I don’t know how I got here. In this jail cell. I suppose it was because of my strange house decor. That could possibly be the answer. Or maybe because I don’t go to church. Either way, it doesn’t change that I was accused of being a witch. Witches don’t exist. Unlike sirens. Or werewolves. And vampires. Okay, maybe they do exist. But they have gone unnoticed. Like my species. I am a valecodor. It means to change physically within milliseconds, or as humans say, I’m a shapeshifter. Either way, I’m stuck here. In thirty minutes they are going to take me out of this jail cell and test me. They are going to she if I float or sink. Sink, naturally, because that’s just what valecodors do. I’m going to turn into a fish, and swim away. Yeah, we have it hard here in 1692. Lucky. I can see the future and in…mmm…about a hundred years, you will be flying. Oh, well, I have to turn into a fish. Goodbye. “Annie! Time for your trial!”

Agnes does not even flinch when the verdict is read back to her.  

Cold raindrops pour down her narrow face, yet her eyes never once blink.  She makes sure they remain steady on the horizon even as her hands are bound so tight behind her back, the rope digs into the pale skin of her wrists and her fingers begin to prickle and go numb. After all, her mother always told her never to let the others see her fear, and she has always been such an obedient girl.

Sharp accusations spring from the crowd to her ears as two burly men grab her by her knobby elbows and begin to drag her away. Her heart races with terror as she recognizes their clamoring voices, her head tilted toward the air like a bird.

“Sorceress!” calls her friend Nancy.

“She-devil!” jeers her cousin John.

“Witch!” shrieks her little brother Henry, waving a pointed finger right at her throat.

Her friends, her family, her people. Just days ago, they promised to love her and whispered good night. Could their hearts have really turned so fast? Tears sting in the corners of her eyes as her fingers find her larynx. She feels it bob up then down again as she swallows. Oh, how she wants to clap in all of their faces, to scream, “Wake up, everyone! I am no witch or sorceress or devil’s vessel, I’m only a girl!” Though, looking at their pinched brows, she doubts they would even listen. Who would take a convict’s oath, a witch’s word, against the law? Against God?

Her shoulders slump forward. She is led through the crowd, across town. Mothers yelp, covering their children’s eyes and ears as she walks past. It wasn’t long ago, she thinks, when she as young as them. Boys throw dirt and pebbles at her arms, her legs, her stomach. They leave red marks on her skin that make her face contort with pain.

So much pain. So much shame, and for what reason? Slamming the church door? Being slightly sarcastic once? All of them simple, mindless mistakes. Anyone else could have been guilty. She’s seen Nancy roll her eyes more than a few times before; why not her, then?

Her blood boils with hatred and fear, threatening to bubble over, but she will not let it. She has always been such an obedient girl. She helps her mother, thanks her father, she even agreed to marry.

And still, she finds herself face to face with the Salem jail, and no one is listening to her.

Her hands shake in their ropes. The men open a heavy, iron barred door, revealing a dark, dirt-floored hell infested with bugs and vermin. Another young girl held in shackles and chains is curled up in the corner, her hair matted, her eyes dull and dismal. Agnes takes in a sharp breath; tainted, foul-smelling air fills her nose.

“Get in, now,” the man on her right barks, giving her back a harsh shove that rattles her bones. It is now that she realizes that, the devil is not within her but in these evil men, in this paranoid town. But Agnes does not fight them; she does as she is told, stepping quietly into the room like a lamb being led to a butcher’s knife.

She has always been such an obedient girl.

