A deadly fae assassin needs to uncover the truth about her existence while also carrying out the task she's hired for. Only, she never planned to fall in love with the biggest adversary in her mission-or rather fall in love at all.
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Larkspur i...
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The smell of burning wood is strong in the air. The crackling sound of the dying flames echoes everywhere. There is a strange metallic tang in the air, something I had never felt and it burns the taste into my tongue. I take a step forward. There is nothing to be seen ahead of me, except pockets of fire in places, seething like jealousy in its rawest form. The atmosphere is silent—like death.
"Petunia?"
No answer.
I take a step forward.
"Gerbera?"
No answer.
Something crunches under my feet. In the flickering light, it appears white and brittle, almost like—a human bone. I scream in fright and start running, not away from the distant flames, but towards it. Why are there no people? Why aren't people screaming? Where is everyone?
Through my foggy vision, the surroundings become even more distinct. Charred bodies are lying around like rotten fruit waste from the daily market—unrecognizable, skin melting into each other, stuck together, hugging, crashing, burning, screaming silently—frozen in the last attempt to escape before the fire annihilated every single one of them.
"Rosemary—Lily—Anyone? Hello?" I scream in vain, tears streaming down my soot-covered cheeks, but I keep running, running away from the cluster, towards that one solitary cottage, hoping against hope that they might have missed something. And a blaze lights up just in front of my eyes. I sprint faster. A shadow clad in black emerged from somewhere. Our eyes met. There is only one expression in those merciless eyes—hatred—disgust. The man doesn't stop. I scream at him disappearing into the woods. But my scream is drowned by another cry–a cry so guttural that nature seems to freeze for a second.
"Mamaaaaa!" I wail, leaping over the last few stones on the path. There's a hand on the glass of the window and our house is burning like the bonfire of the spring dance, except the only thing dancing were the flames and death—hand in hand.
"Mamaaaa"
My fingers fly in the air like strumming the strings of some invisible guitar. Purple flames blaze from the centre of my palm. My veins are throbbing with anger and the flames form a coil of lavender that wraps around my arms and my body, exuding an unearthly purple glow. I hurl the magic at our cottage, putting every last bit of my energy into the spell.
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