Locwitary – 512 years before Cassandra's arrival

It had been almost two weeks since that small group of poils passed by, but Kyia still could not ease her worries regarding their presence. With the evening fast approaching, the brunette sat outside her tent as the cooling wind softly graced her pale skin. Staring at the seemingly infinite landscape before her, she wondered what the future would be like for her and her daughter.

This terrible war between both sides had been raging for some time now. Fawns were beginning to die at a staggering pace, and the number of poils lost was way worse. While only a small number of fawns had taken it upon themselves to push back against the aggression, their substantial powers balanced the death count. Stories had begun to spread about individual women who could tear apart an entire town's worth of men in a single clash.

Heads torn from torsos. Arms and legs plucked out like eyelashes. Organs and bones crushed beneath an invisible wall of power. Skin seared in torrents of blue fire.

It was all so unimaginable to believe. Fawns were never supposed to commit those kinds of actions, yet tradition had been shattered amidst the threat of all being lost.

Kyia wanted no part of it.

A voice from behind stole her attention immediately. "Are you okay?"

She sighed, raising her shoulders and letting them go with one, sweeping breath as she sat there. Kyia's emerald eyes drifted around the edge as she softened her posture and continued to glance at the mountains ahead. "Yes, dear Oenella," she answered in a low tone, which hinted at her mental exhaustion. "I am just taking some time to myself."

"You have been taking more than just some time," Oenella responded as she joined her. "Is something on your mind?"

Another shrug. "When is there something not?"

Oenella tried to ease the mood with a shallow giggle. She had been watching her close friend over the last couple of days. Whenever Kyia grew stressed, she became quiet. Meals were no longer filled with hearty conversation. No sparkle in her eyes to display her happiness. Something was bothering the woman.

"Kalennia is fast asleep," Oenella said. "Vattia is still watching her."

Kyia's eyes remained straight ahead, despite how the two ladies sat shoulder to shoulder. The mention of her beloved daughter appeared to stir something up within her. "Do you think that it is fair to Kalennia that she has to be born into this world?"

Oenella turned her head. "What do you mean?"

The corners of Kyia's mouth rolled. She didn't look happy to even mention her thoughts. "We got to grow up happily in that commune. There was no war. No reason for us to worry about the future. Everything just seemed... promising."

"The future is always uncertain, Kyia," Oenella assured her. "War or no war, we are born, and we live our lives as much as we can. The flock calls us all in the end. We will always fly when our bodies are no longer."

Kyia shut her eyes. "The flock…"

"Do you doubt the teachings of our elders?" Oenella expressed some concern, worrying that Kyia, a once deeply committed surge, had now begun to doubt the very principles that she built herself upon. "Kyia?"

"I just…" Kyia shook her head, gazing at the deepening hue of the Specter Moons above. "Whether we join the flock after death or not, I do not care. I just want to know if I brought my daughter into an existence where she will suffer."

"You say that like it is your own intentional doing, Kyia. You cannot control the world. Nature and poils are of their own will." Oenella turned her head to glance at the landscape with her. "But I cannot resign myself to the belief that what we see in front of us was constructed to cause suffering."

"And yet, suffering is prevalent," Kyia stated. "As a mother, I must protect my child, but what will happen when I am gone? What event will befall my little bird when she is an adult?" The brunette shuddered as she stared at the ground. "She never asked to be here, but through my womb, I brought her to life. Tell me how her pain is not my fault."

"Because it isn't, Kyia!" Oenella placed her hand on the woman's shoulder to calm her down, fearing that she was about to cry. "You do this to yourself all the time. Stop believing that you must bear the weight of everything that happens around you. You have a daughter, and you love her. Your worries are born from that love. We will protect Kalennia, I promise."

Kyia took a long breath before she rose to her feet, leaving Oenella sitting on the ground next to her. As she dusted off her gown, the brunette turned her focus back to the tent where her child was sleeping. "Protecting Kalennia is what I fear the most. You know what that means, right?"

Oenella slowly nodded her head.

Kyia merely let out a spark of flame from the tips of her fingers, taking a second to process just how pure the fire was. Never in all of Locwitary's history had there been a surge that displayed such an intense level of power. She kept most of it to herself, knowing what could happen if she were to utilize her full potential.

