Fast update bc i only have 15 mins haha
3 POVs lets gooo
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Quick content warning: gore, abusive relationships, memories of abusive relationships, violence
Treat yourself with kindness, don't read on if you're not at a place where you can handle these concepts ok love u bye
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Evana Renshaw, 19, Coranzorre
"Let! Go! Let go of me, you bastards!" Evana thrashed in the grip of the palace guards, snarling and snapping at them when they got within reach of her mouth. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"
When she didn't get an answer, she thrashed harder. "Hey! Answer me! Where are you–!"
"Shut up," the captain of the guard said coolly, raising a hand.
There was the unmistakably wrong sensation of the flesh on her body rippling as his magic glazed over her, and she recoiled, shuddering. The captain leered down at her, as she shrank away from the feeling, and signalled for them to keep walking.
She made a last-ditch attempt to dig her heels into the plush carpet, but the guard leading her yanked on the chain linked to the iron collar around her throat, and she was forced to stumble after him, coughing. She tried to ask again where they were going, but no words escaped her hoarse throat, so she gave up.
The empty palace halls were eerily quiet as she was frog-marched through them. Only the sound of the jingle of the buckles on the guard's uniforms broke the stared at the unit of guards surrounding her with resentment. The shine of their glossy black boots and clubs at their sides caught the light, every pleat in their burgundy coats immaculate. Even their haircuts were uniform, never a hair out of place.
Evana must have been a sight to see among them, all wild curls and the same old clothes she'd been wearing when she was detained three days ago. Her once sleek red dress had been torn in her struggles, and one of the straps was ripped. Her stilettos had been confiscated too, so she walked barefoot, feet sinking into the thick carpet. Bruises littered her arms and chest, while the gash across her knee had only just begun to scab over.
"Wait a moment," she spoke up in a rasp as they turned into a familiar hallway. "Are we going to the thr–?"
"The throne room," the captain said impassively, barely sparing her a glance.
"The throne–hang on," she protested. "What happened to a trial? What happened to my goddamn rights? Why am I going to the throne room? What's happening?"
"The primor wants to speak with you, apparently," the captain answered with a curled lip. He glanced at her, eyes sharp with disgust. "Can't imagine why."
Her mind raced with this new information. The primor wanted to see her? Was he going to sentence her himself? Or perhaps… She'd heard rumors of assassins being given pardons in exchange for eliminating political enemies. But then again, maybe she shouldn't get her hopes up. She was just as likely to enter this room and come out of it in a body bag.
They came upon the massive gilded double doors, and stopped so the footmen flanking it could push them open.
"Presenting Evana Renshaw, alias Bloodlust," the captain of the guard announced as he strode forward.
A hand appeared on the back of her neck, forcing her into a bow before she could react. She tried to force it away, but it stayed firm.
The primor looked the same as he did the last time they'd seen each other, eye contact on a rooftop as Evana nearly succeeded in putting a bullet through his eldest son's skull. His face was frozen somewhere in a youth long since passed, the same vague age he'd been two years ago, and probably twenty years before that. The uncanny valley in his handsome features made her nose wrinkle in disgust.
"Bloodlust," he said with a slow, stilted smile. "We meet again."
"Hi, Manolo," she greeted coldly. "This was a bit much, don't you think? If you wanted to see me again, you could have just asked to meet up somewhere. We could be having this talk over wine and dinner. But you decided to take that extra mile."
"Apologies, Renshaw," the primor said, head tilting. "Safety precautions, you understand. Not to mention, you are a difficult person to pin down."
"You'll have to forgive me for that," she said, eyes narrowed. "But this is almost exactly what I was hoping to avoid. How did you know I was going to be at the gala?"
"Simple," Primor Brasa-Lascaris said, with an elegant shrug. "Captain Costalez there was the one who hired you to kill the ambassador."
Evana's gaze snapped to the captain, trying to identify his face with her employer. His face was almost completely different, but that didn't mean much in a nation of flesh-shapers.
"You were Henry deLeon?" she asked slowly, her temper simmering. "You hired me to kill the ambassador at the gala?"
"I did," he agreed, and now that she was listening for it, his voice had the same faint northern accent Henry deLeon had when he hired her two weeks ago in a sketchy dive bar.
Her blood boiled in her veins, just shy of literally. More than anything, she hated being deceived; she hated when someone figured out how to pull one over her. It had been a long time since she'd been so careless, and now it was costing her dearly.
"So what?" She spat, all pretense of civility gone. "You tricked me and caught me. Now what do you want? To kill me?"
The primor sighed. "Actually, no."
"Then what, Malo? You need someone to disappear?" she asked, words dripping with acid. Her smile turned sardonic and cruel. "I can get rid of that wife, if you're in want of a newer one."
