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

Heavy laughter filtered through the cottage like sunlight through mist, warm and unfamiliar, rousing Aricia from her slumber. The sound was so foreign, so impossibly lighthearted, that it didn’t register at first as real. 


Her lashes fluttered open slowly, and she blinked against the brightness seeping through the thin windowpanes. Dust motes floated lazily in the golden stream of light, giving the room a surreal, peaceful atmosphere. 


The murmur of voices drifted to her ears—feminine and amused, laced with the occasional deeper register—and her feet found the floor before her mind was fully awake. The worn wood creaked beneath her as she padded toward the doorway, each step pulling her closer to clarity. 


She paused at the edge of the living room, a yawn caught halfway in her throat. 


"Madame Freya?" she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as her brain finally began to piece the scene together. 


Chapter 82| A Lovely Morning