"What if I had to?" Kyia asked. "Maybe not now, but in the future? What would she think?"

"She'd know that you did it out of love."

"But would she still love me?"

Castle Dimitrescu – January 23rd, 2021

Daniela walked through the dungeons beneath Castle Dimitrescu, her heels clicking against the uneven stone floor. The air down there was thick with the stench of old blood and decay, a smell that once thrilled her but now felt almost nostalgic. There used to be a time when this place was rife with fresh bodies. Poor unfortunate souls who made a simple mistake and sealed their fates.

Days that were long gone once the population in the village shrank. It had been two months since the last maid had been dragged down there, but the husk of her corpse still hung from the ceiling. Daniela fancied it as a testament to the past, even though there was hardly any flesh left along her bones. Wrapped up in burlap, her eternal sentence was to rot.

Daniela paused in front of one of the cells, her amber eyes narrowing as she gazed at the iron bars coated in a rust of dried blood. She reared her head forward and inhaled what was left of the aroma.

I can still taste the maid.

Back then, the staff had all been playthings, meant to sate the hunger and amusement of the three sisters. Life had been simple, with the only concerns being who would get to kill which maid, whose turn it was to draw the first blood, and how long they could make the victim last before breaking.

Those women were always replaceable. If one died, another was hired to take her place.

But now, fewer screams echoed through the halls. The core dynamic of the castle remained unchanged, but there was now the consideration for the staff's lives. Senseless slaughter would only place the castle in greater peril during the coming months. Mutilation was off the table as well. The hunger was still there, always gnawing at the insides of the three daughters like a feral animal. Even if there was food in their insatiable bellies, it wasn't as fun without the games.

Maybe that was why Cassandra had been acting so different lately. Daniela could be too certain.

With a soft, discontented sigh, Daniela let her gaze drift over the cell. More dried blood painted the floor, streaked across the old wooden bench and up the wall. She raised a hand and pressed her gloved fingers against the bars, feeling the barriers that the desperate captives could never defeat. Slowly, her form dissolved, her flesh melting away into a cloud of flies that buzzed and hummed as they drifted through the gaps.

She reformed on the other side, her body morphing back together in just seconds. She stood in the center of the cramped cell, glancing around at the filth-ridden walls, the dried fecal matter in the corner, and the hardened pieces of flesh that had escaped the mouths of the trio like crumbs.

For a moment, she simply stood there as her mind wandered back to the past. How many times had she and her sisters phased into these very cells to feast on those who thought they could escape? It had been exhilarating, the taste of fear mixing with the copper tang of blood. There had been no need to hold back, no reason to show mercy. They were the rulers of this castle, the apex predators, and the humans were nothing but food.

We used to be unstoppable. Ugh, so many great times down here. Cassandra would spend all day in this dungeon if she could. As a matter of fact, she did.

Her thoughts then drifted to Delia, her most trusted maid. Unlike the others, Delia had been spared the cruel fate that befell so many who worked as her personal aide. It wasn't out of kindness, no. Delia had earned her place through loyalty. She had proven that she would willingly do what was expected of her without orders, but that didn't mean commands weren't to be handed down.

Discipline was no stranger to the girl, either, but compared to the maids that Daniela had killed over the years, Delia's slights were miniscule at best. She could look past it—even when she chose not to.

Daniela often found herself intrigued by Delia to the point where she deliberately tested her, seeing how far Delia's loyalty would stretch, but in the end, the auburn-haired servant always met the expectations set forth. Perhaps it was that Delia was a rarity—something worth preserving in a world that offered little but fleeting pleasures.

Daniela danced with the temptation of violence so often, but to kill Delia meant taking a plunge off a cliff. There was a sort of mental barrier in the way. It almost didn't seem natural.

What am I to do with her in the end? These girls are not meant to last forever, right?

A faint whistling sound broke through Daniela's thoughts, pulling her attention away from her musings. She cocked her head to the side, listening intently to the noise that she had just heard. The sound was soft, barely noticeable over the usual ambient noises of the dungeon, but it was there—persistent, almost beckoning.

A sly smile curled at the corners of Daniela's lips. Perhaps she wasn't alone down here after all.

