ISKERA
After eating, I did a lot. I had to.
If I stayed still for too long, I was afraid the walls would dissolve and I'd find myself back in the drafty attic with the smell of dust and rejection.
I spent an hour just oohing and ahhing over the wardrobe, trailing my fingers over fabrics I didn't even know the names of—cool silks, heavy brocades, and knits so soft they felt like clouds.
I tried on a dozen dresses, watching my reflection in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back. Then came the shoes. Dozens upon dozens of them in varying shapes and patterns, from sturdy leather boots to delicate, strappy heels that made me feel three inches taller and infinitely more dangerous.
Even the small bookshelf on the wall felt like a personal gift. I'm not sure how Vane knew what I might like, but my fingers lingered on the first spine—a story about a mystical princess.
I didn't actually read it; I was too electrified by the sheer newness of everything to focus on a plot. Under Grace's tutelage, I even navigated my new phone.
Everything feels surreal. I think this, standing by the window, watching the garden I'd guessed was tucked behind the mansion. It feels like I'm an outsider looking through a thick pane of glass at a life meant for someone else.
How did I go from wearing rags and counting the holes in my floorboards to this? A day ago, I didn't even own a pair of shoes that fit. Now, I have a kingdom in a closet.
Seren would have a literal fit if she saw this.
My mind drifts back to the ceremonial grounds, and it feels like a lifetime ago rather than a couple of hours. I think of the Blood-Claw pack, the mottled veins on that woman's skin, and I have to actively push away the cold sludge of guilt.
I didn't ask for the Goddess to choose me. I didn't tell them to sin against her. But I have to admit... the people blaming me wasn't exactly far-fetched. The virus spread the moment I was rejected. My darkness was the cure, yet it was also the sign of the plague.
"Whew," I sigh loudly, the sound echoing in the silent, expensive room.
I retreat from the window and sink onto the edge of the plush bed. When will Vane be back? Will he even return today, or simply show up tomorrow night to drag me to that ball?
The thought of the ball makes my stomach do a nervous flip. I can already imagine the chaos my appearance will kickstart. The Prince is a madman for trying this, and he's dragging me right into the center of his storm.
I inhale deeply, patting down my yellow sundress. I can't stay in this room anymore. The luxury is starting to feel heavy. It's time for a tour.
When I step out into the hallway, the mansion is eerily quiet. It's only 8:00 PM, yet it feels as though the entire staff has vanished into the shadows. I frown, wondering if they retire this early out of habit or if they're still avoiding the curse in the guest wing.
Shrugging, I make my way toward the back of the house, my bare feet silent on the polished stone floors.
I find a set of glass-paned French doors and push them open. The night air hits me like a physical embrace. It is cool, damp, and smells of freedom. I beeline toward the garden, following a winding path of crushed white stone that bends around beds of well-tended hydrangeas.
The garden under the full moon is a masterpiece of light and shadow. Strategic lanterns are tucked away in the foliage, casting a warm, amber glow that competes with the silver moonlight. The wind carries the scent of wet earth and night-blooming jasmine, making the air taste sweet and wild. Every leaf seems to vibrate with life.
In the center of the clearing, beneath the sprawling canopy of a massive, ancient oak tree, sits a curved wooden bench. I realized as I approached that it isn't just sitting there—it's hinged to the low-hanging branches of the tree, creating a natural, sturdy swing.
I sit, resting my back against the smooth wood, and give a small kick. The bench sways gently. I close my eyes, a genuine smile spreading across my lips.
For the first time in eighteen years, there is no one watching me with hate. No one telling me to hide. There is only the rhythmic creak-creak of the wood and the rustle of the leaves above.
I feel a profound sense of contentment. I've come so far in a single day, and the peace is so thick I can almost taste it.
Too entranced by the swaying motion and the silence of the night, I don't notice the shift in the air. I don't see the shadow stretching across the grass toward me.
I don't know I'm being watched.