_Humans, such unimaginative creatures. I will give a few of them credit, they could smell my otherworldliness. My last victim, as I went in for my kill, I could hear the hairs on his his arms stand up, sweat trickled slowly down his neck. He knew I wasn’t who I appeared to be, but never in a million years would he have guessed my true form. I enjoyed my meal, but as luck would have it, someone saw him enter my home. They thought I was a witch, said they would burn me at the stake like the others. I wasn’t at my strongest when they broke into my home, shackled me and flung their accusations at me. I mean, they were right, I did kill the boy, but seriously, I was insulted! They thought I was a mere witch?? HA! If they only knew! A witch is a play thing compared to me at my full strength. Oh, but they would soon find out the terror that awaited them. Once the sun sets, and my power seeps back into this flimsy exoskeleton I was parading around in (easier to lure in my prey), those fools in Salem would find out what true power was. _ __ __ In the fall of 1693, histeria spread like wildfire through Salem, Massachusetts. The villagers saw dark magic and evil at every turn. As they carried on their witch hunt, the fear that eminated from was like honey to the dark creatures they lurk beyond world. They smelt it, drawn to the fear like moss to a flame. That’s how the creature found its way to Salem. The humans hunted witches, thinking they were true evil, if they only knew what they let seep in through the cracks.

I felt the grass beneath my bare feet as the soft breeze drifted through my ginger locks. Then, my father called me in.

I gazed across the endless expanse of the White House lawn, the setting sun casting long, golden shadows. It was a rare moment of peace in the chaos that had engulfed our lives. Just as I was about to lie down and let the serenity wash over me, my father's voice echoed from the grand entrance. "Runa! Tobias! Come inside, now!"

I turned to see my younger brother, Tobias, already sprinting towards the house, his usual burst of energy evident in his every step. I sighed and followed, my thoughts clouded with unease. Ever since society turned against the fundamental framework of man and woman, tension hung thick around the White House.

Inside, the atmosphere was even more stifling, making the grandeur of the surroundings feel like a cage. My father, Vice President Mahogany, stood tall but weary, with dark circles under his eyes. Next to him stood Blaise Elsher, a mysterious and stoic figure who had appeared a few weeks ago with promises of a solution.

"Runa, Tobias," my father began, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. "The situation has become untenable. The hope for our society, for our future, rests in you two."

I exchanged a bewildered glance with Tobias. "What do you mean, Dad?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Blaise stepped forward, his eyes piercing through the dim light. "We have uncovered an ancient method, a way to turn back time. You need to find Sage Bishop, your ancestor. She holds the key—a code that can restore balance."

Tobias, ever the curious one, could barely contain his excitement. "Turn back time? Like... actual time travel?"

My father nodded. "Yes. You must travel back to the Salem Witch Trials, find Sage, and bring the code back to us. It's the only way to save our nation."

The enormity of the task ahead weighed heavily on us, but beneath the fear was a flicker of hope. We were about to embark on an extraordinary journey, one that would change our lives—and perhaps the fate of the entire country—forever. With a determined nod, I took Tobias's hand.

Before we could fully process the monumental task laid before us, a deafening explosion shook the ground beneath us. The walls trembled and the chandelier above us swayed violently. Panic surged through the halls of the White House as alarms blared and security personnel sprang into action.

"The White House has been bombed!" someone screamed, adding to the chaos.

My father grabbed us by the shoulders, his eyes filled with an urgency I had never seen before. "There's no time," he said, his voice as steady as he could muster despite the pandemonium around us. "The device you need is in my room, in the closet. The combination is ‘113023’—Runa, you must remember this."

A second explosion rocked the building, closer this time. The walls cracked, and a cloud of dust filled the air. Tobias squeezed my hand tighter, his eyes wide with fear but also with understanding. We knew what we had to do.

"Go, now!" my father urged, pushing us towards the grand staircase.

We tore through the maze of hallways, dodging fallen portraits and broken furniture. The once majestic corridors were now scenes of destruction, with smoke and debris blending into the opulence. Tobias led the way, his smaller frame allowing him to maneuver quickly. I followed closely, the numbers “113023” echoing in my mind with every step.

The air grew thicker with smoke, and shouts of desperation rang through the halls. But we couldn't let anything distract us. Reaching the master bedroom, we found the door ajar, hanging precariously from its hinges. We rushed inside.