"That's 'Your Grace' to you," he corrected sharply, eyes going cold. "And that is not why i require your services. In a month's time, the Crown Prince of Hyalus will be holding a competition to find a wife, the future queen."
"You want me to off him?" Evana guessed. "No, wait, you want the other nation's girls to die so your pick can succeed. Fine. Done. Both, if you let me walk."
"None of the above," the primor said. "I want you to compete as one of my picks."
Silence rang out as the words processed. She blinked.
"You're joking." She stared at him. "Tell me you're joking right now."
Primor Brasa-Lascaris shook his head. "You may be a criminal and a murderer, but you are one of our best. I have hundreds of warriors I could send, but your unique mastery of our art makes you a standout. We need those that excel in their craft to represent Coranzorre."
"You don't want me," Evana said, brow knitting. "I'm a killer. I grew up on the street. I don't fall in love. Pick someone else."
"You are just what I need," the primor corrected. "You have a different philosophy, and different way of living that will do well in the competition. I want you to fight dirty and win for your nation."
"My nation?" Evana laughed mirthlessly. "My nation never did a goddamn thing for me! And now you want me to represent it in front of the whole empire?"
"Well," Primor Brasa-Lascaris said, voice going cold. "It's either that, or pay a visit to Baron Samedi down in the underworld."
The invocation of the name of the guardian of death made shivers travel down Evana's spine. She wasn't as superstitious as many of the citizens of Coranzorre, but hearing the name didn't exactly give her the warm-fuzzies.
"So that's it, then? Go participate in this competition with the prince, or die?" She demanded.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. "It's your decision, Renshaw. Choose wisely."
"And what if I don't succeed in the competition?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"You will," the primor said, empty smile never faltering. "Or suffer consequences."
Evana ran the tip of her tongue along her teeth. It wasn't much of a choice. This competition was the only way she'd prolong her life. Perhaps she could even escape while she was there and hide out in Blitzerren for a while, or something.
The fate of staying here and most likely letting Captain Costalez melt the flesh from her bones wasn't in the question. Against all odds, she'd survived this long, and by god, she wasn't looking to stop today. This was what she did: do whatever she had to in order to keep going another day.
"Alright, Manolo," she said, staring him down. "I accept your deal. I'll fight for Coranzorre and win this competition."
His molded lips stretched into a shark-like smile, and Evana resigned herself to her fate. If this was what she had to do, then so be it.
...
Ophelia Finch, 20, Lumetierre
"Lia, dove, I need a moment with you!" The slam of the door as Santino blasted through it made Ophelia jump in her chair, and she barely managed to keep from gasping aloud.
"Yes?" She asked, trying to keep her voice even. She didn't turn to look at him, instead making eye contact with him in the mirror, so as not to disturb the makeup artist working on her face. "What is it?"
"You're dismissed," Santino told the makeup girl, ignoring Ophelia entirely. "You can come back when we're done."
The girl's face fell. "Oh, but there's only five minutes until she goes on, so if I could just–,"
"I'm sorry, did I not make myself clear? You're. Dismissed," Santino said, carefully quiet. His eyes were full of familiar black rage that made Ophelia stiffen like a board in her seat, eyes straight ahead.
"Y–yes, sorry, sorry Mr. Luz, I u-unders-stand," the girl babbled out, scooping up her things and backing out. "I–yes. Sorry. Sorry."
The door closed a little too hard behind her, but Ophelia forced her panicked instinct down. Her heart was picking up speed as she carefully monitored Santino's face in the mirror.
"God, the help really doesn't know their place these days," Santino said with an airy laugh. He grinned at Ophelia like they were sharing a joke. "Everyone thinks they know best, am I right?"
She smiled in agreement as he came closer.
"But I'm your manager. Aren't you lucky? And speaking of, Lia, I have some news," Santino said, hands resting on her shoulders. They were cold against her exposed skin, and goosebumps broke out on her arms. "I've just received an offer about you."
"You did?" She tried not to sound as dismayed as she felt. Her schedule lately had been insane, yielding her about three hours of sleep a night. She couldn't imagine how she could possibly fit in more things to do.
"I did," he agreed. His hands came up to stroke her hair, and arrange it over her left shoulder. She tried not to flinch at the graze of his touch across her neck. "There's going to be a little event at the palace in a month, and Primor Torrid wants you to attend."
"A performance? Is it a full concert, or just–,"
"Quiet, Ophelia," Santino said sharply, pulling just a little too hard on her hair and making her cringe. "Let me finish, dove. There's going to be a Selection for Prince Silas. You remember him, don't you? You met a while back."
"I remember," she agreed. "The Primor wants me to compete?"