With a low, sinister giggle, her body once again dissolved into a swarm of flies as she phased through the cell bars and reappeared in the hall. Her feet touched the cold stone silently, her sickle now in hand as she began to stalk through the dimly lit corridor.

The hunger called to her. It had been too long since she had indulged. The thought alone made her mouth water, and her grip on the sickle tightened as she followed the sound, her ears honing in on the faint whistling that seemed to drift from somewhere deeper within the dungeon.

She moved silently, her eyes scanning the shadows as she passed by cell after cell. It had to be coming from somewhere close.

The whistling grew louder, more distinct. Daniela's pulse quickened in anticipation, her body humming with the thrill of the hunt. This must have been how Cassandra felt whenever she tracked deer, the redhead figured. How amazing it would be if she could one day replicate her sister's skillset.

Daniela rounded the corner, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she prepared to pounce on whatever poor soul had wandered into her lair.

Die!

But when she reached the source of the sound, she was met with nothing.

What?

The cell before her was empty, save for another withered corpse slumped against the far wall. The dried-out remains were barely more than bones wrapped in skin, a remnant of a life long extinguished. The whistling had stopped, replaced by the abrupt silence that was to follow.

Daniela's face twisted into a scowl. There was no one here—no fresh prey, no intruder to toy with, just the empty life that had already been drained of every last drop.

She let out a low growl of frustration, her sickle swaying at her side as she paced the length of the cells. The hunger was now more ravenous than ever, but there was no one to sate it on. She had been so sure, so ready to tear into something, to feel the rush of power that came with the kill.

But there was nothing. Nothing but silence and shadows.

She glanced at the dried-out corpse again, her lip curling in disgust. Once, this would have satisfied her. Once, she wouldn't have cared that the prey was already dead and that the blood had long since dried into flakes. She would have taken pleasure in the remnants, but to even bite onto the shriveled skin wouldn't suffice.

It felt empty. Hollow.

With a frustrated snarl, Daniela turned away from the cell and stormed down the dark hallway. The dungeon felt suffocating. It was almost as if she were a prisoner within its confines. A sudden twist from the reality she once knew. The nauseating presence of the walls around her pressed deeper, threatening to crush her body if they could actually move.

She needed to feed. Blood was the only thing that could hopefully bring her mind back on track.

Her thoughts then returned to Delia once more. Perhaps... perhaps Delia would do. She had been spared for so long, but maybe it was time to change that. Maybe it was time to remind her maid of the price of serving the Dimitrescu family. Loyalty had its boundaries, and no boundary was insurmountable.

Delia… I am so sorry.

Perhaps there was another way. Daniela stopped in her tracks, thinking about how pointless it would be to just slaughter Delia without hesitation. A different kind of game could be played. One that didn't involve bloodshed—at least, not immediately.

With a sly grin, Daniela sheathed her sickle and began making her way back toward the upper levels of the castle. There was no point in lingering down here any longer. The dungeon had given her nothing but empty promises and dead memories.

Dead memories and dead bodies are neither worth revisiting.

But above was Delia. And there was always the chance of finding something worthwhile with her.

The Library

Kyia looked on at Delia as the young woman dusted the shelves, watching her with a sense of curious intent. There was something about the way the girl conducted herself that stuck out to the fawn. How could a person who was often confined with one of those dreaded noblewomen for hours on end still be alive, much less appear sane?

After just a few days, Kyia felt like she was ready to lose her mind, but if Delia could manage, then surely there had to be a way to overcome this. What complicated matters further, however, was the notion that the servant did not seem to be plotting a way out.

Did part of her enjoy this? Kyia didn't know for sure. The mere thought of it made her want to spit. To even think that either of the Dimitrescu daughters could be looked at as anything close to a friend was the most unnatural feeling. Back in Serpenmoor, Bela had the benefit of having her past concealed by the situations at hand. But when Kyia regained the first spark of her powers and she touched the blonde's hand, it was all brought out into the open.

Delia had established that she knew full and well about what this wretched family was doing, so there was no ignorance to hide behind.

If not, then what was her secret?

"You don't get to socialize with the other girls then, don't you?" Kyia asked as she flicked one of the curly locks of dark hair that dangled from her forehead.

Delia simply tilted her head near her shoulder, revealing only the tip of her nose past those bushy curls. "Not as often as I'd prefer. They're really nice, but my duties keep me here."