The room was in shambles, a stark contrast to its usual pristine condition. The massive bed was overturned, and shattered glass from the grand windows crunched underfoot. We made our way to the walk-in closet, our breaths shallow from the exertion and the suffocating smoke.

"There," Tobias pointed to a reinforced door embedded into the back wall of the closet. It was a safe, the kind you see in spy movies, almost surreal in its presence.

I took a deep breath and entered the combination, my fingers trembling. “1-1-3-0-2-3.”

The lock clicked open, revealing a small, intricately designed device nestled inside. Its polished surface and glowing inscriptions hinted at its ancient origins, yet it emitted a sense of power and purpose.

"We've got it," I whispered, half in awe, half in fear.

Tobias wrapped it carefully in a piece of cloth and tucked it into his backpack. "Now what?"

"Now we get out of here and find Sage," I said, as determined as ever. The weight of our mission bore down on me, but it was also exhilarating. We had a chance to rewrite history, to restore hope.

With one last glance at the wreckage of our home, we set off through the smoke-filled corridors, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The future of our world depended on us, and failure was not an option.

We dashed into the walk-in closet just in time. With a thunderous crash, the ceiling of the bedroom caved in behind us, sending a cloud of dust and splinters into the air. The closet door slammed shut, muffling the chaos outside, turning our immediate surroundings into a dark, enclosed sanctuary.

I could hear Tobias's frantic breathing close to me. "Are you okay?" I managed to ask, my own voice strained from the panic.

"Yeah," he replied, his grip on my hand reassuring yet trembling. "But what now?"

The device in his backpack suddenly pulsated with a faint, otherworldly glow. It was as if it knew our task and was eager to complete it. Before either of us could react, the light enveloped us, warping the walls of the closet into a swirling vortex of colors and shapes.

When the dizzying sensation ceased, we found ourselves standing on solid ground, but everything had changed. Gone were the opulent surroundings of the White House and the sounds of an emergency. We were in another time entirely.

I looked down at myself in awe. Instead of my usual jeans and t-shirt, I now wore a long, black dress that covered me from neck to ankles, making me look like I had stepped out of an old portrait. My hair was pinned up in a tight bun, giving me an air of austere elegance that made me feel oddly powerful.

Tobias was equally transformed. He now donned a frock coat, breeches, and a hat with a brim, looking every bit the young gentleman from centuries past. His wide eyes met mine, both of us barely able to contain our astonishment.

"We've... we've actually traveled back in time," he whispered, as if speaking louder might somehow break the spell and send us hurtling back to our own chaotic era.

The air around us smelled crisp yet tinged with the faint scent of burning wood and candle wax. The oppressive smoke and alarms of the White House were replaced with the distant murmur of a small village, children playing, and livestock bleating.

"I guess this is it," I said, straightening my dress as best I could. "We need to find Sage Bishop and get that code."

"We're in the Salem Witch Trials era, right?" Tobias adjusted his frock coat nervously, glancing around. "We'd better be careful. People here aren't exactly welcoming to strangers."

"Or to anyone acting suspicious," I added, thinking of the witch hunts and paranoia that marked this period.

Drawing a deep breath, we stepped out into the open, the historical landscape of 1692 Salem unfurling before us. Cobblestone paths wound between simple wooden houses, and townsfolk went about their daily routines, completely unaware that two children from the future had just appeared among them.

As we walked towards the town square, every step felt imbued with the gravity of our mission. We had to find Sage Bishop, uncover the code, and return to our time—only then could we hope to save our world from its downward spiral. There was no turning back now.

As we approached the town square, we heard a gathering crowd. Pushing through the throng, we found ourselves at the edge of a harrowing scene—a wooden platform with a somber-looking judge standing tall. Reverend Carlton, stroking his graying beard, proclaimed in a deep, foreboding voice, "Sage Bishop, you stand accused of witchcraft." Gasps erupted, and our hearts pounded. Sage was right before our eyes, shackled and defiant.

