Marina lived on the outskirts of the village in secret, never revealing herself to the mortals. Living among them had neverbeen her plan, but she relished in the isolation of Tenebris, shielded in its darkness. It felt as if she were hidden away from the rest of the loud, angry world.
In the quiet distance, she could hear the waterfall rushing off the nearest mountain, filling the stream that ran through the village.
Fixated on the soothing sound, she inhaled a breath through her nose and forced her shoulders to relax. Though, her heart raced in her chest, the adrenaline of what she’d just done surging like magma in her veins.
There were three types of Olethros.
The Bound, which assembled in a humanoid form, with black robes and an animalistic skull mask—a smaller version of Acacius’s. They acted only as his servants, preparing him meals or tending to his garden and his chores.
The Heralds could also be mistaken for humans in sable robes, though they wore thick veils instead and bore crowns made of jagged branches, as if they’d risen up from the forest floor. They spread Chaos and Ruin from Acacius unto the world, emissaries of his power.
And the Daemons, a variant that very few souls had ever witnessed, which formed as bestial creatures rumored to be the devourers of everything still.
During their feast, Marina had done well to avoid gawking at the Bound Olethros stationed behind Acacius. Up that close, she couldn’t help but analyze it in fascination—its hunched posture, the fur pelt on the collar of its cloak, the blackened talons of its bony fingers, the thin skin pulled around each ash-gray knuckle, and the three small skulls dangling like a totem from its waist. She’d never seen a single one of the three forms before in person, only read about them in books or overheard others describing them in fear.
Declaring a war on Acacius, the High God of Chaos and Ruin, was madness.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaustion muddling her mind.
The night before, she’d sat with Viviana and Mansi and injected each berry with the poisonous mixture that she’d bought at the Black Market in Hollow City. The apothecary in Isolde that she’d told Acacius about had been a lie, a way to keep wasting his time.
What was she thinking?
You made a promise.
She needed Acacius to be distracted with his petty revenge scheme, no matter how little she cared about it. Though, these days it felt like she didn’t care about much at all.
Marina lifted her head to peer out at the single magnolia tree sprouted on the cliffside near her home.
Centuries ago, when she claimed this spot for herself, it appeared as a measly, foot-tall plant in a circle of greenery. Back then, she disregarded its presence. Then, it grew taller, blossomed, and it became unbearable, because she knew very well whose hand caressed it to grow.
The sight of it now squeezed her chest.
My darling magnolia.
Even in death, it appeared Father was still with her.
A lump formed in her throat.
She turned away from the ledge and entered through the sliding glass door into her home.
Sandalwood and amber greeted her, fragrances embedded in the velour material of her furniture from burning candles and incense.
She traveled through the dining room and the kitchen, sniping the bottle of merlot from the counter on her way by. Using her teeth to rip the cork out, she entered the bathroom.
Father’s gaze during his final moments plagued her thoughts. The way he acknowledged her with forgiveness and grace as he bled from his eyes.
Her pulse fluttered like a feather in the wind, her veins burning with panic all over again.
Why couldn’t he have been furious with her instead? Loathing her for ending his life would’ve been easier thanthis.
Marina filled her clawfoot tub with steaming water. Bubbles rimmed the edges, and the soap breathed a hibiscus and pineapple perfume into the air. It reminded her of the flowers in Mother’s garden and how Father spent hours bending stems and blossoms to his will, like an artisan perfecting his craft.
Marina’s stomach hardened, and she unzipped her dress from the back and shimmied the material down her hips.
She stepped inside the scalding water and lounged back against the tub. It was no surprise that her muscles were too locked up to relax. Despite that fact, she enjoyed the comfort that the water brought her and lifted the wine to her mouth, a sturdy grip on the neck of the bottle.
She threw back a large gulp. The alcohol swam down her esophagus and kindled in her stomach. Warmth mingled with her blood. She fed the sensation with another large swig, again and again, until the bottle was empty and heat blotted under her cheeks.