With a hum, Kyia nodded as she continued to rest her hips against the edge of the sofa nearby. With her arms crossed, the slender brunette was deep in thought, plotting her next approach. "Isolation is a sad thing. I didn't have many friends myself. Just a few brothers and nothing more, and even they weren't that close to me. To be the only daughter in my family was... belittling, to say the least."

Delia stopped with her task right then and there. She suddenly looked so curious. Hook, line, and sinker. "Why didn't your brothers hold you close?"

With a bit of a curl to her faltering grin, Kyia shrugged a shoulder as she shook her head. "I've been asking myself that question for thirty-six years, and I have yet to arrive at a conclusion. But they did, and I grew up feeling like I was by myself, even if I wasn't."

Kyia's true past was the complete opposite. She had grown up as an only child. The concept of brothers was impossible. All fawns were female, and they could only continue to produce females. There had never been a male fawn ever in Locwitary's history. No lie that the brunette cooked up could have ever made such a reality feasible.

But in a world like this, where her past was a blank painting that she could always reset, Kyia's words shaped her past alone. Delia wouldn't know a thing—only what Kyia wanted her to believe. The fawn needed to blend in as best as possible, and what better way to do so than being so tragically general?

Toss in a few sentences, and the mind will shape the rest. That was all it took.

"I am so sorry," Delia said, trying her best to emphasize with Kyia's alleged struggles. "My family and I were close. I haven't seen them in quite a while, but I imagine that they would still hug me like they did the day I left to work here."

Kyia spoke with a soft voice. "Your family loves you."

"But did yours?"

Kyia shut her eyes and drew a long breath. "It was so long ago. One could argue that the concept of love would survive after so many years, but I just try to not think about it. I hope, but whether they did or not doesn't change where I am now."

"The thought of my family is what keeps me going," Delia remarked, seeking to establish some common ground between herself and the newest maid. "On my worst days, when I'm ready to just give up, I think of them. I remind myself of what I must fight for. Surely, you must have something that you fight for, right?"

Kyia paused.

All she could think about was her deceased daughter.

The fawn's breath shut down, choked beyond its ability to escape. If one were to have been looking at her with keen eyes, they would have noticed the subtle twitch of her brow. But Kyia quickly returned to her usual neutral expression. She couldn't afford to display even the slightest glint of the truth.

But inside, she knew that Kalennia was the only thing that had been good to her in this life. There was no way she could undo what happened that terrible morning, but in its wake, she had discovered her true purpose—to continue living.

The war between poils and fawns had reached its peak during the later years. There had never been a surge as strong and as powerful as Kyia. None of the magical women could ever dream of harnessing flames as intense as hers, but even when she and the others convened to escape their world, she continued to abstain from violence for the sake of her late daughter.

It would have taken nothing for her to fly over the fields and scorch those groups of men into ashes. Kyia understood how intricately she would weave her strings of force. A swipe of her hand would cleave several poils in half, had she carried the will to do so.

But the fawn wanted nothing with the war. All she yearned for was the chance to start over and try again. If Kalennia's life had been so senselessly snuffed out, then it was up to her to ensure that she could one day find the peace that she wished her daughter could have had.

Perhaps, in her new world, she could conceive with a man, thus breaking the string of powers that caused the fawns to be so reviled. It was impossible for poils and fawns to procreate together, but through the barriers of the realms and the exotic nature of those who inhabit the other worlds, the possibilities were endless.

Kyia wanted a family. People she could love. What happened in Serpenmoor when she arrived there and everything that happened after... changed her.

But at her core, she was still Kyia.

"Everything that I am fighting for is right here," Kyia replied. "Standing in front of you."

Delia grinned as she tilted her head downward. "You speak so fluently. You must be very educated."

Kyia chuckled, showcasing a break from her cold demeanor. "Thanks. I'd like to think so, but... It doesn't help me much here."

"I would love to learn more about the world," Delia said.

Kyia's smile widened. "As would I."

Delia momentarily glanced toward the doorway, knowing that her master would likely be arriving any minute soon. She and Kyia had spent plenty of time chatting, and it was reasonable to assume that the maid would be expected to return to the kitchen shortly.