Our footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestone paths as we traversed the village, heads down to avoid attracting too much attention. The air was heavy with humidity, carrying whispers of dread and superstition. The townsfolk seemed to move with a sense of underlying urgency, as if fearful of shadows unseen.

As we approached the town square, the distant hum of voices grew louder, punctuated by the occasional cheer or jeer. We turned the corner, entering the central square, only to find ourselves at the edge of a large, gathered crowd. They formed a somber semicircle around a wooden platform that towered ominously above the square.

"Look," Tobias whispered, nodding towards the raised stage. "Something's happening."

The center of the platform held a stark wooden structure—an unforgiving scaffold. Standing before it was a tall man in austere black robes, his presence commanding and severe. He held a large, weathered Bible in his hand, raising it high as he addressed the throng in a booming voice that reverberated through the air.

"That must be Reverend Carlton," I murmured to Tobias, recognizing the name from our father's briefings. "He's the one leading the witch hunts."

Reverend Carlton's voice cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with fervor. "Today, we are gathered to rid our community of the evil that lurks among us," he proclaimed, his eyes scanning the crowd with a look of righteous determination. "We stand together in judgment as we put to trial one accused of witchcraft. Let the accused step forward."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as a figure was prodded onto the stage by two stern-faced men. My breath hitched in my throat as I saw her: a woman in her thirties with striking green eyes, bound at the wrists. She stood tall, her gaze defiant yet filled with an underlining vulnerability.

"Sage Bishop," Reverend Carlton announced, his voice dripping with disdain. "You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the Devil. How do you plead?"

The name hit me like a ton of bricks. There she was—Sage Bishop, our ancestor, the one we were sent to find. My heart raced as Tobias and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. The air around us crackled with tension, the weight of history and fate settling upon our shoulders.

Sage Bishop’s voice rang clear and strong, even in the face of such dire accusations. "I plead not guilty," she declared firmly, her eyes challenging the crowd. "I am no witch."

The crowd burst into whispers, some voices filled with doubt, others with venomous certainty. Reverend Carlton raised his hand for silence, his expression unwavering. "We shall see," he intoned ominously. "We shall see."

As the tension in the square reached its peak, Sage Bishop, bound and facing the unjust trial, suddenly screamed out a single word, "KALISTAR!" Her voice echoed through the square, sending a shiver down our spines. It was a word imbued with power, her defiant last stand. The crowd gasped, and a hush fell over the scene as the significance of her cry lingered in the charged air.

Instantly, we knew that was the code.

   I found myself in the middle of the turmoil of the Salem Witch Trials, accused of sorcery. I couldn't believe that I was being charged with something so absurd. The whispers and stares from the townspeople made me feel like an outsider in my community. It felt as if there was something dark and mysterious about me that I couldn't explain.

    I had always been drawn to the natural world and deeply connected with the animals and the plants around me. I could feel their energy and understood their language in a way others couldn't. I had a gift, but it was not one of sorcery or witchcraft. It was something far more ancient and elemental.

Despite my protests and explanations, the townspeople were convinced that I was practicing dark magic. No matter how hard I tried to prove my innocence, they refused to listen. They were blinded by their fear and superstition, unable to see the truth that was right in front of them.

   As the accusations intensified, I realized that I needed to leave Salem for my own safety. I packed a few belongings and set out into the wilderness, away from the prying eyes of the town. In the solitude of the forest, I found solace and a sense of peace that I had never experienced before.

   It was there that I discovered the true nature of my gift. I was not a witch or a warlock, but a guardian of the natural world. I could communicate with the spirits of the land and protect it from harm. My connection with the earth was a source of strength, and I knew that I had a purpose far greater than anything the people of Salem could understand.

