angel_writes00

A story about a place that neither exists in maps or history books, this place was called Athame.

•••

"The root of every fear is the unknown, yet how can one fear what they cannot grasp? Tch... how misleading." His voice, deep and rough, sent an involuntary shiver through her as he closed the distance between them with deliberate steps, his presence suffocating in its intensity.

With a slow, predatory grace, his fingers brushed along her jaw, settling on a strand of her scarlet hair, his touch deceptively tender. "Knowing me will matter little," he whispered darkly, his breath warm against her skin. "For even in the shadows of uncertainty, you will come to fear... and desire me all the same."

•••

Aricia, born with extraordinary abilities in a world that fears anything out of the ordinary, was destined for a marriage alliance to secure peace between kingdoms. 

But on the day of her engagement, her entire family is slaughtered—by the very family she was meant to marry into. 

Grief-stricken and consumed by vengeance, Aricia swore to destroy those who betrayed her. She would wield the very power they had feared against them, seeking justice with no mercy. After years on the run, she found shelter within an elemental clan, hiding her abilities and keeping to the shadows.

But her carefully constructed peace shattered in a single moment. A burning touch, a chance encounter with his haunting gray eyes—an unknown force within her stirred, threatening to unravel her carefully guarded secrets and the fragile balance of magic, madness, and vengeance she had built....

Vengeance Through Passion

Her breathing came slowly at first, as though she fought to remain in the realm of dreams a little longer. But reality tugged at her consciousness like an unseen hand, pulling her upward through layers of haze and memory. Her brows furrowed softly. Then, with a faint sigh, her eyes fluttered open. 


Blinking against the soft, pale light above her, she yawned—long and languid—then stretched her aching limbs. Each movement carried the dull weight of exhaustion, the stiffness of one who had slept too long in an unnatural position. Her muscles groaned in protest, and her joints cracked slightly as her arms extended overhead. The surface beneath her was cool and firm—smooth stone, not the earthy softness of a forest floor. 


She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, her surroundings coming into focus in hazy fragments. 


Chapter 72| A Silent Memory