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What happened? She searched her memory, but it was hazy. There was only the glimmer of blue eyes, cold and piercing as the sea.

When she didn’t answer, the fisherman asked a new question. “Who are you?”

No name came to her. She thought harder, until the blue eyes manifested on the face of a man with dark hair and regal features. Like a prince. A deep ache swept through her, straight down to her belly. When she looked down, she noticed a tear across her blouse, the fabric stained with something dark, like octopus ink.

When her face tipped up again, the man cowered back. “You—your eyes.” Moonlight sliced across his gaze, illuminating the realization forming there. “You’re the one they were looking for.”

She hesitated, more memories flooding her mind. Herbs scattered across a table. Singing as she massaged someone’s arms. She had been a healer. Had the people been searching for her? Did someone need her help?

But then the fisherman spoke again. “The mora.”

The word sounded like a chime, reverberating through all her limbs, awakening something in her blood. She remembered everything then: That the man with the sea-blue eyes was named Nikola. That she had loved him, with all her heart. That she gave him everything and did all she could to heal his mother, but when everyone had turned on her, he had cast her aside. Denied their love. Murdered her. It wasn’t ink across her blouse, but blood.

In the end, the high Lavender Prince was no better than the petty islanders beneath him. No, he was worse. His entire family was vile, a whole spectrum of sin—Nikola with his denial of their love and vicious taking of her life, Marko with his lust, greediness, and lies, and Ana with her false kindness, too meek to stand up for what was right.

But she—the mora—would. For she remembered this also: She had asked for revenge.

God never listened to her, but the Devil did.

Her gaze shot back to the pier, to the wolf standing there. She knew then that it was he who brought her there. Pulled her back from the vast oblivion of death and lowered her into the sea. A baptism—a cleansing of her former self, emergence of a new one.

A shift rippled down her core. If the people called her mora, then so be it. That was what she’d become. Now she understood what she should have learned ages ago: As a healer, a woman with power, she had raised the hackles of men. Yet being kind, lying low, never helped her. All along, she should have shown her teeth. She needed to be dangerous to survive.

As if the fisherman read the dark trail of her thoughts, he lunged for his spear. But the mora was faster. Stronger. She snatched the weapon from his hands, raised it, but the wolf stopped her. No. Leave him.

Her blood yearned to defy him, but she couldn’t. Not when he’d created her. “Take me to shore,” she ordered instead.

The fisherman obeyed with a whimper.

Once they docked at the harbor, the mora disembarked. The Devil strode toward her.

Something red was clasped in its fangs. Plodding forward, it dropped it at her feet. The pearls of her mother’s wedding crown gleamed in the moonlight. Plucked from the very same sea from which she was reborn. The mora picked it up, admired its beauty.

You may feed on the fear of others to sustain yourself, the Devil said in her mind. But you can only take life where yours was stolen. If you disobey, you will be no more. These are the terms of your revenge. Do you accept?

The mora mulled over his words, pleased by their sharpness, her violence aimed precisely where it should be. “I accept,” she said.

The Devil bowed his head, moved aside.

Placing the crown atop her head, the mora took her first steps.

Lavender House stood silent and asleep, all its shutters closed. The mora sensed, faintly, that this place had once filled her with awe, but now it seemed strangely out of place in its size and grandeur. A shell of faded prestige.

The House’s spirit jerked awake at her approach. She had never felt it as strongly as she did now. Get away, it said, sounding faintly of Marko, but older, more rugged. His hubris bleeding into the limestone, staining their ancient wisdom.

But she didn’t listen. She took a step toward the back entrance, the one she’d always used, but pride stopped her. This time, she would enter through the front door.

The gate was locked, but new knowledge surged through her. She was a mora now, one with many forms. The thought transformed her, her vision narrowing as she slipped through the bars and then the keyhole of the front door with a buzzing of wings. Inside, she resumed her full figure.

As she moved toward the stairs, a dog appeared. Kleo, she remembered. Its jowls quivered into a growl, but with one look, the mora silenced it. The dog cowered and scampered down the hall.

The mora ascended the stairs, past the gilded frames and solemn faces of saints and Isus. She did not look them in the eye, only kept her gaze fixed upward, her thoughts bent on her task. She was still weak. She needed sustenance.

On the second landing, she tasted the air. It was fresher, purer, tinted with the faint aroma of lavender. The putrid stench that once lingered was gone, banished with Ana’s death. And yet evil remained—within the sleeping figures resting peacefully in their beds. Perhaps she was a healer still, cleansing the island of its sinners.

The mora walked on, entering Ana’s room. Marko slept soundly on the bed, his snores disrupting the peaceful quiet. Hatred boiled her blood. It was his fault Ana died. His fault she had lost her home and Nikola. She knew exactly what to do. How to repay him.

The frightening tales she’d heard as a child guided her. She glided to the bed and climbed onto the mattress. Marko’s limbs stiffened beneath her, but he did not wake. Dark visions flooded her until she settled on the perfect nightmare: He was a poor man again, asking Ana’s parents for her hand in marriage. I’ve built a house, he told them, leading them to the lavender field. Just for her.