   As time passed, I became known as a healer and protector among the indigenous people who lived in harmony with the land. They understood the true nature of my abilities and revered me as a guardian of the earth. Far from the accusations and fear of Salem, I found my true calling and embraced the gift that set me apart from the rest.

October 27, 1628: I never believed in it all. A fairy tale told among my brethren. Fools, one and all. But it was where I found myself. My family had brought me to this place which they called Salem. The first Salem, not that rubbish they call history.

Many towns came and vanished, and I’m sure that place vanished because those who lived there practiced evil. Who else commands evil but more evil? And so, the first hunts went about. Why? Jealousy amongst the women folk. Many died in the water test, and when the innocents were gone, my brethren tested those who came through the area. Those poor fools.

One day, a group of Asians of varied origins came through. They carried a box escribed with gold siding. Inside, a boy. This boy, nothing seemed particular to me, but the men of Salem saw him as evil. They said he had ensnared his attendants with magic. I said not, but again, I didn’t believe in their nonsense.

And that’s when I saw the men get up and ready. They armed themselves to the nail and set upon taking the boy. I followed behind them, not thinking their actions good, but you try disagreeing with men on a witch hunt.

They tied down the men, and as they took the boy, the men screamed in tongues we knew not. The boy screamed back as though the group shared in a love. The boy spoke our tongue. He said he used no magic. How he begged us return him!

After a quick trial, they decided him the worst type of witch. No normal death was good enough. Only fire would do.

He burned. I stayed inside through most of it.

My stomach is weak for such things. Though, I had the end watch. My turn was right before clean up.

It was a horrible thing we did. I looked on as he burnt to ash. And that’s when I first saw his ash. Cinders color black, but his colored as sand.

Then the sand started to move.

The fellows and I moved back, but running for safety was no good.

The sand started to ripple as though a pond, and then a giant appendage, as if a gigantic octopus, reached from the ashes and picked up one of us. Its tentacle gripped him until he burst blood and organs, his hat not even anywhere near the guts and remains.

I wish I knew more as I am a man of evidence, but I was the only one out. I heard a roar over the last of the hills, the only one left alive as far as I knew. I hid in a cave for days as the titan ravaged the lands. And faith was now of little consequence. I saw it.

Peeking out of the cave, I saw him. I swear it. He stood as a shadow colossus with limbs of undetermined length. His eyes burned green. His presence seemed to create skies clouded to darkness beyond that of night.

I knew not what Satan had wrought, but now I know he spoke the truth. He was no witch. Only God knows what that was.

"Please! Thou must believe me! I am no witch of the dark arts! I am-!" She's struggling against her restraints, and she flinches when she's interrupted. "Enough of your Lies, witch! Thou must be a servant of the devil! Why else would you have spell books and potions!?" The crowd gasps as the man holds up spell books in his hand. "She must be a witch!" Someone in the crowd yells. "That explains why she goes into the woods alone! She's been contacting Satan!" The crowd gasps again and gets angry. They start chanting. "Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!" "No, please listen to me!" The crowd doesn't hear her as her voice is drowned out by the whole village chanting to burn her. "Then, let the fire snuff out the evil and drive it away!" The man shouts over the crowd and everyone cheers. One man nods at another and the other man walks up to her, torch in hand. "Will, please! Please don't do this! You know I'm not a witch!" She pleads with the other man. "Shut it, witch! I can't believe I was going to be wedded to you." With that final remark, her heart broke, and as Will threw the torch on the pile of hey, she started to glow brightly. The villagers shut their eyes tightly and when they looked, she was no longer human, but a goddess.

“Sarah Bolluck. You have hereby been accused of witchcraft. What have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing that will change your mind.”

“Then let her be hanged!”

The crown roars. Pitchforks and lanterns at the ready.

It’s very early in the witch trials. Only a few accused so far. Sarah Bolluck has always been the most obvious.

