She could hardly feel the pinpricks of ice while running until she collided against a tree. Her body hunched over a gnarled root and vomited in dirt. Rainwater swirled the bile, sticky and rancid. Beneath her enchanted beauty and golden blood, perhaps this ugly mess was truly what she was made of. She no longer wanted to pretend.
She just wanted to disappear.
Bile burned her throat as she turned over her stomach with a low moan. Twigs dug into her skin, scraping to pry flesh open. Rainpounded against her deflated dress, where mud streaked the torn fabric, now a dirty champagne. She could not will herself to move. Her bones weighed too heavy, her heart too fractured. She hoped the rain would pour hard enough to drown her.
There was no way to tell time in the fog of her mind. By the time Malicine found her, she had already been half asleep. She woke to the demon shaking her by the shoulders.
“Amelia,” they yelled over the rain, “what are you doing here?”
It was strange how seeing a familiar pair of horns and red-eyed raven brought a small sense of comfort. As Malicine examined her injuries, Amelia realized they must have sensed she was nearby and came for her. She thought she’d been running aimlessly, but this was no coincidence. Subconsciously, she had searched for Malicine, the only creature who’d seen the darkness inside her, because they shared it as well.
She whispered, “I don’t want to be here.”
“Of course not,” they snapped. “You’d barely survive these woods.”
Amelia shook her head. Exhaustion ate away her bones. She would have collapsed farther into the ground if she could, sink so deep her blood would water the roots of trees. “I don’t want to behere.”
Understanding slowly dawned on Malicine’s face. Before they could reply, a rustle of leaves snapped their attention to the trees. In the distance, the sound of hooves hitting the ground echoed, the neigh of a frantic horse. A torch’s flame burned past the thicket, the fiery eyes of a prince with a bloodthirst for vengeance.
Amelia didn’t mention Ezran was after her, yet somehow Malicine knew to hide them both. They draped their cape over her like a shield made of darkness. She shrunk into the fabric andwatched a sky full of foliage envelop them. The floor shifted from wet mud to bark, as if she were inside a tree. A wall of vines covered her vision as Malicine waved their arm to cast light inside. The dimensions of their cocoon expanded with an orange glow, and she landed on a carpet of moss.
Amelia scanned their new surroundings, where each corner felt less like a dangerous forest and more like a makeshift home. Fire blazed from a hearth made of stone. A driftwood mirror slanted itself to a wall. Across from it was a spinning wheel.
“Where are we?” she asked, watching Talon nestle inside a bed of twigs below the lamp.
“A witch’s cottage. I set up this place the night I cursed you. You were to be lured here the eve you turned eighteen, pricking your finger on a spindle I’d sharpened just for you.”
Moss had grown over the bobbin like green thread, yet the spindle glinted with a sharp smile as it pointed in Amelia’s direction.
“The place has no use anymore since I revoked the curse. But it keeps us hidden, so at least my petty grudge provided some benefit. You left this behind, by the way.”
They pointed toThe Book of Samaelnestled between the vines. The relic hardly mattered to Amelia after their failed venture into the Otherworld. Instead, the spinning wheel beckoned for her attention, even though no curse should have compelled her otherwise. She’d never seen the actual contraption before. Her father had banished it across the kingdom. Watching it now, she could understand how the sight was alluring. There was a repetitive motion in the wood spinning, the blurriness of the wheel, the needle dangling.
She didn’t notice she was freezing until the warmth of Malicine’sstaff brought her gaze to the amulet. A scarlet fog spun inside the gem, bright as she’d remembered it from the Otherworld. Malicine appeared familiar with their newfound powers already, pointing the staff at the bark floor and raising a flattened trunk from the ground. They hauled Amelia over the makeshift stool while their staff sputtered magic sparks onto the floor, wiping clean the mud she’d left behind.
She didn’t realize how dirty she’d become. Her dress was drenched from the rain, her skin tinged with ice. Malicine’s fingers carefully unbuttoned the back of her dress and peeled off the fabric. Lacy undergarments covered her pale skin, and with the cloth stripped away, goose bumps ran prominently down her limbs. Malicine held their breath the entire time they undressed her, as if they thought the smallest gust of air would topple her over. They squeezed rainwater from the fabric, watering the plants buried beneath. Once the clothing dried, they helped Amelia dress herself again.
“What happened?” The demon’s voice remained calm like stone. Fire crackled from the hearth, slowly bringing warmth back to her bones. Yet no matter which way she looked, Amelia still saw pale skin tinted blue, the color of a woman’s veins left after snake poison.
“Lilith’s dead,” she whispered. “And so is my father.”
Silence filled the air, only disrupted by the muffled sound of rain against the walls.
“What does this mean for you?” Malicine asked.
Blankly, she answered, “I don’t know.”
“Where are your godmothers?” Rage seeped into Malicine’s tone. “They should be helping you.”
“I didn’t come with them. There’s no one I can trust. Except...”
She turned silent, feeling foolish for running away and seeking Malicine instead. Of course they could not be her godmother, letalone her friend. When they sent her back to this world, they made it clear they wanted nothing to do with her. And yet, Malicine squeezed her arm gently, an anchor to remind her of their presence. It was a gesture so rare and kind that it made Amelia want to cry again.
“I’ll make something warm to drink,” Malicine muttered, “and we’ll figure it out.”
They crossed over to the hearth, where fire flickered from the wooden logs. Amelia watched Malicine’s finger make swirling motions over a cup, guiding black tea leaves across ripples of water. The offer should have comforted her, not left her skin itching. She didn’t need to deliberate her next steps. She already knew what she needed to do. Take over the throne. Rebuild the royal line. Save the kingdom, like Lilith would have wanted.
But Amelia couldn’t. To be strong meant enduring the shame of her mistakes, the consequences of her flaws. And she did not want to be strong.