"I have had a lot of fun speaking with you," Delia told her. "Surely, you can come back with my next meal anytime you'd like."

Kyia exhaled, aware of how the conversation was turning. "This has been a comforting break from the rest of the day." She pushed her body off the edge of the sofa and began to walk past Delia. "One that I would gladly repeat."

As she reached the door on her way out, Delia's voice broke the air. "Uhm… Kyia?"

The fawn turned around, her thin eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

Delia paused, unsure if she should continue with what she was about to say. But her nervousness took a backseat to the spotlight that she had just placed on herself. She was committed now to finishing it. Whether or not Kyia agreed was a different story.

"Do you think that we could count ourselves as friends?"

It took a second or two before Kyia spoke. A second or two to contemplate everything that she could do.

"I'd like to think so." She bid her farewell with a warm smile, turning away once she saw the same expression bloom across Delia's face. It was all she needed to count this visit as a success.

She now had a friend.

Now, she just had to find out if her new friend could get her out of here.

The Village

With the shovel gripped tightly in her increasingly numb hand, Narratha glared at the piles of dirt at her feet. Her mind was wrapped around the father and daughter who had approached her earlier. Elena, her name was. The core of the apple was not far away, thrown to the side into the snow. That small act of kindness could not tear itself away from the redhead's brain.

What was the point?

With a grunt, Narratha plunged the head of the shovel into the snow. She had to keep the cold blankets of white away from the stalks, lest these feeble villagers starve during the coming season. The weather in this world was abhorrent. How could creatures expect to live in such conditions?

She wished for nothing more than to return to the warm climate of Locwitary. As much as she had hated that world, there was no denying how comfortable it could be.

Narratha shoveled more of the snow over her shoulder, flinching when the flakes landed on her freckled cheeks. If only she could regain her powers, then she would be able to combat this freezing wind. A fawn's flame. There was nothing brighter. Nothing hotter.

What would it take to regain such abilities?

Locwitary – Two years before Cassandra's arrival

"Priechtor!" shouted the young blonde fawn as she watched her friend get slammed into the trunk of the tree nearby. The poil had tried to put up a fight against the vicious redhead, who had descended and attacked them without warning or cause.

The man was a strong fellow—twenty-eight in age and firm in build—but it did nothing to protect him against the violence that Narratha could inflict. With the strength of her powers, her energy wrapped itself around his left arm and twisted it beyond shape. His ongoing shouts of pain rocketed across the forest until they abruptly ended when his body was hurled into the bark.

His blood-riddled face glowed under the rays of the Spector Moons above. The impact had not been fatal, but his body was broken. The man twitched and convulsed as globs of crimson drained out from his nostrils. His airflow had been cut off, threatening to drown him in his own fluids. The failed chest that the strike had left him with created an uneven balance of lung inflation. His ribs had to have been shattered. If he wasn't about to die, chances were that the burst lung would have created a large pocket of air in his chest cavity.

Narratha had guaranteed him several ways of dying, but she sealed the deal as soon as she walked past him. As soon as her palm spread over his face, the immense weight of her powers vibrated outward from her skin and pressed down upon him. His face exploded in an array of pink and red gore. All movement ceased in an instant.

The fawn who had accompanied him during this routine walk in the wilderness had been left into total mental anguish. She buckled down in the presence of the murderous member of her kind. How, she wondered? How could another fawn be pressed to commit such a vile act?

Through her seemingly endless tears, the blonde readied her powers to defend herself. But she wasn't a surge, nor would any of her magic even compare to what Narratha had cultivated over the last eight years. At the first flicker of blue light, her assailant was quick to quell such a resistance.

The girl was too distressed to react in time, which allowed Narratha the chance to withdraw her sword and cut off her right hand. A sharp swing, enhanced by the stolen powers that the redhead bore. The blade cleaved through her ligaments with ease.

As soon as the severed hand fell onto the ground, the fawn stumbled forward and fell onto her knees, screaming as loudly as she could.

Glaring down at her prey, Narratha slowly turned her head back to the man whom she had just killed. The mere sight of these two together sickened her to no end. With a curl to her lip, her face morphed into a wrathful grimace as her focus returned to the fawn.

"Friends?" Narratha asked in a dull voice. "Lovers?"