From people claiming her eyes change colors, to the paleness of her face. Her pointed ears and inhuman voice. Sarah Bullock was always seen as something other than human. But they never knew how dangerous something is, when you don’t understand it.

Sarah Bolluck holds her head high and as soon as the executioner is about to kick the barrel out from under her feet, she vanishes.

“I knew she was a witch!” Her neighbor yells!

“I said that I couldn’t change your mind. But that was only with words.” Sarah’s voice rings through the trees.

The breeze starts picking up. The moon vanishes behind a cloud and someone screams.

“Something touched my face! She’s cast a spell on me!” A woman falls to the ground, clawing at her face. “Get it off!”

People step back. Nothing to do for someone cursed.

“Simple humans. Blaming others for your downfall.”

Another woman drops.

The mayor looks fearful. Terror radiates in his eyes. He looks like a lamb being hunted.

“Come on out witch! Pay for you crimes on earth before you have to pay for them in hell!”

Everything around him goes dark. Long claw like nails dig into his sides. Red eyes stare back at him and her fangs are drawn.

“Who says we aren’t in hell?”

Foolish women I’m no witch Not a coven Try to switch

I’m a mystery To most others So much history Long lost mother

“…to be burned at the stake in accordance to the Dark Magic Association decree!” The officers voice booms throughout the roaring crowd while I stand on stage, hands tied. No one shows any sign of sympathy towards me. They shout and point and spit in my direction like I’m some traitor. Perhaps some part of me is, but I try to not think on it. It isn’t my fault, after all.

The sun beats down on my face. Sweat beads above my brows and lip. Though I cannot see myself, the expression of pure bewilderment is as plain and overwhelming as the mocking post to which I will come to my demise. A shadow of myself stares back at me as the man running this whole fiasco continues. I dare not look at him. Not him…not my—as I matter of fact, I’m not exactly sure what he is to me anymore.

“This shall take place before the sun dips below the horizon! All are required. The only thing excuseing your attendance would be the absent beat of your hearts,” he declares. Once more, the crowd rings out in a series of different responses. But none are forgiving towards me—the innocent girl blackmailed for using dark magic.

The man near me motions for some other guards to guide me to the cellar of the castle. This is where all the dungeons are. I don’t look at him as I pass—the person officiating this whole thing. The person announcing my demise before the whole kingdom. The kingdom that turned their backs on me like he did.

Though my head remains faced towards the ground, a burning sense fills my body. It causes me to become shaky and more aware of my current situation. He’s watching me. The crowd disperses behind, but the growing feeling of unease and ultimate betrayal are there to replace it.

This is your doing, I think. Then I’m pulled deep into the castle.

——————————————

The small room reeks of death and lost hope. Of countless tears and blood shed in vain. Bones and dead rats scatter the cold, stony floor of my cell. The bars of my confinement are rusted and brown. Across from me, a body stares back, motionless and clearly decayed. His hands are chained to the wall behind, and his neck fastened to keep him looking straight ahead. It’s revolting.

I shudder and look at my hands. The sight of something so gruesome is too overbearing. All I want is to be back home, these fingers working away a needle and thread to create the most divine of garments. I’m the royal family’s seamstress in training—was. Though my work was so fine many believed I’d been acquainted with fabric my whole, eighteen years of existence.

What would they think of me now that I’ve been accused of such a ghastly thing? What would they do if I told them who it really was that had been practicing sorcery? No matter what I say, they won’t believe me. How could they? He’s been working humbly for them ever since he was a mere boy—Julius. The man who spoke before the angry crowd this morning.

I had no clue he was doing such things—magic. Especially with the kingdom placed on high alert for any sign of peculiar activity. We were in love. Some part of me still loves him. I do not hate him. More than anything, I’m confused. Why had he framed me for his own treachery? I would’ve never told anyone of his hidden…talents. He had to have known that. This is what baffles me.

