AN: So sorry for the delay. Its been a busy two weeks. Thank you for being here. I appreciate it so much.
I crouch down, balancing on the balls of my bare feet, and look at Al with unmasked disgust. He is making wet, gurgling noises, his eyes pleading, like he wants to say something.
I snap my fingers, removing the spell binding his voice.
"Please... kill me..." he begs, his voice hoarse, blood and spit flowing down his chin.
"Nah, nah," I chide, shaking my head. "Death is too easy for you. Let's have some fun first."
I smirk and stand up, moving to the coffee table. Behind me, Al's torture continues. The spell twists him deeper, and he cries out in so much pain and agony, screaming like his soul is already seething in hell.
I flip open the cardboard box. "Hey," I call out over his shrieks. "Don't cry so loud. It's not that painful."
I pick up a slice of pizza and sniff it. The smell of processed meat and cheese is overwhelming. This type of food is new to me, greasy and strange, and I don't really feel like eating it. But my stomach gives a violent, demanding rumble. This body is so starved, so depleted after channeling the curse, that it overrides my hesitation.
I take a bite. It is warm, heavy, and the crust is too soggy, but I chew and swallow. I eat a bit more, unable to stop the ravenous hunger of the body I now inhabit.
Behind me, Al is on the brink of death. His face is unrecognizable, a landscape of burns and boils bubbling all over his skin, but he is still alive, trapped in the final moments of his misery.
I wipe my grease-stained fingers with a paper towel and get up. I stand over him one last time.
"Tsk," I click my tongue. "It's a pity I can't keep your soul and torment you for eternity."
Al breathes shallowly, his destroyed eyes tracking me.
I speak internally. Are you satisfied?
The young woman's voice echoes in my mind, faint but clear. Yes. I am satisfied.
"Good," I say aloud. "Let's leave him overnight. Let him die slowly."
I throw the crumpled, greasy tissue paper at Al's heaving chest and walk away, leaving the carnage behind me. I head toward the sagging couch in the corner. I need sleep.
I lay down, the cushions smelling of dust, and with a heavy sigh, I close my eyes.
In the darkness behind my eyelids, the young woman appears. Her figure is translucent, slowly fading like mist in the sun.
I have one more request, she says.
"Tell me," I reply mentally.
Set up a resting place for me and my mother, she whispers. And buy us flowers every year.
It is a small thing to ask for, a pittance compared to the life she gave me. But I can only do it once I am established.
"When I get a home," I promise her, "I will do it for you."
Thank you, she says.
She vanishes completely, the last wisp of her presence dissolving into the ether. The only trace left of her is the deluge of memories that suddenly crashes into my mind.
I fall asleep quickly, deeply, and the young woman's life plays out like a vivid, heartbreaking dream.
Her name was Lyrna Grant.
This year, she had just turned twenty one, though her stunted, malnourished body looked barely nineteen. Her mother's name was Harper Grant.
In this time period, I see that children go to large buildings called schools to learn, but Lyrna never had that opportunity. She was locked up in the woodshed most of the time, surrounded by cold tools and sawdust.
The worst part isn't the loneliness. It's the complicity. The entire small town knew she existed. They saw the bruises, they knew she wasn't in school, they saw how thin she was. But they never did anything to help her. They all watched from a distance, turning a blind eye to keep the peace with her uncle. They didn't even call the authorities.
She waited. She thought help would come. But it never did. She suffered alone in the woodshed, until the day she decided to end it all to bring me here.
I expect to see memories of those who helped her but all I see is what she had told me that she did this all by herself. I still don't believe it but there is nothing I can do about it.
All I know is that what is hidden in the dark will eventually come into the light.
***
Circe POV
The sky above is a bruising shade of purple and black, clouds gathering with a sudden, violent intensity that defies nature. The wind picks up speed, howling like a wounded beast, whipping the trees into a frenzy. Before me, the large chateau stands defiant, its few lit windows glowing like eyes in the dark, enveloped in a thick, impenetrable curtain of rain. Lightning flashes, crackling across the sky in jagged veins of white fire.
The storm is extremely violent, the windows of the estate trembling in their frames as if a hurricane has descended specifically upon this plot of land. And it has.
My black Maybach pulls up to the estate gates, piercing the unnatural gloom. The curtain of violent rain is localized—a chaotic dome that exists only here, surrounding my family's home. The car drives in, and my driver is forced to slow to a crawl, the wipers thrashing back and forth, barely doing anything to wipe off the sheets of water blurring the windscreen.
The car finally pulls up at the sheltered entrance of the chateau. The driver, impeccable in his neat trim suit, steps out into the damp air, snapping open a large black umbrella. He walks briskly to the back seat and opens the door.
I step out. My red heels hit the pavement with a sharp click, followed by the sweep of my large, heavy coat. The wind tugs at my long, jet-black hair, but I ignore it, walking straight for the stairs while the driver holds the umbrella high to shield me.
The heavy oak door opens from the inside before I even reach it.
"Miss, you didn't have to rush here this late," the old butler says, his face etched with worry as he bows his head.