The girl just kept screaming. Narratha allowed the melody to play out for a dozen more seconds while she contemplated the truth. It was only when her mind continued to arrive at the same conclusion that she brought her sword forward and angled it under the blonde's chin, slowly lifting her head up. Through the torture, the young woman managed to open her eyes, those emerald irises meeting those of her attacker.

Two fawns, neither of whom had ever met before. Yet, that did not stop one from going out of her way to harm the other. The girl could not fathom why. What had she ever done to warrant such a ruthless display of hate?

"He's my friend," the girl sobbed, still glaring back at Narratha. "I wanted to tell him... that I loved him today."

With a grunt, Narratha lowered her sword, allowing the girl's head to rest back down.

The injured fawn continued. "You took all of that away from me."

"He would have never loved you," Narratha stated. "Poils do not hold love in their hearts."

"What gives you the right to decide that?" The fawn glanced back at her one final time. "What gave you the right... to do any of this?"

The vengeful killer would entertain no argument. Her only response at that moment was to rear her sword back and send it forward. The tip of the blade pierced the woman's sternum with ease, tunneling further into her body until it erupted through her heart. The fawn shook silently as the wound deepened but gasped once the redhead withdrew her weapon.

The blood poured forth from her gown like a fountain of red. Narratha watched as her victim slowly lost control of herself, gradually slipping down until she rested on her side. With a hum, the killer sat down on the dirt beside her, continuing to spectate as the young fawn slowly slipped away into the abyss.

She didn't say anything until she was certain that the woman was dead. "I give myself that right. Fawns like you play with fire, the likes of which no surge can harness. How many true fawns did I save by erasing your mentality?"

The deceased fawn's eyes were still, devoid of any signs of life. Narratha had seen that sort of stare before. She had stopped counting just how many fawns she had murdered over the years. It wasn't as substantial as the poils she had killed, but the product of her work could not be ignored.

Fawns were a shrinking kind. Their numbers had been next to nothing ever since that war centuries ago. With the occasional clash with poils still occurring every now and then, she knew that eventually they would go extinct. With the way so many of them preached kindness and forgiveness, only to be betrayed and brutally harmed, Narratha believed that a change was in order.

"Must I kill a hundred sisters to save one who understands the cost of such blindness?" She lamented as the scent of the blood reached her nostrils. The hunger in her stomach grew. It had been at least three months since she had cannibalized another fawn. The science of what it did to her body had yet to be understood. Perhaps it would never be.

With her hands beginning to twitch, Narratha knew that she would have to eat something to quell the involuntary spasms. Her powers needed a boost, regardless. It was a win-win, but she knew how her mind could get if the influx of blood was too much.

The anger in her heart was everlasting, but the more she indulged in what made her strong, the more she danced with the temptation to decimate it all. She would have had no powers without the blood, but part of her—the sensible part—feared that there would eventually come a day when she would make a terrible decision, based solely on her unbridled hatred.

That day would not be today.

She used her sword to cleave portions of the fawn's muscles from her arms and legs. The redhead feasted on the bloodied remains in the forest alone, not to be seen by the rest of the population. She felt like an animal, but in the end, this animal would be invincible.

She could put an end to the poils and rescue the remaining fawns who saw the truth.

It was only a matter of time.

The Village

Narratha's hands tightened around the handle of the shovel, her breath coming out in short huffs that became visible in the air. The biting wind was a reminder of her circumstances. She was nothing more than a servant, shoveling snow from the fields under the will of those wretched people that she sought to kill. It was humiliating. Every thrust of the shovel into the snow felt like another blow to her pride, and each time she heaved the snow aside, her dismay grew.

Her powers were gone, and this was the cost of weakness.

The villagers passed her by without so much as a glance. They went about their mundane lives, wrapped in layers of clothes, seeking warmth as they carried their baskets or led their livestock through the snow-covered grounds. They barely acknowledged her, treating her as the outsider that she was. It was like she was poisonous to them. Maybe she was. Anything that was so foreign to this isolated valley had to have been scarier than whatever else lay beyond those mountains.

For a moment, she imagined her sword in her hand, the blade flashing through the air and slicing into the flesh of one of the men nearby. The thought was intoxicating. She could almost hear his scream, visualizing the blood splattering onto the snow as he fell at her feet, his life draining away in a crimson pool. How easy it would be. How simple.