The sound of damp stone dripping onto the floor outside my cell makes my skin crawl. It echoes throughout the dungeons. Suddenly the screech of a door follows and I jump, gasp. The door to the celer. Some one is here. I tuck a piece of my long brown hair behind my ear and stand. If I’m to be seen, I could at least look more presentable. Funny how I still consider my appearance even when I’ve been placed in a place severely lacking in both beauty and grace.

Three figures step into the dim light of the hallway. One of them, I recognize instantly. The other two are random guards from the palace. But I’m fixated on the man in the middle. The man with the unavoidable charm and magnetism. His tanned skin shines golden under the glow of the small fire and though his eyes are always a deep, piercing blue, they don’t seem to shine like usual. I cannot seem to read him. If he feels anything for me at all, he is concealing it well.

“Leave us.” His gaze is still locked onto mine. The guards look at each other for a moment almost as clarification he was speaking to them. They nod, then walk away, their armer clanking with every step until it becomes a distant absence. Its just the two of us, and now he seems to soften. He’s not trying so hard to hide his emotions. I can clearly see the look of pain in his eyes at the sight of me behind bars. It’s difficult not to scoff. He placed me in here. He’s no right to feel sorry for me.

We stare at each other for a long moment. Its as though none of us even blink.

Why is he here?

Finally, he moves. He pulls out a key from his pocket and twists it inside the lock to my door. With an eerie creak, and the easy movement of the man, the door slides open and he stands before me.

I expect him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t. All he does is stare at me. So I decide to ask the question I’ve been desperately attempting to figure out, ever since the night he turned me in for a crime I didn’t commit.

“Why,” I say. My voice is low and careful, barely a hum. His jaw feathers and he takes a long, extended breath out. The scent of pine and fresh dew fill my nose, along with something else. He has been drinking. He never drinks.

When he doesn’t answer, I take a step closer, which makes him tense, and search for a reply. “Why, Julius? What have I done? I would have never uttered a word—”

Suddenly he dips his head too quickly for me to react. His lips are pressed against mine in an instant, and I’m so shocked I nearly trip backwards. I am so familiar with the softness of these lips, but it still takes my breath away every time. But it shouldn’t. Not now. I shouldn’t let this slide, but I do. And I curse myself for it.

I curse myself as he opens his mouth onto mine. I curse myself when his fingers dig into my hair, and when my back hits the cool, wet wall behind, his body pressed against mine. Why is he doing this? Its unraveling. It’s all different kinds of cruel, and yet I allow it. Why do I allow it?

His hand slides to my hip as he keeps me pressed against the stone. This is no place for such things—a dank, filthy environment such as this. I try to speak, but it’s impossible with the way he kisses me. I can’t explain it. This is just…different—the feeling. Something’s so wonderful and wrong about it it has me baffled in the most glorious and horrible of ways.

Then he stops. His hand still holds my hip, but not as harshly. Those blue eyes penetrate into mine with a force no other could. But they are far more distant.“Because you can’t lose if you have nothing,” he finally says.

I gasp, feeling a sharpness in my stomach I’ve never felt before. The pain is so intense my vision blurs, and I slide to the floor. Blood soaks my dress where Julius plunged the knife into my side. Instantly, tears fill my eyes.

“Forgive me, Eira.” Julius cups my cheeks and kisses my eyes and forehead as the world becomes further away. I try to speak, but crimson liquid causes me to choke on my words. It drips down my chin and onto my skirts.

_Bastard, I think. _ __ __ A tear slips from his eye, and falls onto my lips. “I love you. I love you, I love you,” he says repeatedly. “I’m so sorry.” It’s more of a mockery than a reassurance, though.

Liar.

Then he whipes his face clean and yells: “Guards come quick! The witch has taken my blade!”

The two figures from earlier rush in as Julius puts on an act. A final tear falls from my face.

“She grabbed it from me—it was so quick, I hadn’t enough time to act, before she…”

Then everything goes black.