"Exactly. Smart girl," Santino said with a smile. "I think it's a good opportunity to put you in the global spotlight. You can do a little competing, get your face in the newspapers, and then you drop out. Easy publicity."
Another publicity stunt. She sighed internally. The last stunt Santino had decided to pull had been an orchestrated relationship with a popular male singer that had resulted in all his fangirls attacking her. She was still dealing with the repercussions of that one, and this one didn't leave a good taste in her mouth either.
"You'll leave in a few weeks for that, and it'll last a couple months," Santino said. "So we'll cancel all the concerts in Prithvi."
"But it's the first time we've ever had tour dates in Prithvi," Ophelia mumbled, staring at her hands. "I was really looking forward to it, and the fans will be so upset."
"Oh, Lia." He laughed lightly, squeezing her shoulders. "Such a good heart. Who cares about a few fans in Prithvi? This is your chance to become a huge superstar, a name in singing history."
"Right," she said, wilting. Right, this was for her career. Sacrifices had to be made. There were always sacrifices to be made.
"Cheer up, dovey, this is a good thing," Santino said reassuringly. His eyes drifted down in the mirror, and he frowned. His tone shifted. "Did I approve that top for tonight?"
She looked down at the shirt she was wearing, caught off guard. "What? Oh, well, no, but the other one was too big so I figured I could just wear this one, it's–,"
"You know the rules, Ophelia," he said sternly, face clouding with darkness. "Always consult me with these things, I know best."
He checked his watch and clucked his tongue in annoyance. "You don't have time to change, it'll have to do. But for god's sake, at least–," Before she could react, he yanked her neckline down, exposing cleavage. "There we go. Alright. That'll do."
Ophelia flinched backward, instinctively covering the exposed skin. As soon as she'd done it, she knew it was the wrong thing to do, and the way his eyes darkened confirmed it.
"Young lady, I'm your father," he snapped. "I don't want to see you reacting that way towards me again. Do you think I'd do something like that to you? Is that what you think of me, Ophelia?"
"No, no, I don't, I was just surprised," she said quickly, heart pounding. "I know you would never hurt me, Santino."
"Hm." His face softened. "Good. Don't forget it. I may be your manager, but I'm your father first. I'm always going to protect you from everything. I'm the only one you can trust."
"I know," she whispered. "I know."
"I love you, kiddo," he said, pulling her into a hug that crushed her against him. "Now, go show them what a superstar you are!"
"Love you too," she said numbly, and then hurried out of the dressing room.
In the brief moment that they'd hugged, she'd taken a reading just as she did every day. Every time she did, she hoped his potential for light would change, hoped she'd find the knowledge that her adoptive father was as good and noble as he wanted her to believe. As she wanted to believe.
But everyday since the first time he'd backhanded her so hard her teeth rattled, she'd found the same results. No matter how much she tried to will it to change, every time she did a reading, she was greeted by more darkness than she'd ever seen. Behind his perfectly Touched face and blinding smile, lay an unending void of darkness that filled her up, like oily tar. It made her sick to feel his capacity for darkness against her magic, but that never stopped her from taking the reading.
One day, she convinced herself as she stepped out onto the stage to a sea of roaring fans. One day it will change. It will.
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Min-hye Noe, 20, Coranzorre
Min-hye sighed as she finally succeeded in shooing the last of the people out of the library. For some reason, they seemed to struggle with the concept that the library wasn't a hotel, and they couldn't stay here all night. No matter how many times she reminded them of the closing hours, they always acted surprised when she had to kick them out.
She locked the front doors and flipped the sign from 'open' to 'closed', and then headed to the back room. There was a book on healing on her desk calling her name. She was one hundred percent she was finally getting close to being able to heal burns, which had proved to be much harder than the minor cuts she'd mastered last month.
Lost in her thoughts, she wandered towards the back room with none of her normal cautiousness. She'd been working on training herself out the instinct for paranoia ingrained in her, which would have been a win on any day except this one.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she reached the door, and she froze, hand still on the doorknob.
That was the feeling that meant–
No. No way. There was no way that was true, her body must have been lying to her. There's no way that–
She whirled around, purely on instinct, just in time to come face to face with the gleaming point of a blade.
"Hey, sister dearest," came a familiar voice. "Sorry to intrude."
Min-hye threw herself flat against the door to get out of stabbing range, and darted to the side to back herself against a corner. Her hands rose naturally, a practice she'd had drilled into her body for years and years, but the moment her magic twitched to life, she stopped it. No. She wasn't going to use her magic against people anymore.
Her hands dropped slowly, even if her heart rate refused to.
Her attacker's face fell, crestfallen. "Ugh, really? I actually thought you might actually attack me for a second. But you're still so pathetic."