She didn't need her powers to put an end to somebody else's life. She realized that when she had fought Cassandra back in her world. How that ghastly woman could disperse her form into a swarm of insects. It compelled Narratha to dispel all of her magic in a momentary shutdown, just so she could do the same to that dreaded brunette.

But when Cassandra's abilities hit a pause as well, the pale menace was no match for the strength of her adversary. Narratha reminded herself of how she was able to pummel and cut her down without issue. Sadly, she did not get to witness that pest perish before the light opened nearby.

Part of her wished that she had stuck around for just a few more seconds.

As she returned to the fantasies of gutting some of the worthless villagers around her, the memory of Elena flickered in her mind—the girl who had handed her an apple earlier, despite her father's rejection. Elena had looked at her with something close to pity, but also with a kindness that Narratha hadn't expected. That simple gesture had momentarily shattered the wall of hatred Narratha held for the people of this world.

But only momentarily.

She grunted, forcing the violence out of her mind. Elena had granted her a brief reprieve from the misery, and for that, Narratha had considered sparing her life in return. The thought gnawed at her—a foreign feeling that she hardly understood. Sparing someone wasn't something she often did, not in her old life. But now, stripped of her power and forced to live like this, it seemed she had to decide who was worth the energy taking down and who wasn't.

Her thoughts only returned to the dark as the wind picked up. The cold was relentless, creeping into her bones and chilling them down to the very core. She stabbed the shovel into the snow with a refreshed sense of anger, wishing, not for the first time, that life had turned out differently.

Her mind drifted back to Balia, the little girl who had once been her closest friend—before everything had fallen apart. Narratha's relationship with her own sister, Nackia, had been strained ever since the death of their mother. There had been a widening sense of resentment ever since the redhead's younger sibling acquired her powers, while Narratha's never naturally came to fruition.

It was such a rarity for a fawn to never even be able to conjure a mere spark, but for Narratha, her powerless state coupled with her unusual appearance made her feel like the greatest outcast. With no sense of purpose, the woman resigned herself to helping her commune through manual labor. She wanted to be able to take care of the young, but it was the duty of the surges to teach the children how to use their abilities.

Abilities that Narratha could never have understood.

But when she met Balia, the roles of a friend and, more importantly, an older sister were finally met.

The months she spent playing with and teaching that child the ways of the world were the best ones that she could remember. Afternoons in the wilderness, picking fruits and skipping rocks, were some of her favorites. Balia had already bloomed with her powers, but she was more interested in what Narratha accomplished without them, seeking to replicate the same one day.

For the first time in that broken woman's life, she felt like she had her purpose.

She could still remember the day everything ended. Their commune had been attacked by a group of poils, led by a man named Milo. When the elders listened to the men's request to bring the surges elsewhere for a discussion, the group suddenly turned. Fawns were slaughtered, their strongest not there to save them. Narratha had fought back with all the strength she could muster, but it hadn't been enough.

In a moment of desperation, she offered herself as a sacrifice to prevent further harm to her fellow sisters. The poils took her body, but when she witnessed Balia's fate, it took her soul.

Balia's final moments were spent screaming, her innocence shattered by one lone poil, who wanted a little girl instead of a grown woman, and there had been nothing Narratha could do to save her. Nothing but suffer in that tent as the men ganged up on her, listening to that child cry just beyond its fabric.

Narratha discovered her charred corpse when the men departed. She had been torched inside another tent along with several other fawns. They died holding one another. Sisters united in the arms of death.

Death that came at the hands of blind trust and the ignorance of forgiveness. Narratha could never let that slip from her mind. What happened to Balia that day set her life on a course of destruction. She vowed that no matter what, the mindset that propagated that tragedy would never exist again.

Balia was dead, but the next one was not. For the future children of the fawns, she would sacrifice everything and everyone if she had to.

The guilt was always there, lurking in the corners of her mind. She had done terrible things since that day—unforgivable things—and every time she spilled blood, she wondered if Balia would have even recognized the monster she had become.

Drinking the blood and eating the flesh of every fawn she killed heightened her powers, but most of all, it made her forget the way she hated herself. Between the highs of rage, Narratha still could not tear her mind away from what she feared the most.

