And what were those sins?
Being born, I supposed.
Shadow-Cursed they have named you because they fear you, little shadow.
The shadows tried to be comforting, to soothe the anxieties that plagued me. Yet their energy buzzed beneath my skin, a burning sensation pulsing through my veins as they pushed against the hold I had upon them. They grew darker, thicker, angrier. Angrier at being viewed as a burden, asless than.My head pounded as I fought to leash the magic, to push it inch by inch back into the depths of me, to wrangle them under control. They vanished, receding nearly as quickly as they had come, my breaths panting with the exertion.
Sometimes I feared that if I allowed them out for too long or too much at once, they would consume me entirely. Merle had helped in those earlier years, despite our magic being different. Taught me as I grew and my magic grew with me, how to control it, how to push it down. How to contain them so they never escaped within the light of day.
Shadow-Blessed. Shadow-Cursed.
Their hissing taunts echoed within my tired mind.
What difference does it make when even you fear the power that is your birthright?
Chapter Two
The shop was always quiet in the early morning hours, only a few regular customers coming by to get their weekly supply—ranging from the deep purple healing potions that cured common ailments when one didn’t have the time for a Master Healer, to the sickly yellow endurance potions. Both were ever popular amongst the tired working class of Amori City, many seeking that extra boost to simply survive their day.
The quiet of the morning was a time in which I studied for my trials. Books laid spread out upon the shop counter, my attention drifting between different passages in each—the notebook I had been writing in left to the side as I sipped my tea. It was warm between my hands, the taste earthy and sweet. It was originally, in its concentrated form, a potion, but when mixed with boiling water it created a pleasant energy boosting tea. Made from crushing a bit of the bitter tasting roots of the Tavarrian sunleaf tree found in the southern regions of our kingdom with the sweet frostberries of the north. It was quite easy to make, and one of the first potions I had ever learned.
Merle had always said that the basics of potion making were more important than the complexities, for if I could remember the simple things, I would always be able to create what was truly needed.
She had woken not long after I had opened the shop, claiming a need for supplies in the market and to make rounds on the patients we took turns visiting within the Old Quarter. While we were not Healers, potionary work had always been so closely tied with medical care that we helped where we could. We could not mend broken bones nor could we stitch flesh together, but for those who could not always afford a Master Healer, we could offer pain relief and take care of common ailments.
My mind skimmed the same passage for the third time, no closer to deciphering the text than the last two times I had read it. “Oh for the love of Soli.”
The curse fell quietly from my lips with a groan as I set down the drink, reaching to rub at my temples. “Focus, you idiot.”
The chiming of a bell rang through the shop, startling me from where I sat lost in my books, bringing my attention to two figures that walked through the door.
The first was dressed in fine clothing, his shirt made of silk? Perhaps satin? Whatever it was, it looked soft as sin and was a beautiful, deep shade of carmine against the man’s warm brown skin, threaded with intricate stitches of gold.
Glancing up I was startled to find his gaze already locked on me, his eyes as gilded as the stitching upon his shirt—deep pools of molten gold that seemed to swirl with a thousand emotions. They seared through me as I took in the dark, unruly waves of hair that were pushed back from his face leaving me a full view of the sharp angles of his cheeks and the light stubble that shadowed his chiseled jaw.
My shadows hissed to life, swarming beneath my skin as I met that gaze once more, realizing he was now expectant.
Had he said something?
“Sorry, what was that?” I fought the flush that warmed my skin, hands fiddling with the pages of the book laid before me.
“I was just saying good morning,” he said, his smile all gleaming white teeth and oozing charm. “Do you mind if we glance around for a bit?”
He gestured to the wooden shelves that housed our premade potions, tucked behind and protected by a thick layer of glass.
“Not at all,” I said. A nagging feeling of unease crept through me as my shadows continued to swarm. My attention drifted to his companion. A man, if I had to guess from the width of his broad shoulders. His features were completely shrouded by the cloak he wore, his posture immaculate, even as he leaned casually against a wall near the doorway. I could just make out the hilts of two swords strapped to his back.
Were they going to rob me? Is that why this unease crept through me, something instinctive warning me to be on alert?
The bell chimed again, but when a familiar face raced through the door, I eased.
“Miss Syraaaaa,” the little girl sang, running to the counter, her father entering the shop not a second later.
“Good morning, Mirabel,” I greeted, leaning over to grab one of the lopsided braids that hung from her head. “It appears your father is getting better and better at doing these for you, isn’t he?”
Little Mirabel, if I remembered correctly, was no older than ten. Her hair was silver, a silver so pale it was nearly white, the color so distinctly Luanthian. Her dark skin shone under the lamplight of the shop and her large green eyes stared back as she played with the braids, a toothy grinupon her lips as she said, “I would say so, he’s been getting lots of practice with Mama being sick.”
I smiled back, albeit a little sadly as Fenrir approached, his hand resting upon his daughter's shoulder. He was a tall man, middle aged, with kind hazel eyes and hair the color of bleached wheat.