Min-hwa looked as beautiful as she ever did, perhaps even more so. Her beauty was just as terrifying as it was in Min-hye's nightmares, with the same narrow-eyed stare and inscrutable smile that was branded in her brain. That smile never wavered, not even when she was watching the light fade from someone's eyes. It made Min-hye's stomach turn to see it again, and every instinct screamed at her to run.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, willing her voice not to shake.
Min-hwa smiled, slow and predatory, and leaned against the desk. Min-hye's desk. Her silver blade danced through the air as she twirled it idly. "Can't sisters visit each other every once and a while, bun bun?"
"Don't call me that," Min-hye snarled, the words coming out without thinking.
"Why not?" Min-hwa asked smugly, eyebrows raised. "You're so soft and weak like a bunny, it fits. Besides, it's not like you're going to stop me. Are you?"
It was a dare, designed to bait her into attacking. Instead of falling for it, she took a deep breath to settle her nerves and tucked her hands behind her back.
"No, I'm not," she said, steely firm. "So what do you want, Min-hwa? Did Mom send you to get rid of me?"
"Unfortunately, no." Min-hwa's eyes narrowed. "I've been sent to tell you about the Selection you're attending next month."
She reeled. "The what?"
"Seems as though the crown prince is having a competition to find his wife," Min-hwa said offhandedly. "Coranzorre needs to send three representatives, and Mom advised you."
"Me? You're her favorite, why doesn't she send you?" Min-hye said, crossing her arms defensively. "I thought the disowning made it pretty clear she didn't want to have anything to do with me."
Her sister's face darkened. "Believe me, I wish they had picked me. But apparently I 'don't fit the position'. Something about not being soft enough. They don't think the prince could love me."
"Probably because you're a total psychopath," Min-hye mumbled.
"Probably," Min-hwa agreed with a smile that showed too many teeth. "But it pays to be a psychopath, bun bun. How many houses do you own again, Min-hye?"
"Is that all you came to say?" she asks tersely instead of answering. "Are you done?"
"That's all," Min-hwa said, tossing her knife into the air and catching it lazily. "And hey, I heard they got Bloodlust to be one of the other representatives. Don't let her outshine you."
"Bloodlust is your nemesis, isn't she, Wraith?" Min-hye said, her words dripping with acid at her sister's title. "Don't ask me to resolve your dirty laundry."
"My nemesis or not, you can't let the family down, Spectre," Min-hwa sneered, lip curling when Min-hye flinched. "And you are Spectre again, by the way, whether you like it or not. Your job is going to be to go in there and prove you're the best. You're going to have to train and fight again."
"I don't have to do anything," Min-hye said lowly. "You and Mom don't get to control me anymore."
"Oh, don't we?" In a flash, there was a blade against her throat, and the full weight of Min-hwa's body slammed her against the wall. Her eyes were pitch-black, even up close, and they gleamed brightly.
Min-hye's magic was in her hands in a second, but once again, she stopped herself just before she lashed out. She didn't want that, and Min-hwa wasn't going to kill her, not when their mother needed her.
That was the logical part of Min-hye's brain speaking. The rest of her body was effectively going into panic mode at the proximity and danger of the situation. Her chest heaved with terrified breaths, and she leaned as far away from her sister as possible.
"You remember, don't you?" Min-hwa crooned, burning stare never leaving her face. "The last time? I can tell you do. The way your flesh warped. The way that pretty little face crumpled."
The carefully restrained memories slammed into her like a torrent, overwhelming her in a second. The bird's neck in her hand, so fragile. The way she'd tried to will herself to squeeze, and how she'd failed. The disgust in her mother's eyes. And then the crunch as Min-hwa snapped the bird's neck like it was nothing.
Her mother's ruby-painted lips as she spoke the fateful command: Do as you wish, Min-hwa. Teach your sister a lesson.
"Stop," Min-hye gasped out, tears burning in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice echoed simultaneously with that night, her mind split between two moments. "Stop, please, stop it."
Min-hwa scoffed, letting up off her sister. "Just as I thought. You're as weak as you've always been. I don't know what mother was thinking to choose you over me."
Min-hye couldn't even find anything snappy to say, hollowed out with the onslaught of memories the moment had triggered.
"If you fail, you know there will be consequences," Min-hwa said, sheathing her dagger. Her smile widened. "Let me assure you, I've become much more creative since the last time Mom let us play together."
"I won't. I won't fail," Min-hye said hoarsely, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Oh, bun bun." Min-hwa's head tilted in fake sympathy. "You don't have a choice."
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Okay, 3 pretty heavy POVs, but let me know what you think.
Also: SUBMISSIONS ARE OFFICIALLY CLOSED! Those with reservations can keep working on their forms, but I am not accepting any new submissions or reservations, thank you for your understanding.
Sorry to be brief, I'm on a time crunch haha. See you next week!
