“They killed him anyway. Then they killed me. Ritually.”
My grip on the cup tightens until the ceramic bites.
“They used my soul and my magic to create a sentient house.” I swallow.
“I twisted the spell so I would remember everything and so I would have some semblance of control. It took years for my memories to return fully, but they did, and I was trapped. Iwasthe house.”
I look at him, daring him to flinch.
He does not.
His eyes gleam with unanswered questions, yet he seems to realise that if I pause, I won’t be able to go on.
“I hunted them down and killed them. All of them.” I exhale slowly, the confession leaving my chest hollow. “Before I reached their families, I helped a girl, then someone else, and realised I did not have to exist on rage alone. I could become something else: a sanctuary.”
My voice wavers, but I press on. “I sheltered the abused, the downtrodden, those no one else would protect.”
I stare into my tea as if it can hold me together.
“I watched the Ministry grow from an idea into what it is now. Helping people put me in its sights, and honestly…” I shrug, brittle. “If it destroyed me, I would not have fought too hard. Living forever while everyone you love dies… that is its own kind of hell.”
My voice cracks.
“Then you attacked me. I folded—that’s the word I use to describe how I shift location magically. A year later, Meredith came with her coven; you attacked again, and I folded once more. Exhausted, I fell straight into a ley line. I did not plan it. I did not even know it was there.”
I shudder at the memory, the raw, tearing sensation of it.
“Then… this happened.” I glance down at myself. Human limbs. Human skin. “I do not know why or how the ley line did it, but I am alive, and I have this strange body. I am struggling, and I am trying—truly trying—to be a good person.”
I meet his eyes.
“I wanted to be left alone long enough to understand what I have become. I left the Ministry and came here. My family lies just over there.” My voice softens, despite myself. “This is home. I never harmed an innocent person, and when I killed, it was because they were dangerous.”
Silence stretches between us.
“So if you are going to kill me,” I say quietly, exhaustion pressing in, “please, do it quickly. Do not take me back to the Ministry. I know you have authorisation. Please, Lander, do not draw this out any longer. Make it quick.” My throat tightens. “I’m just… sotired. Everything is new, yet somehow it is all the same. I am sick of making the same mistakes over and over again.”
He moves at last.
Lander kneels before me and gently cups my face in his large hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears. Then he folds me into his arms. I snivel against his shoulder while he strokes the back of my head and murmurs soft reassurances that I am safe.
I am not. I have never been safe.
But still he holds me.
When I finally stop crying—and it takes a while—he pulls back and takes my hands, holding them lightly, as if he is afraid of squeezing too hard.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “Your friend Fredspoke at length about trusting you, about the sort of person you are—that nothing is ever simply black and white.”
She did?
He pauses, studying me. “I’ve been watching. You’re not the enemy. You’re a victim.”
I have no idea what to say.
“I won’t share your story,” he says. “To everyone else, you’re a talented paper mage. There’s nothing—nothing—that links you to the house. Even if there were…” His mouth quirks. “Do you really think your friends would testify against you?”
I say nothing.