Would Balia have wanted to stay by her side after seeing what she'd done? After seeing the destruction she had caused and the lives she had taken in the name of vengeance?

After she had slit the throat of Leta, another little fawn?

Narratha's hands trembled as they gripped the shovel harder, her knuckles white with the strain. The cold didn't even register anymore, as her body burned with rage instead. In the absence of her fire, the heat from her wrath kept her warm.

She spoke through her teeth, furious at herself for backtracking on her mindset. "Everything had a reason."

She didn't believe her own words.

Suddenly, a ball of snow struck the back of her leg.

She whirled around, the shovel raised, her eyes blazing with fury. Whoever had dared to strike her would pay. She didn't care if it was some foolish villager—she was at the edge of her control. Mother Miranda could kill her for all she cared. As long as she left this life with another person in tow, then there could be a sense of happiness in that regard.

But as she searched for the culprit, her furious gaze fell on a young boy standing a dozen away. The kid had to have been no older than six. His eyes were wide with shock, his hands still outstretched as if he hadn't expected the snowball to land where it did.

Narratha froze, her breath caught in her throat. The shovel was still poised in her hand, but her brain kept it from moving any further. It was a snapshot in time. A glimpse at one vengeful woman's immense indecisiveness.

No. It wasn't indecisiveness. She had already made her decision.

The boy said nothing as he watched her, clearly too afraid to move but not too afraid to speak. "I'm sorry… miss."

Narratha's grip on the shovel loosened, and she let it drop back to her side with a huff of frustration. Her emerald glare remained on him for a little bit longer, elevated by the howl of the frigid air currents that circulated between the two of them.

"Go away," she growled.

The boy blinked, then quickly turned and ran off, disappearing behind a stack of firewood near one of the houses. Narratha watched him go, her heart still pounding with the remnants of her anger. She stood there after he left, contemplating what to do with herself.

She picked up the shovel and plunged it back into the ground. Poils or not, none of these villagers were fawns. They held no value to her. Nothing worth fighting for.

But to deliberately kill a child for the sake of her own gain...

Narratha had crossed that line before. She did not want to cross it again.

What would Balia have said? She shuddered to think about it. Shuddered more than the wind could ever make her.

NOTES:

Hope everyone enjoyed this latest update!

Firstly, I want to apologize for the extended delay in getting this one out. I'm not going to make up excuses. My writing muse has been lacking, but I made the extra effort to get this one out over the course of the last week. Life has been good, but since the summer, I have been way more occupied with some nice things.

I am not abandoning this story nor putting it on a hiatus or long release between chapters, I promise. I'm very excited about where this is going to go.

So, Delia and Kyia are seemingly becoming friends. I think we all know what happens to those who are ensnared by the brunette's outward innocence and charm. Will Kyia use her as a means to an end, or will she see the truth in her horrible actions and seek to atone in some way, even if it is one final act of humanity? Nope. A means to an end. She wants that dagger. She knows it's in this castle.

As for Daniela, don't expect a return to the Delia torture arc. That is done. What we will see when she returns may be a little different. I want to turn some light toward her humanity, whatever is left in there, of course.

Moving onto Narratha, her plot is advancing as well. She does hold some regret over what she did in Flies, but does that make her a salvageable villain? One would say so, but we haven't seen her when she has the advantage in this world. I think the next chapter with her will be an interesting one, especially with the other characters that will make an appearance.

Should we expect more flashbacks of her past? Probably not. Maybe one with Balia, but Narratha's past has already been told in Fragmented Flies.

Now, where is this story going to go? Well, after eleven chapters, I do want to get the plot rolling some more. So, expect some serious Castle Dimitrescu drama coming up, alongside the hatching plans of one sinister maid, as well as the adventures of the cannibalistic serial killer fawn outside of its walls.

These three ladies will be on a collision course with each other, and when that happens, the village—and the entire world—will stand to be shaken to its very core.

The violence is coming…

Expect the next chapter in two weeks on the 12th. I'll be working hard to get that one out to all you guys. Again, I am so sorry for my absence and unresponsiveness. Thank you all so much for sticking around and supporting my work. I have a few things to catch up on here, so expect to hear from me soon. I hope you all are enjoying the cooler weather like me. Stay safe out there, and I'll see you all next time!