remain in charge.”
Jocelyn huffed a small sound of amusement. “I wish you both all the happiness. I truly do. But don’t forget about us, okay? We couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“You mean without me staying away so I wouldn’t accidentally break everything or kill anyone?”
“That too,” Jocelyn admitted as she laughed. “You are the first Tempest witch in the entire history of witches to have survived this and still keep your soul. Do the wonders and make the changes you need, or rest while you can before the queen comes knocking.”
Sin snorted. She had so much respect for the mother of her mate, but she would have to make do without her, and hopefully without Max for a while too.
The truth was, she knew all those other witches still held their souls when their magic won them over. The magic is them, their core, their corrupted soul from unimaginable pain. Perhaps the only reason Jafar still lived was because like Sin, he could also accept the corruption. Could face all the pain and embrace what that innocent part of you wanted, but chose not to give it.
It didn’t take long for her to realize the small voice that would pop into her mind in the most dire of situations, wasn’t an ancient cursed sentience.
It was her.
The voice and pain of her when she was forced to watch her mother die and enter a century of torment.
So easily, could she have fought it like everyone else did. Ignore that voice until it festered into something heinous.
But anytime a part of her did, Max’s face would enter her mind. The bond would tighten shortly after, enough so to realize he was right there with her and her pain.
“Will you go searching for the stilettos?” Jocelyn asked, breaking Sin from her thoughts.
“No,” she said as she shook her head, still staring at the decomposed bones peaking from the stones. “It’s the princess’s turn to deal with them now. Hopefully she understands now what it means to step into someone else’s shoes.”
* * *
The Harbor Festival was loud with celebration. One they held each year on this day to honor her mother.
It had been over a hundred years, and Sin had not once heard of the Iris Festival, and assumed it was a ruse.
Today, she would put her magic to the final test. Surrounded by people, structures made of stone and wood surrounded them. Structures that her magic actively looked for. Her magic that has learned with time, and ruthless training with her and Jocelyn’s secret coven of Bramble Root, a smaller continent close to Iostria, but not close enough where Max might find her,ifhe was indeed searching for her.
She ignored the pain in her chest as she continued on, keeping her hood up since she couldn’t argue that she had her mother’s face.
She had been brought to tears a few times since coming here, taking in the portraits and tributes to her mother. A massive painting of her caught Sin’s attention, and she looked at the face that could’ve been hers if it wasn’t so scarred.
Runes were a common artwork on the flesh of witches and fae alike, but never as extensive as Sin’s. She had become covered, neck to foot,. in patchworks of runes and old scars.
It was the magic’s final push to claim her consciousness, and it lost. Because of that alone, she would never be ashamed of the runes she earned. In fact, since she took control of her magic, the runes have only added power to her strength.
