Shrieks of joy echo through the black cottage. Willa smiles, sipping on her veratrum wine; a drink only to be consumed by poisoners. One day soon, little Arsinoe will be able to drink that. She already plucks at the berries in the bushes.My Arsinoe. My girls.Willa frowns as she hears a high pitched Katherine wails, her little hands pushing at Mirabella. The girl does not budge; instead, she just focuses. And it's clear to see what is using up her energy. The wind howls around the three infants, strong and uncontrollable. "Mirabella." Willa says softly. The girl does not budge. "Mirabella!" she raises her voice, grabbing the girl as softy as she can. She is still an infant. The girl is crying, her cheeks flushed, her raven hair a mess. She looks pleadingly at her with her dark eyes.

"I don't want to go, Willa. Never!" Willa sighs, then tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I shouldn't have told you, Mira..." she sighs, frustrated. In a month today, her girls will be gone. They were never your girls in the first place. "It will be okay. You'll be with nice people, and they can teach you about your gifts. Make you stronger." Willa smiles, trying to reassure her. But Mirabella had always been a clever girl.

"But I want to be with Katharine and Arsinoe!" She wails. Willa just embraces her, lost for words. There are none that will matter, or hold any semblance of the truth.

A month turns to two weeks. Then ten days. Four. Two.

Six hours.

The midwife keeps herself busy with braiding three sets of identical black hair, welcoming the ache that infects her hands. A distraction. She distracts herself plenty, preparing breakfast, knitting, fixing the girls clothes. Doing anything but checking the time.

They came anyway. Katharine and Arsinoe, the innocent and naive girls, thought it was just the daily deliveries; cakes, bread, milk, cold meat. Willa only wished it was. Reality was a hard thing to face. Especially for children. Mirabella already had a mind way past her body- intuitive and clever. She began to whimper, clutching her sisters hands tightly. It felt like bringing tears to her eyes, the fact that these close triplets were destined to be enemies. It wasn't fair. But the island was long since fair; not with the Arrons on the council.

Poisoners can't rule. You should've swapped them when you had the chance.

Willa mentally shook herself, ignoring the little bitter voice in her head. There were more important things, like the fact the Arrons weregoing to take Arsinoe and corrupt her, make her twisted and disturbed. Not a little girl. Not my girl.

Were they ever?

As the families arrived, Katharine began to cry; sniffling, loud sobs, like only an infant could. Willa looked at her, trying to make herself look reassuring, but her face was blank. The tense atmosphere in the air wasn't only emotional, too. Mirabella had created dark clouds that blanketed the sun, mirroring the mood that lingered in the air. Her face seemed strained and focused, but she was strong, stronger than a six year old should be, even if that six year old was a queen. The Westwood's looked delighted at this fierce display, if a little surprised. The Poisoners looked disgusted, as they always seemed to do. Willa couldn't believe she was one of them. The Naturalists just looked eerily calm, like a clear reflection of nature. A little girl held Caragh Milones hand, with beautiful eyes, one blue, one green. She looked shy but angry, full of power, at the same time. The midwife made a mental note to look out for her in the future.

Natalia Arron, the regal woman who everyone had heard the rumours about, stepped forward, wearing all black. The colour of Queens. She had a permanent scowl, but that was all a facade. Willa had heard Camille reminisce, remembering the lost relationship that was forbidden. Natalia was broken. And the broken are the more evolved. "Which ones ours?" She asked, her voice cool as she gestured towards the triplets, tightly huddled together, eyes wide with fear. Arsinoe looked towards her sisters, apologetic, and then stumbled forwards, tripping over her dress.

My little Arsinoe. Not afraid of anything.

She took the Arrons hand, refusing to look back. The girl didn't know what she had willingly gave herself to, didn't know what she had to do. Willa wanted to shout, and scream, and rush up to her girl and pull her into her arms, tell her the dangers of the world. But she did not. They were only things that a mother could do, and these girls had no mother. They were royal, sacred. Children of the Island. It would be sacrelige to say the things that Willa so desperately wanted to say. Those three little words were stuck on her tongue, and they would be forever. As Arsinoe sat down in the ornately decorated carriage, sitting in complete silence, Willa turned back to the remaining triplets. Katharine, the youngest and smallest, cowered under the eyes of so many yearning people, each expecting the weight of the world on her shoulders. Mirabella clung tightly to her arm, her face masked with stress and pain. Horrible sounds echoed from the sky above, along with momentary flashes that lit up everyone's faces; making even the most horrible situations entrancing and beautiful. Mira started to shake, her skin losing its color. An audible gasp came from the Westwood's, this display perhaps more impressive than some of their most talented elementals. But it was nowhere near safe. "Mira. Mira, you need to stop." Willa hissed, her voice seething with a blend of emotions. The girl looked at her, silent tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. This wouldn't last for much longer. Willa took hold of her delicate hand, tracing patterns around it. "It's okay. It's okay. You'll be okay." She repeated the meaningless lies to the girl, looking her directly in her eyes. Mira didn't want to give up, but exhaustion was an overwhelming factor. She mouthed something intelligible, and then fell to the floor, her legs bending into an awkward position. Willa cursed silently, and then cradled her into her arms, fighting the urge to kiss her on her forehead, or hug her and never let go.

"Enough." Sara Westwood murmured, her face unreadable. The midwife let go of her girl, her hands tingling and weak. She noticed dimly that Katharine was already in her carriage, sobbing into her dress. Willa couldn't say anything. There was nothing to say that wouldn't get her executed.

When the carriages had left, and the girls had gone, the woman who had been hurt time and time again and had never healed sat on the gravel, her face swollen and her cheeks red.

My girls.